“I totally did,” I say, repeating myself. I do a full body sag, letting everything droop. I’m grateful we’re not at Hannah’s place right now so I can do this without another Halmoni lecture.
“Is this part of you not feeling like yourself?” Hannah asks.
Tears prick behind my eyes. “I don’t like this new me.”
Hannah reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. It’s almost farcical the way she does it. Like she’s patting a piece of paper. Comfort does not come easily for Hannah. She tries, like right now as she taps me with a mostly rigid hand as if to say, There, there.
My mom was the best at offering comfort. She gave the best hugs of anyone I’ve ever known. They were tight and warm and protective. She felt 100 percent present when she hugged, like you were all that mattered in that moment—the most important thing in her life. It wasn’t just me who felt that way. At her funeral, many people commented on how they would miss her hugs.
If she were here right now, she’d be hugging me and comforting me with words of wisdom and encouragment. Giving me a kiss on the cheek for good luck. Instead, I’ve got Vulcan-like Hannah patting my shoulder. There, there.
Of course, if my mom were still here, I don’t think I’d be experiencing all these new feelings. I hate how different I feel in my own skin since she died. I’m sure anyone who loses a parent does. I don’t know how you could not be changed by something like that. But what I wasn’t expecting was my confidence waning. Like my mom’s death put a large crack in its shiny veneer. It doesn’t make any sense, really.
Hannah gives me a warm smile. “I think you’re making this all too hard on yourself. Maybe you just need to dumb it down.”
I pull the bottom of my tank top up and wipe my eyes and nose with it. “How’s that?”
She points an index finger at me. “Take all the formality out of it. You walk up to Dawson, grab him by those sexy coveralls he wears, and just plant one on him.”
I give her my best side-eyed glare. “I may have recently lost some of my confidence, but even when I had it I wouldn’t have done that.”
Hannah purses her lips in thought. “Hmm … that does sound more like something I’d do. At least before I swore off the species.”
Hannah swore off men last spring when she broke up with her ex, Ben. He did a number on her. She doesn’t call him the “Cheating Douchewaffle” for nothing.
“Well, if you have any better ideas, let me know,” I say, and then rub a hand over my face.
Hannah sighs. “Listen, KFC—I might start calling you that—I know you’re sad. And I know you’re still in the midst of your grief. But you’ve got to pull yourself together. That boy will not stay single for long. Men like that don’t.”
“Gee, what a pep talk,” I say, my voice flat.
“You’re welcome,” she says extra cheerfully.
“It would be so much easier if he made the first move.”
She puts a finger to her chin. “This is true, but I have a theory with Dawson.”
“Do tell.”
“Your dad is his boss.”
“So?”
“So, that complicates things. Because if he flirts with you or asks you out, and it’s unwanted, that could affect his job.”
I tilt my head to the side. “I guess?”
“So that’s why you have to make the first move—so he knows you’re interested and that the door is open.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “Maybe the problem is that I’ve never made the first move before. Not outright.”
“Oh, you poor, poor creature,” Hannah says sarcastically. She puffs out her lips and shakes her head. “Poor sweet Mags, never had to make the first move. I feel so sad for you.”
“Shut up,” I say. “I’ve made moves, just not the first one. Plus, it’s not like I’ve got some long list of lovers in my life.”
She scrunches her nose. “Gross. Never use the word lover again in my presence.”
“Oh yay, another word to add to the list,” I say. Hannah has a long list of words she hates. Panties being the top offender. I don’t know why she tells me—it only makes me want to say them more.
“So tell me, oh wise one, how do I make Dawson my lover,” I over-accentuate the word and then give her my best smirk.
Her eyes shoot daggers at me.
“Fine, sorry. Just … tell me what to do.”
“Make a move.”
I let my shoulders slump. “Yeah. I tried that, remember? And it kind of felt like not being able to jump out of a plane.”
“Maybe this will be good practice then. If you put yourself out there for Dawson, then maybe it will make you feel more daring and you’ll be able to jump.”
“That seems a little far-fetched. And besides, what if he rejects me? That would probably set me back.”
“Maybe,” she says, lifting her shoulders briefly. “But you’ll never know unless you try.”
“I guess,” I say, and then move to stand up from the couch. “I think I’ll go sleep on it.”
“Okay,” Hannah says. “I mean, it’s only ten thirty, but you do you, Grandma.”
In my room I lie down in my bed, pull out my phone, and start texting my mom. I tell her about Dawson and what a chicken I’ve become. I ask her if she has any sound advice she can offer.
I know what she’d say if she were here. Something like Seize the day or What have you got to lose? I can hear her voice so clearly in my head. I remember what she sounds like, what her skinny fingers felt like in my hand. The smell of her auburn hair. I hope I never lose those memories.
I scroll through my phone, looking at my one-sided conversation that goes back and back. As my eyelids start to feel heavy, I make a wish that she could write me back, just once. Even so, I’m grateful I have this little piece of her still.
Chapter 5
Maggie: Hi, Mom. Today is a new day, right? I never appreciated when you used to say that. Sorry about that.
I’m feeling a little lost this morning, and a little angry if I’m being honest. Maybe I’ve entered that anger phase of my grief. I don’t know what to think. I just don’t feel like me anymore. I know I’ve told you all this before. Sorry for the repeat. But it feels like no one understands. That might be the hardest part. I feel sort of alone in all this.
I know you’d tell me I’m not alone, if you could talk to me right now. I know you’d tell me to be strong and all that. But you’re not here. And no matter how hard I try to channel your strength, it doesn’t seem to be working.
Miss you, Mom. So much.
I hit send, feeling tears sting my eyes as I toss my phone toward the end of my bed and then lie back and stare up at the textured ceiling of my bedroom. My eyes move to the part that looks like a heart, right next to the fan. My eyes go there a lot. I often wonder if someone did it on purpose. I don’t know much about texturizing a ceiling, but it seems like it was more by chance.
I never noticed it until the first night I slept in my bed after my mom died. I’d been staying at the hospital with her, and then in my old bedroom at my parents’ house after she passed. I was trying to be a comfort to my dad, but really it was more comforting for me to be there. Devon stayed with us, too, for a while.