Page 136 of Jesse's Girl
“I missed you too,” I say, sniffing back my emotion.
“You know I’m not the least bit religious,” she continues, “but blessing is the only word I can think of. This aneurysm—as hard as it’s been—has been a blessing, Jesse. And I don’t just mean having your help. I mean getting to see you. Spending time with you again.” She pulls me over and kisses the side of my head. “The way you raced to my side, like some kind of knight in shining armor!”
I chuckle. “I guess?”
“Only, instead of scoring the beautiful princess, you’re stuck with me,” she adds, elbowing me.
I blow a breath through my nose and look at the floor.
“I think I got the better end of the deal there.”
“You almost died, Mom,” I say. “What was I supposed to do? Wait for a seat sale?”
She smiles. “My point is: you’ve done a lot to help me. You’ve shown up for me. Over and over again. Thank you.”
I nod, thinking for a moment. “I wanna say I’d do it all over again but, please, let’s not do that all over again, okay?”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ll do my best. And you know, I’m gonna return the favor. I’m gonna keep showing up for you. That’s what you do when you love someone, isn’t it? Even when it’s hard. You just keep… showing up.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
We sit together in the dark for a few moments, my gaze falling to some indistinct spot on the carpet.
Mom finally breaks the silence. “So, about that beautiful princess…”
I dip my head on an exhale. “You know, she’d hate to know you called her a princess.”
“Oh? Well, okay, then. That beautiful… strong, independent, self-made woman.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Not bad, not bad.”
Mom leans in closer. “Is that the opposite of a princess? I have no idea.”
I laugh, but my smile slowly fades as I remember what happened. “Mom, what do I do?”
She thinks for a moment, reaching an arm around me. “You just keep showing up.”
“And if she doesn’t wanna see me?”
“Give her some time. She needs to feel her feelings.” At my curious look, she waves her hand and adds, “Claire got me going to this counselor.”
“Really?”
She nods. “Seems I suppressed a lot during the divorce. And afterward.”
I tilt my head; she’s not alone in that. When I speak, my voice is thick with emotion. “I love you, Mom. Thank you.”
“Love you too.” She pats my cheek, then pushes up to stand. “Now let’s fix your bed.”
30
ADA
To heartbroken people, weddings are a swirly for the soul: equal parts disgusting, overwhelming, and humiliating and, at some point, you give yourself over to the numb resignation that you’re being shoved face-first into your own personal hell.
Living alone in the apartment for the last week has been brutal. There’s no one running the coffee maker at six in the morning or smirking at me from the kitchen in a sweaty running shirt—and the hateful silence seems to deliver a fresh sucker-punch to my heart every day. I haven’t been able to bring myself to answer Jesse’s texts or calls, knowing it would hurt too much. When he told me he’d booked his flight, I’d sobbed for a good forty minutes before pulling myself together enough to re-list my ad for a roommate. After all, my bank account isn’t gonna wait around for me to get over him.
The crushing weight drapes over me like a leaden cape and I feel nauseated. Sluggish. Broken. All I want to do is run away from this feeling but, like some kind of emotional Scream sequel, the call is very much coming from inside the house.