Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
"She had a way of making everything okay. Not enough butter to make cookies, so use water and create a new recipe for our recipe notebook. Not enough money for new school clothes, so go to Goodwill and get double the haul. It was like no matter what the obstacle or problem was, she found a way to make it better. With nothing more than a smile and a hug, she made life easier. It’s funny, no matter how poor we were or how much we struggled, I always knew we’d have each other.” My voice cracks, emotion ripping through the words. I blink back tears, reminding myself that I don’t need to cry every time I talk about her.
Sebastian’s throat bobs as he swallows, and his eyes are trained on his hands. I scan his features, and I can see her there so easily now that I know to look for it. Her nose, and the freckles you can barely see that grace his forehead and the bridge of his nose.
I continue when he doesn’t say anything. "I don't mind talking about her. It hurts, of course, but I feel like the day I stop talking about her is the day her memory fades away.”
The urge to ask him a question in return about the family he grew up with, about the family who obviously wasn't the same as my mom, even though she might have come from them, sits on the tip of my tongue.
Regardless of my curiosity, I know I’m not ready. A tiny part of me wants to hold on to the image I have of my mother because I know when he starts to tell me things about our family, my thoughts will change, my feelings will get involved, and I don’t ever want to see her in a different way.
And while I don’t want to admit it out loud, I’m afraid of our family name and what it means. The respect it demands, the violence and blood it holds. I know very little, but I’m not naive enough to think that our family name was built on wholesome ventures. Sebastian’s thrown himself into the family business like he has something to prove, and that terrifies me. With Sebastian keeping company like Drew’s family, it’s clear whatever we’re involved in circles around danger, secrets, and violence.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be silent. It’s just hard for me to wrap my head around. I’m a logical person, my decisions are fact based, and I’m struggling with my anger and regret. There’s nothing I can do to change what happened. I can’t bring her back, and it kills me. I wish I had more time. I wish I could ask her all the questions… I wish for so much.”
My heart breaks for him because while my life with our mother was nothing short of a struggle, it was overflowing with love and warmth. Two things Sebastian clearly had very little of in his upbringing.
I don’t know what makes me do it. Maybe he needs to know I’m here and that he’s not alone in his struggle. I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. I lean forward and place my hand on his. It’s nothing more than a caress, but it’s enough of a reminder that I’m here for him and for him to look up at me.
His green eyes are misty, and I look away, acting like I don’t see the tears forming there. Something tells me he wouldn’t want me to comment on his emotions.
“It’s okay to feel the way you do. Everyone grieves in their own way, and I can't even imagine how much her loss hurts you. You’d just found out who your mother was and then…” I can’t even finish the sentence, its weight pressing down on my chest and making it difficult to breathe or even speak. I give his hand a tiny squeeze, then release it.
The silence surrounding us becomes deafening, and I shoot a wistful glance over the shelves of books. Anything to distract me from his painful expression. He breaks the silence first with a throat clear.
"Do you really want to see him?"
Him. He doesn’t have to say his name. It’s engraved in every cell of my body. The spotlight is back on me, and I don’t like it. I shift in the chair anxiously. I haven't really wrapped my head around my feelings for Drew. Yes, they’re still there, and I’d be a liar if I said they weren’t, but they’re caked in tears, regret, and anger.
I’m propelled back to the scene he walked in on in the library, and the burn of embarrassment blooms in my cheeks without permission.
"It’s complicated. I don’t really care to see him…”
He slings his feet back up onto the edge of the desk, the rubber soles leaving scuff marks, which he seems completely unconcerned with. Like it's one last rebellion against his grandfather.