Really, I didn’t have the strength to. I closed my laptop lid and set it down amongst the scattered scraps of photos and sketches, falling back to stare at the ceiling. I didn’t move for a long, long time. Not when I heard the kids come upstairs to get ready for bed, not when I heard a soft knock low on my door, and not when the house had finally fallen silent.
I didn’t think I could face anyone ever again.
CHAPTER 22
Mom had taken Thursday off work, which meant I could hide out in my bedroom and not have to worry about the kids unaliving themselves downstairs. I listened to their voices float through the floor all morning, trying to find comfort in the lightness and not feel even worse at the fact that they were happy without me there with them.
I felt sick to my core. The only good thing Ihaddone was finally shut down my feelings for Dalton—and, really, it was humiliating to think I’d hung onto them for so long in the first place. My friends must’ve truly thought I was pathetic.
You are not pathetic, Jamie’s voice murmured in my head.He’s the pathetic one.
I rolled myself up tighter in my duvet, the thought of Jamie both a flash of warmth and a sting of pain.
Last night felt too final. Too big for an apology. Because, really, what was there to apologize for? He wasupset that I’d still snuck around with Dalton behind his back, and I was brokenhearted that he didn’t like me the same way I liked him. An “I’m sorry” wouldn’t fix that. And I couldn’t imagine us going back to the way we were before the fake relationship. Because now, every time Jamie held my hand or pushed my hair out of my face or hugged me, I’d always be hoping he was doing it because he liked me.
And he didn’t.
My stomach turned over, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Just as I began down the merry-go-round spiral again, a soft knock sounded at my door. Different from the one last night—this one was a bit firmer, higher up on the door. “Daisy, lunch is ready,” Mom murmured from the hall.
I clutched my duvet tighter, sick at the thought of emerging and going downstairs. I wasn’t sure how I could ever face any of my family again after yesterday. Mom’s face was still vividly clear in my mind, horrified when I’d parroted her grief-stricken words back to her.I don’t want to do this anymore.
“I’m coming in,” Mom called when I didn’t answer, and my unlocked bedroom door creaked open a moment later. And then, softly—“Oh,Daisy.”
Inexplicably, tears pricked my eyes, half at embarrassment of what I knew she was looking at. I’d picked up the scraps of the pictures and drawings last night, but my bare walls were harder to hide. Impossible.
The door softly clicked behind her, and I held my breath. But she hadn’t left. Her foot creakedon a floorboard as she stepped closer. “Can I sit?” she asked, closer now.
I kept my back turned to her, but ever so slightly, my duvet cover moved as I nodded.
The mattress dipped as Mom sat, swinging her legs onto the bed and leaning against the headboard. She didn’t speak for a long time, long enough for my quick pulse to slow back to something more normal.
“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she murmured at last, barely above a whisper. “I want to, but I don’t know how to say it.”
Those words made me feel sicker. “I don’t want you to apologize?—”
“I shouldn’t have let you take on as much responsibility as you did.”
I rolled over then, the sound of her voice poking something urgently in me. “I wanted to.”
“Even if you’d wanted to, I shouldn’t have let you.” The tears were full in Mom’s eyes, and she looked so much like Junie in that moment that it squeezed my heart further. She wasn’t looking at me but at her open palms, her lips trembling. “You stepped in so easily after… your dad… that I didn’t think to look close. You were struggling all because I didn’t look close.”
I watched the guilt shake my mother’s frame, watched her shiver as she tried to hold herself together. I lowered my covers and sat up more, my heart once again beating quicker. “I never resented you for it,” I told her, which was mostly true. How could I resent her for a choiceI’dmade? “The other day, when I snapped?—”
“It made me realize what I’d done.” Mom looked at me then, her light eyes bouncing back and forth between my own. “I hadn’t been looking because I didn’twant to. I was afraid if Ireallylooked, everything would fall apart.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Things were hard for you and I just stuck my head in the sand.”
The sight of her tears caught me off guard, because while I’d heard her crying in her room all those years ago, I’d never seen her openly cry before. My mom was one of the strongest people I knew, and now I sat right beside her as she cracked. Not knowing what else to do, I reached over and grabbed her hand. “You had the pressure of being the single income,” I murmured. “It’s okay, Mom.”
“And now you’re the one comforting me.” Mom sniffed, giving me a soft, sad look as another tear rolled down her cheek. “Daisy, you’ve grown up strong—but I’m sorry for making you grow up too fast.”
Pressure pricked behind my eyes, and I leaned to lay my head on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
It’d been the accident, the one that’d taken Dad from us. It’d sent us all into a tailspin, reacting on survival mode and autopilot. For Mom, it’d been easy to throw herself into work. For me, it’d been easy to step into the parent role, with art to lean on. There wasn’t blame, only regret.
“It’d just been easier when the kids were littler and didn’t talk back,” I muttered, readjusting my weight onto her shoulder.
A sudden burst of laughter slipped past Mom’s lips, and she leaned her head onto me. “Junie’s gotten a bit of a rebellious streak, hasn’t she?”
