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“And now she talks.” My mom throws her hands in the air. It’s not lost on me that she uses the word she like I’m not sitting right there—because in a way I’m not there. We all know it. I’ve checked out. I haven’t even worked since the night I got the call. I can’t bring myself to continue on with my life without Ben—I’m so afraid that if I pick up the pieces and go on with my life that … that … I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore. My thoughts are a jumbled mess.
“Is there anything you can eat?” my mom asks. “Seriously, Blaire, I will drive an hour away if it means I can get something you’ll eat.”
I sigh. I know I’m scaring my mom, and I feel awful, but I can’t seem to snap out of this ... this… whatever this is.
“I could have a milkshake from Chick-fil-A,” I tell her. “Vanilla.”
She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good. I’ll go get that.” She hurries up and grabs her purse, probably trying to get out of there before I change my mind. “Anything else?”
“No.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“Kid,” my dad says gruffly from the couch, “you’re gonna dump that shake in a plant, aren’t ya?”
I laugh. “Possibly. I’ll take a sip or two for her benefit.”
He grunts. “Come join your old man over here.” He glances at me from the back of the couch.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m okay over here.”
He turns off the TV. “It’s the football, isn’t it? We don’t have to watch that. We can talk. Or not. I don’t care. Just get out of that chair, kid.”
I sigh. It’s impossible not to listen to my dad. He worked a lot while I was growing up, but he always made sure I knew I could come to him with anything.
I get up from the chair and push it in, stalling for time.
“Kid,” he says in warning.
I want to smile at the familiar childhood nickname, but frankly I don’t feel like smiling.
I sit down beside him and he wiggles a bit. “Here, you want the blanket?” he asks gruffly, reaching for the blue throw blanket.
“Sure,” I say, even though I don’t really want it. I know my dad wants to feel useful in some way so I give him that.
He hands me the blanket, and I wrap it around me. It still smells like Ben. I close my eyes, and it’s like he’s right there. With me.
“When are you going back to work?” my dad asks. He never goes easy on me.
I shrug and glance toward the ceiling where my office lays upstairs waiting for me with several hundred emails. “When I feel like it.”
He grunts and wiggles some more. “When will that be?”
Never. “Soon,” I say, because I know it’s what he wants to hear. I pick at the frayed edge of the blanket. “When are you and Mom going home?”
He stares at me for a moment. His eyes are a kind brown, and he has short lashes. Like my mom, he’s wrinkled now from years of laughter and hard work. “We’re staying as long as we need to.”
“I don’t need you to stay here. I’m fine.”
He snorts. “Kid, if that’s what you call fine I don’t want your definition of bad. You’re barely eating and you smell like a sweaty gym sock. You’ve been wearing those pajamas for three days straight.” He points at the dirty sweat-jacket and striped pajama pants I wear. “You’re not foolin’ me, and you’re not foolin’ your momma either,” he tells me. “Don’t go into the acting business, because you suck.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey, just tellin’ it to ya straight.” He raises his hands innocently. “You’re my little girl, Blaire, and I love you more than you know, so don’t lie to me. You’re not doing well, but let me let you in on a little secret.” He leans toward my ear and lowers his voice. “That’s okay.” Pulling away, he says, “There will be good days and bad days in everyone’s life, it’s how we deal with those bad days that determines how we live every day. You have every right to be angry, Blaire. To be sad and hurt. But you also have to get up, and go on about your life. Time doesn’t wait for anyone. You can’t forget to live your life—Ben might’ve lost his, but you’re still here.”
My cheeks are wet. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Kid.”
