“Me too.” She gives me a bittersweet smile. “Your father had a way about him. Just his presence was enough to comfort you kids. When y’all were little, he could walk in the room when oneof you was having a total meltdown, and you’d crawl right into his arms. He’d have you smiling again in no time.”
“Yeah, he did.”
“It was a lot simpler then. Back when your biggest problems were petty fights with your friends or being told to do your homework.” She sighs and covers my hand with hers. “There was little that couldn’t be fixed with a pep talk and a Shirley Temple.”
I smile. “I miss his pep talks. And the ice cream he let us sneak before dinner sometimes.”
She snorts. “You onlythoughtyou were being sneaky. I always knew.”
We sit together in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from Catrick Swayze’s soft purrs, each of us lost in our own memories.
“You should get some rest,” she says finally. “It’ll help you feel better, and you’ll wake up with a clearer head tomorrow. You and Oliver will work it out. This is just a small bump in the road.”
“I hope you’re right,” I say, lying back against the pillow.
She pulls the covers up to my chin, tucking them around me like she did when I was a kid. The gesture makes my eyes well with tears again. It reminds me of the many nights she and my father did this, despite my insistence that I was far too grown-up for it. Then, one night they tucked me in for the last time. I didn’t think much of it then, probably so dead set on acting more mature than I was. But now, I wish I could go back. To savor those moments a little longer and carve them into my mind because one day, those memories will be all I have left of them both.
“You want the light on or off?” she asks, picking up the album.
“Off is good,” I say. “Thank you.”
The mattress shifts as she stands and turns off the lamp.
“Sweet dreams,” she says before padding out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her.
There, wrapped in darkness, I allow my mind to drift to a time when I was young and held close. When words and a sweet fizzy drink could fix anything. Long before I felt suffocated by the weight of my broken pieces.
26
MJ
“Willyour son and daughter-in-law be visiting for the holiday?” I ask Ron, taking the last bite of my soup. Admittedly, I’m only half present for our lunch date. My mind keeps drifting back to my eldest daughter.
“They will,” Ron answers. “They won’t be here till early Christmas morning, but they’re going to stay through New Year’s.”
“That’ll be a nice visit.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“Maybe you could meet Hudson while he’s here?”
I sputter and cough, choking on my drink. It shouldn’t come as a shock, but somehow, it does. It’s not like Ron hasn’t metmykids, but that’s different. My connection to Ron came through Lindsey. Ron wanting me to meet Hudson carries a different weight. That implies seriousness. That impliescommitment.Am I ready for that? I’m notnotready, but…
“Are you okay?” Ron asks.
I nod and flutter my hand as though I’m not on the cusp of experiencing a medical emergency, while Ron jumps up and firmly pats my back.
“Yep,” I manage to choke out, now garnering the attention of other customers.
I gasp, and a new wave of uncontrollable hacking hits.
“Easy does it, Myra Jean,” Ron says in a low, calm voice. “Try to breathe.”
How am I supposed to breathe when you asked me to meet your son? When I might be falling in lo?—
I take in a deep, shuddering breath and clear my throat so hard it scrapes the bottom of my stomach.
Ron rubs my back. “There you go.”
Despite the chill inside the coffee shop, I’m now sweating. I swallow down some water and steady myself.
