“I’d love to watch the movie with y’all,” I say finally.
Hudson smiles. “Come on in.”
“I’ll pour you some hot chocolate,” Liz offers, disappearing inside.
Ron places one hand on the small of my back and holds the other out in front of him. “After you, Myra Jean.”
35
LINDSEY
I setmy alarm for early the next morning, just before sunrise, but I’m already awake when it goes off. Catrick Swayze arches his back and straightens his legs, his claws digging into my comforter.
“Big stretch,” I say, scratching the top of his head as I climb out of bed and slide my feet into my new fuzzy plaid slippers that the kids got me. I pull on a sweatshirt and pad into the kitchen to feed the cat and press the button on the coffee maker.
Ben brought me back to Mom’s late last night, and despite how tired I was, I couldn’t fall asleep. I lay there for hours, my mother’s words swinging in my mind like a pendulum.
I’m a fan of watching the sunrise. The world makes a lot more sense there.
Maybe it’s a little silly of me to do, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything. So, once the coffee’s brewed, I pour myself a cup and carry it out to the back deck, curling up in the wicker love seat.
And I wait. I hold the mug between my hands, shivering.
It’s quiet.Tooquiet. But maybe that’s the point.
The golden glow of the sun has started to rise, sending tendrils of light spreading out as though someone cracked an egg across the sky.
It’s been a long time since I watched the sunrise. I’ve caught glimpses of it on my early days when I leave for work to prep for surgery, but I haven’t stopped to take it in. Not since the morning after Dad died.
After we left the hospital, we gathered in our childhood home, unsure what to do or where to go. I alternated between crying and being so restless I couldn’t sit still. I remember stepping outside on the front porch to call Daniel, but it went to voicemail. I didn’t call him from the hospital or in the middle of one of my crying jags in the facility’s parking garage. I didn’t want to disturb him, and if that isn’t a metaphor for our relationship, I don’t know what is.
I asked Daniel to come to our family dinner a month later, our first without my father, but he declined because he had his weekly basketball game with his old college buddies. I asked if he could miss it just this once, but he told me those meetups were important to him because they helped him unwind. Feeling defeated, I asked ifIwas important to him, immediately regretting the words once they came out of my mouth.
I’m sorryI’d immediately said.That wasn’t a fair question.
Of course, you’re important to mehe’d said, taking my hands into his.Do we not have weekly date nights?
Yes.
And I’ve come to your family dinners on occasion, haven’t I?
In a little over a year, he’d come exactly twice. He chatted and joked around, but there was a shift in his demeanor when we were with my family, so subtle that it took a while for me to catch on, but once I did, I couldn’t unsee it.
He opened his mouth to speak but shook his head instead.Never mind.
What?I asked.What were you going to say?
Daniel tilted his head and gave me a close-lipped, pitying smile.Your family can be…a lot to handle. But especially right now. I know your mom is going to be all downtrodden and mopey, and I’m just…not comfortable, you know?
Anger turned the edges of my vision black.Imagine how we feel, Daniel. My daddied.My mother lost her husband.
I knowhe said.And I’m sorry that happened. Your father was a great guy. But sulking around isn’t going to bring him back.
I wilted like a rose in a vase without water. How could someone be so callous?
He sighed, raking his hand through his thick, dark hair.Sometimes your emotions…
I leaned my head back, extending the space between us.My emotions what, Daniel?
