She nodded miserably as Liv held up her phone. “Pizza?”
“Pizza,” I agreed despite not having an appetite.
As I sat numbly, not taking in the movie Liv put on or tasting the pizza I forced myself to eat for their sake, I couldn’t get over the fact that Elise now sat at Ruston’s bedside. Thinking of her caring for him, touching him, made me physically ill.
The worst part was that despite everything, I was still worried about him. I’d have no way of knowing how he was doing when he was finally discharged.
When he was gone.
“I think I’m gonna head to bed, guys,” I murmured when the credits began to roll. They had the best intentions, but I couldn’t hold the pretense that I didn’t feel like dying inside any longer.
They watched me with worried eyes but nodded as I shuffled to my bedroom, where I collapsed into bed, praying to find oblivion.
* * *
A few days later I awoke to my phone ringing. It had taken me hours to fall asleep, and when I did finally slip under, my dreams were full of turmoil. Between not sleeping well, trying and largely failing to pretend with family and friends that I was doing just fine, and Valerie riding me more than usual, I was exhausted.
I stared blearily at the screen, seeing that it was my pop calling.
“Gracie, come out front,” he demanded when I answered.
I only briefly debated arguing, knowing full well it was pointless. My pop wasn’t someone you said no to.
I pulled a sweater around me and shuffled toward the front door, still half asleep.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in confusion, squinting in the morning light after opening the front door.
“You’ve been sad,” he replied gruffly. “I don’t know if it’s because Emmie moved out or what. What I do know is you’re not talkin’ to me or your mom,” he accused, the worry in his voice sending guilt lancing through my veins. “Figured I could either try to force it outta you or try to cheer you up. Your mother convinced me the latter was the better route.” He held up a bag and strode toward me.
“What is it?” I asked curiously as I stepped aside to let him into the house, which immediately felt smaller with him in it.
At nearly fifty, my father was a formidable man whose confidence seemed to only increase with age.
“Your mom put a care package together,” he explained, setting the bag down with a twinkle in his eye he seemed to only reserve for my mother, Tatum, and me.
I opened the bag and immediately felt a lump in my throat at discovering my favorite meal in the world—my mom’s ribs that took a full day to prepare—some of my favorite magazines, and some new makeup I’d had my eye on.
The care it had taken to put this together proved both the love my parents had always shown me and also the depth of their worry.
My dad put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’ve been sad,” he repeated, his eyes imploring me to give him something, anything.
My dad and I were close. Always had been. But I couldn’t talk to him about this, not about Ruston. “I’m okay, Pop,” I tried to assure him. “And this will do me wonders,” I added sincerely, gesturing to my care package. “I’m just getting used to living alone,” I only partially lied.
The truth was, I had been lonely. I’d lived with Emmie for years, and I was an extrovert. Coming home to an empty house wasn’t something I’d likely ever get used to. Especially now that I was trying to soothe what felt to be an irreversible ache.
He eyed me skeptically as though debating whether or not to push me. “All right, sweetheart. Well, I’m always here if you need me. You know that.”
“I do,” I replied firmly. And I did. My dad would come running the instant I called. And sometimes when I didn’t.
His large hand cupped the crown of my head in a familiar gesture. “Love you, Gracie.”
I looked up at him. “Love you too, Pop. And thanks.”
He nodded. “Lock this behind me,” he instructed as he strode through the front door and, with a final chin lift, shut the door behind him.
I leaned against it, squeezing my eyes shut, determined to move past the misery consuming me. If not for my sake, then for my family’s.
Chapter 4
