Page 114 of Pretty Lies

Her mother arched a brow. “Excuse me? Not with that attitude.”

“Please.”

That had her ma smiling.

It’s all she wanted to see.

“Let them cool first,” Chloe said. “And aren’t you supposed to be at the church with a certain someone to make sure all the flowers come in?”

“He’s handled that.”

Chloe grabbed a spatula and began to slowly remove the cookies from the sheet to a waiting cooling rack. “So, are we not talking about the fact that you’ve spent as many nights at your place as you have at his place this week, then?”

“You could just ask if I’m fucking Cory, Ma.”

Her mother gasped and widened her eyes in mock shock. “I would never.”

“I like him.”

“Oh?”

“He’s gonna be around a lot.”

Chloe’s gaze flicked to her. “Well, okay.”

That was that.

It wasn’t lost on her that her mom managed to give her special attention at a time when—honestly—Della should be the last thing on Chloe’s mind. But that was her mother—that was all moms in a nutshell. Even when their soul was being eaten by agony, they still managed to show up, put on a smile, and make their kid feel amazing.

“I love you, Ma,” Della told Chloe.

“Forever and ever?”

That was something she used to say to Della and J when they were kids as she put them to bed. Della couldn’t forget it or how it ended.

“And ever and ever,” she said quietly.

Silence answered her back.

Because usually, in the background of the house somewhere, if J heard it, he would reply, “And ever!” As loud as he could just because he could. He was never going to say that again now. They still stopped and waited for him to do it, though.

Chloe made a soft sound. “It’s not the same, is it?”

“No.”

“We’re still going to do it, though, right?”

Della nodded, feeling the tears come back but she blinked them away. “Yeah, Ma. We’ll still say it.”

“Are we crying in here?”

The new voice had Della laughing as she used the sleeves of her black silk dress to wipe away any wetness that might have escaped from her eyes. Turning, she faced her approaching father who already had his arms opened to take a hug from her. The second Frankie’s arms wrapped around Della, she was five again, home smelled like her father’s cologne, and her dad could scare away every bad dream that dared to haunt her nights.

“It’s a beautiful day to say goodbye, isn’t it?” Frankie asked, hugging her tighter. “His favorite time of the year, Della.”

“Yeah, Dad.”

They didn’t want to say goodbye.