Page 69 of Dream On, Liar

“No, thank you. I'm actually exhausted.”

He studied me for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, a sigh escaping me softly. “I just want a shower and bed.”

He nodded, though something in his expression told me he wasn't entirely convinced. “Alright. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, trouble.” He kissed my forehead before heading towards the restaurant, and I stood there watching him disappear. The sweetness of the gesture should have made me feel better. Instead, it made something ache, and deepened the feeling I’d clutched on to.

After spending what little time I had watching Rihaan with his sister, seeing the easy affection between them, the way they pulled each other’s leg in good fun, even the way his little sister tried to interrogate me, had been sweet.

Painfully so.

So was his attempt to save me from it.

But it wasn’t what had I’d held on to as I pressed the floor button and met my reflection in the lift mirror.

It was the fact that the relationship with his sister made me think of mine. And my mother.

I hated that.

I hated that she still had the ability to appear in my thoughts when I least wanted her there. And with the way our relationship had been for years, I rarely wanted her there. I’d come to terms with our relationship—or lack there of, but that didn’t mean that there were days where I’d wished for a better outcome.

I was turning twenty-five soon.

Twenty-five.

The reminder came in her voice, but it only made the ache in my chest deepen. I still remembered the night I’d called her during fresher week, homesick. She’d laughed when I told her and reminded me that I was eighteen now. As though I should have outgrown it now.

But was there really an age when you stopped wanting your mother’s comfort? Even if you had someone of your own to comfort you, could anything really replace the comfort of the woman whose arms had been your safe place since you were a little girl, back when the only memory I had of being sick was lying tied to my bed with chickenpox?

Instead, I watched the lift climb through the floors, wondering how I’d somehow managed to hold on to that longing for so long.

Because as sweet as my father had been just before, I knew he wouldn't understand if I told him.

He’d try.

That was almost worse.

Because there was no explanation that made sense.

I could tell him I missed her without wanting her back.

I could tell him I was angry without pretending I didn't love her.

I could tell him that seeing someone have a relationship with their sister had reminded me of something I’d lost that I’d never even had to begin with.

And he'd probably tell me that I had him.

Only, he would say that I had the better parent.

Which was true.

It just wasn't the same thing.

When I eventually stepped out of the shower, the heaviness had settled somewhere behind my ribs.