I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Anthony.” She tears up a little as she looks at the urn. “Dad’s life ended. Yours didn’t.”
“I know that.”
“Maybe logically. But I mean here.” She lays a hand over my heart. I move to pull it away, and she takes my hand in both of hers, squeezing. “Anthony. I want you to listen to me. I thought this trip might be good for you. A way to clear your head, figure out your life. But now I think I was wrong. I think this is an excuse for you to run away from your life.”
I pull free, shaking my head. “It’s not an excuse for anything. I’m trying to find the right place for Dad.”
She looks at the urn, traces his name with her fingers. “When we first got married, your dad wanted to go to Canada. We were going to trek across British Columbia and macrame baskets to sell in towns.”
“I never heard him say Canada.”
“He lost interest in Canada after a few years. Then it was Alaska. The last frontier. We were going to get a sailboat. You and Troy would man the lines and learn to steer by compass. I would take photographs, and we would sell them in the towns.”
“Alaska?”
She shakes her head, a soft smile lighting her eyes. “Except he discovered he hated sailing. Made him feel sick. Then came the Pacific Northwest. This time I was going to write books and he was going to ride bikes and we were going to meet up with you and Troy for epic adventures.”
I stare at the urn, trying to make sense of that. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because the dream wasn’t the where. It wasn’t the when or the why or the what we were going to be doing. It was the who.” Her tears begin falling. “You want to give him his future, and I understand that. Because it was your future, too. But it’s gone. You can’t get it back. That doesn’t mean you can’t want something else. Someone else.”
I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head until her hand presses against my cheek, slowing the movement. “I don’t want to want anything that much again.”
“I know. I feel the same way. But if you live afraid, you’re not really living. That’s no future at all.” She holds my face, searching my eyes. “You love her, don’t you?”
Slowly, I nod.
“Then it’s too late to spare your heart anyway. You’re committed.”
“She isn’t. She’s leaving. She’ll always be leaving.”
“Have you given her a reason to stay?”
I open my mouth, close it.
“Your dad regretted every single day he didn’t get. But not because he wasn’t going to travel. But because he wasn’t going to get to spend it with us. With me, you, and Troy. That’s why, if you love someone, you have to spend every minute you can with that person.”
Her words sink inside me—traveling deep. They strike a chord, set off a vibration that thrums through my whole body. I brush tears from the corner of my eyes. I lay a hand over the urn. It seems so obvious all of a sudden. “Dad shouldn’t go anywhere.”
She smiles. “He’s where he would want to be.”
“By a gravy boat,” I say through a clogged throat. I blink hard to keep the tears back.
“It’s okay to cry in front of your mom. It’s like owies. You’re never too old.”
I drop my head to her shoulder. “I messed up.”
“Probably.”
“Mom!”
When I pull back, she smiles at me. “You want my advice? Forget the future you’ve lost. Figure out the future you want.”
“I don’t know what I want. But I do know who I want.”
She pats my cheek again. “Then you know everything you need to know.”
I grab Mom and squeeze a squeak out of her. “You’re right. I have to—” I check my watch. Shit. I know what I need to do. I just hope it isn’t too late.
Chapter Forty
Mai
“You look amazing.”
Josie is sitting on the carpet, leaning against my bed, a box of Joe’s pizza on her lap. She licks grease off her fingers. “That dress is so Audrey Hepburn.”
I swish the skirt. “Is that the movie we watched with the cat?”
“Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
I take another look in the mirror. “I need a pair of sunglasses like hers. They’d go perfectly with this dress.” I look the part for tonight, from the classic gown right down to the sensible heels. “There’s a hook at the top. Can you…” I turn, note the new piece of pizza in her hand.
“Sorry,” she says. “I was starved. I’m almost done.”
“I thought you had pizza for lunch with the boys?”
“The boys had pizza. I was running around stopping napkin wars and straw pellets.” She sighs. “I worked through three hours of practice and then a scrimmage and then a pizza party with no pizza. All I’ve had today are a couple of protein bars.” Another huge wad of dough and cheese disappears into her mouth.
“I’d feel sorry for you, but you haven’t stopped smiling since you got here.”
She finishes chewing. “I love coaching. Plus, Blondie is on his way home for the weekend.”
I smile because I’m happy for Josie, but there’s also a twisting ache in my chest because it makes me want what I don’t have. What I gave up.
“Tell me about the food tonight,” she says. “Is it something I can’t pronounce?”
“Boeuf Bourguignon.”
“Yep.” She grins and takes another bite of pizza.
I face the mirror again. My hand plays with the tube of lipstick. The one I threw out and then retrieved. And then threw out. And then retrieved.
“That’s the fifth time you’ve done that.”
“Done what?”
“Picked up that lipstick. Run your fingers over it in a very creepy way.” She stretches out her long legs, tapping the rubber soles of her sandals together.
I shrug at myself in the mirror. It’s a very convincing shrug, if I do say so myself. “How is touching a tube of lipstick creepy?”
“Because you’re not touching it. You’re caressing it. You’re giving it looks like you want to smooch kisses all over it.”
“For the record, a smooch is a kiss.”