“It’s really okay. I’m good. But thank you.”
Victoria frowns. “Well, I think Rylee was planning on having the girls over tomorrow night. If you need a drink or three, you should come join us.”
Rylee is the local romance author; she met a guy at a wedding she was crashing for research and ended up marrying him. Beck Wilder . . . sigh, the rebel from out of town. Superhot with a heart of gold. They have triplets, and every month, Beck takes them over to her parents’, which lets them host a blessedly kid-free get-together with friends.
“Who’s going to be there?”
“Ren, Harper, Zoey, Rylee, of course, and myself.” Victoria brings her hand to her chest. “And I think Jen Knightly.”
“Ruth isn’t going?” I ask, thinking of the local coffee shop owner, who’s become a key member of our growing group.
“I think she has a date,” Harper says with a smirk.
“Oh yeah? With who?”
“She wouldn’t say, but I’m pretty sure it’s a guy she met online. She’s been messaging back and forth with him for a bit. She’s pretty excited.”
“Good for her,” I say. “She’s been hung up on Brig Knightly for a while, so I’m glad she’s finally venturing out.”
“Poor thing has no idea everyone in town knows. Well, everyone but Brig. And I agree; she needs to move on. Sure, Brig’s going to be my brother-in-law soon, but he’s a blind idiot when it comes to love.”
“Which is so strange, don’t you think?” Victoria asks, taking a small sip of her drink, fingers poised on the straw, one pinkie sticking up in the air. “That man is living out his very own romantic comedy, and yet he can’t figure out how to find love and hold on to it.”
“Don’t you get it, Victoria?” I lean across the bar and glance around the room to make sure no one’s listening. “It’s the curse.”
“Oh good gracious,” she huffs with an accompanying eye roll. “The Knightly curse, can’t ever forget about that.”
“It’s so real, according to Brig,” Harper says, chuckling. “He lives and breathes by that thing. Didn’t you hear about the witch doctor he went to the other day to ‘expel’ the curse?”
“He did not.” A snort pops out of me. “Oh shit, that’s amazing. Did the doctor say anything?”
“Sent him home with some oils and bundles of sticks to burn, apparently to clear out his aura. Griffin took the sticks. He said that, as a volunteer firefighter, he couldn’t in good conscience let his brother burn those things in his house.”
“Thank God for Griff. With how chaotic and intense Brig is about the curse, I could easily see him burning down his apartment.”
“Easily.” Harper laughs.
“So,” Victoria says, “are you going to come tomorrow? I think Rylee is serving nonalcoholic beverages as well per my request, if you’re not up for drinking.”
“Oh, I’ll be up for drinking; there’s no doubt about that. And yeah, I think I’ll stop by later on. Better than wallowing away in my apartment, right?”
“Exactly,” Harper says with a smile. “And if you change your mind about going alone, we’re only a phone call away. All of us.”
It’s a nice gesture, but that’s exactly what I don’t want. All of my friends to be there. Even though living in Port Snow has given me a second family, I really wish I had my first family. My mom, my dad . . . my twin brother. But we can’t always get what we wish for, especially when one of those family members doesn’t follow through.
With a deep breath, I look out my car window and stare down the double grave site that rests thirty feet away. Though one headstone is a bit older than the other, they both bear loving words about being a great parent, a wonderful partner in life, and a beautiful soul.
Hands on the steering wheel, I close my eyes and will back the tears that already threaten to spill over.
Dad passed three years ago today, and the wound he left behind still feels raw. We lost Mom the year before Dad passed, and I always think he died so soon after because he didn’t want to spend another year on this earth without her. Their love was magical, what movies are made about. High school sweethearts, they became wildlife photographers, traveling around the world and getting to see some of the best sights I could only dream of until they settled down and decided to have a family in their late forties. But they couldn’t get pregnant, despite many years of trying.
That’s when they pursued adoption and got a call about Eric and me. Our birth mom signed the papers right away, asking for nothing financially, only that we would live a stable, happy life. My parents made that happen. They gave us a community, a loving home, and every opportunity we could imagine, even if we didn’t take it.
Losing Mom was hard enough, but losing Dad . . . it still rips me to shreds, knowing I’ll never hear his deep, raspy voice again or feel his big arms wrap around me. I put my life on hold to take care of the both of them while Eric went off to pursue his dreams. It was a decision we made together, one I don’t regret because I was there when the cancer finally took Mom, and I held Dad’s hand when a stroke took him shortly after. I brought them comfort and peace when no one else could. And through it all, the good days and the bad, the stories they told me, the wisdom they imparted to me, and the sly smiles I would gather every once in a while when they were feeling well made everything worth it. But even though the last few years are ones I’d never regret for a second, I assumed the dreams I put on hold would pick back up, and Eric and I would join forces. But when the time came to claim my future, Eric wasn’t mentally or physically there for me.
It was a tough pill to swallow, realizing just how alone I was, how alone I am in this world, but it hasn’t stopped me. It might have been a small speed bump in my pursuit of making something of myself, but it wasn’t a roadblock. My journey is slower than others’, but I refuse to let any circumstance that comes my way stop me from accomplishing my dreams.
Dark clouds are rolling in, and according to the forecast, we’re supposed to get a blizzard within the next twenty-four hours. The temperature will drop, and standing next to a cold gravestone will become unbearable soon, so I open my car door, grab my keys, and bundle deeper into my wool coat as I walk toward my parents’ grave site.
Dead brown grass and patches of leftover snow from the last storm crunch beneath my feet as I approach. Given the time of year, I don’t bother with flowers or anything that could be buried in snow. Instead I think of all the pretty colors I can plant in the springtime. Mom loved pink tulips, but Dad was always buying her daisies, claiming they were understated, beautiful in their own right. I plan on giving them both. That way, Dad will have to deal with Mom’s tulips planted next to him, and Mom will have to put up with Dad’s daisies.
A small smile pulling at the corner of my lips, I reach their headstones and squat down, grateful that the engraved words are still pristine despite the harsh Maine winters.
“Hey, you two,” I whisper. I lean forward and press a kiss to each of their stones with my hand. “God, I miss you.” I take another deep breath. “Three years today, Dad, and I still can’t get rid of this sick feeling deep in the pit of my stomach from losing you. And Mom, I could really use some of those endless nights where we stayed up talking, gabbing, as you liked to say. But I bet you two are having a blast being together again.” I chuckle. “Do you do all the haunting that you promised when you were in hospice? I specifically remember you saying something about scaring the white hair off Mrs. Davenport. I can only imagine the kind of fun you two would be having with her.”