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“Because I lost my cool on you.”
“You did, but given the circumstances… I understand. You were overwhelmed.”
“It doesn’t matter if I was overwhelmed. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
She handed me her glass of wine. I took it willingly and downed the rest.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Hart. It happens. I can’t guarantee I might not try to bite your head off a time or two. As long as it doesn’t become a habit, then I’m fine.”
I deflated into the couch cushions, dropping a hand onto her bare thigh. I stared into the bottom of the wine glass. “Thank you, Sugar.”
“No problem. Do you want to talk about it?”
I nodded mechanically, and by the time I was done, Vera was bug-eyed and drinking straight from the bottle.
“The craziest part about all of this is that I can’t even say anything about your dad.”
I smiled softly. “Yeah, both of our dads are pieces of work, but I wish getting a dancer pregnant at the age of 56 was the worst thing.”
Vera’s expression fell. “There’s more?”
“Yep,” I nodded, accepting another pour from her. “He gave me a letter from my mother that he’d had this whole fucking time.”
“No!” she gasped.
“He basically said he was too scared to give it to me because he was afraid she’d bad-mouthed him in the letter and would make me hate him more.”
“That’s…”
“Selfish,” I finished for her.
“That’s one word for it. Are you going to read it?”
I dropped my head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling fan. “I don’t know, Vera,” I whispered. “A part of me wants to rip it open and read it, and the other part of me is just like my dad—too afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that I will sink into some dark emotional hole that I wouldn’t be able to dig myself out of.”
“That wouldn’t happen, Sweet Hart.”
I tilted my head towards her and met her eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I wouldn’t let you. Just like you were there for me, I’ll be there for you.”
I nodded.
“You don’t have to read it tonight.”
“What if I never want to?”
“Then you never have to. Do you want me to keep it for you?”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The letter. I can hold on to it, and whenever you’re ready, you can ask me for it. It doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow, next month, or next year.”