A small shrug. “Everyone is.”
“But I’m sorry I hurt you when I pulled away. It’s hard to explain why, other than to say I was worried we were all getting attached too fast. And it scared me.”
“Why?” She glanced up for the first time. “What’s scary about something great happening?”
“First because I didn’t want you to be hurt if things didn’t work out. You’ve had to deal with a lot at a young age, and the thought of me causing more pain—it made me start to question everything.”
“Did something happen at the wedding?” Annie asked. “Because that’s what all of us kids think. Grace says something triggered you.”
“She’s right.” I told her about my conversation with Luci. “She said she was afraid she was the only one who remembered her dad.”
“I get that. My mom doesn’t like to talk about my dad. It makes me feel like I’m the only one who remembers how much we loved him. And he loved us. But why would that trigger you?”
“I thought it was because of you—my worry that I was being irresponsible and you would be the one to pay for it. But when I really started to think about it and examine my feelings Irealized it wasn’t anything to do with how I felt about your mom. I’m afraid, Annie. It’s as simple as that. I’m afraid to love you and your mom and then lose you somehow. Besides my mom, Nate was the person I loved the most in the world. He was my brother. Losing him shattered me. And I’ve been slowly putting myself back together again.”
Annie didn’t move, her gaze on Poe as she absently petted him. “You’re afraid to love someone because they might leave. Forever.”
“That’s right,” I said. “But the problem is—it’s too late. I already love your mom. And I love you.”
“So you lied to her about that? Youdoknow how you feel?”
“It was a lie, yes, but mostly to myself. This is going to sound unhinged, but, when things go well, I automatically assume it won’t be for long. Catastrophe will immediately follow. So when things were so good, I started getting really scared and I acted like a total idiot.”
“You really hurt her. She’ll never admit it to anyone, but I saw it for myself.”
“That makes me feel awful. If it’s any consolation, I haven’t been doing so hot myself.”
“Do you want to fix it?”
“More than anything. But I’m not sure how. Your mom’s pretty hard to soften once she’s angry. Becca advised me todosomething, not just say words and expect her to forgive me.”
“Becca’s right,” Annie said. “My mom’s love language is acts of service, not words of affirmation.”
I chuckled. This kid. “Okay.”
She looked at me for a long, long moment. Then at Poe. “You know how she’s obsessed with peonies? The ones in her garden are her favorite flowers in the world, even though they bloom for like a week and then they’re gone.”
“Sure.”
“She told me recently that my dad gave her the seeds when he was trying to win her over. She planted them in pots and they went wherever they moved. After he died and we bought the new house, she planted them in the garden. Every year they bloom. Mom puts spikes in the ground to make sure they don’t fall over from the weight of their own flower. They’ll bloom for a hundred years. Did you know that?”
“I did, yes. They take three years to bloom and then they do it for another hundred.”
“That’s correct. Great metaphor, right?” Annie asked.
“For what?”
“Symbolic for something that lasts. Only my dad didn’t stay long. Not anywhere close to a hundred years. He was the bloom and not the plant. A bloom that came and went too soon. No matter how my mom tried to keep him standing.”
I just nodded, completely unsure about where this was going.
“You, though?” Annie asked. “You’re more like a daffodil.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. People might say they’re not as lush or flashy as peonies, but they’re tough. They’re one of the first flowers to poke their heads up through the cold soil of early spring. Every year without fail. They require no fussing or maintenance. No coddling. Just a flower to be relied on to return year after year and bloom for weeks and weeks, all gorgeous yellow and hopeful. And guess what? They’re extremely long-lived too. I’ve read they also can live to be a hundred and, even better, they multiply by offsets, so a patch can keep going for generations. A daffodil’s guaranteed to come back as steady and beautiful as the spring before.”
“So, I’m a daffodil.”
