This. Is. Incredible. But I can’t tell her that because she’s already freaking out.
My mom never goes out on dates. In fact, I don’t remember ever seeing her show interest in any man.
“His name’s Christopher.” She smiles this peaceful, perfect smile. I don’t even think she’s even aware of it as she whispers, “Chris.”
Then she leans across the bed and grasps a cream blouse with ruffles around the collar from the pile. She turns it around, examining it. “This one? With black pants or something?”
Shuffling forward, I pick a knee-length, V-neck black floral print dress. “Try this one. It’s casual-sexy and elegant at the same time.”
She eyes it doubtfully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“Trust me, you won’t. Soo . . . where did you two meet?”
She looks up at me, her lips tipped in a shy smile. “He’s been coming to the diner every second Sunday of the month.” Her eyes narrow all of a sudden, scrutinizing me, the excitement on her face replaced with concern.
“You’ve been crying. Why have you been crying, Gracie?”
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly. Her lips tighten, and I know there’s no way I’m going to avoid talking about it. “MJ and I had a fight. Just a stupid argument.”
I hate myself for involving MJ. I held back information from her. After my first trip to Boston to get closure, I’d told MJ I’d ended things with Sol. And now, things have fallen apart. I’ll have to tell her the truth.
God, who is this person I’ve become?
“Hmm. You two never fight about anything.”
“Well, it finally happened,” I mutter around the lump of guilt in my throat.
That answer seems to satisfy her. At least for now.
Her gaze bounces to the clock on her nightstand. “Oh, shit,” she curses as she rushes out of the room. “He’ll be here in thirty minutes. I still need to take a shower.”
I snicker. Mom hardly ever curses. Honestly, seeing her flustered like this has me smiling.
At exactly 7:30 p.m., the doorbell rings. I sprint for the door and fling it open. Standing in front of me is a man who is probably six feet tall with light brown skin, dark hair sprinkled with gray, and warm brown eyes.
He smiles down at me, lines fanning the corners of his eyes. Kindness swirls in those chocolate depths. “You must be Grace. Christopher Goldberg.” He sticks out his hand in greeting, and I place mine in his. “Call me Chris.”
Oh, I already like this guy.
“It’s great to meet you, Chris.” Smiling, I step aside and usher him inside. “Mom will be ready in a few minutes.”
His gait is confident as though he knows his worth and he wants the world to know, too. Not in a douchebag way, though. He lowers his long frame onto the couch and smiles up at me.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Water, beer, um, milk . . .”
His warm smile morphs into a full-blown grin. “Water’s fine.”
Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, I return, handing it to him. He smooths a palm down the front of his black pants.
“Nervous?”
“Yeah.” He laughs. “Took me a long time to ask your mom out on a date. And when I did, she kept turning me down. Now I’m here, still wondering if she’ll walk in and cancel on me.”
It’s quite refreshing to see this reaction from him.
“If it makes you feel better, she’s super nervous, too.”
“Actually, it does.” He exhales, snaps the bottle cap, and drinks deeply.
When Mom walks in a few minutes later, she looks stunning. Chris’s eyes widen, a smile of appreciation spreading across his face.
“Okay, have fun, kids,” I say, clapping my hands. “And, Mom . . . curfew’s at half past eleven.”
Mom laughs as Chris says, “I’ll make sure she gets home on time.”
He reaches for the door to open it for my mom, and I give her a thumbs-up to show my approval when she looks over her shoulder as they walk out.
Retrieving my phone from my purse, I unlock the screen to text MJ and see several text messages from Sol. I read and reread them before finally wiping my wet cheeks. I type, I’m home. Everything’s okay. Thank you for checking on me.
I want to write more, but I’m not sure what. So I just press send. I’m about to toss it on the pillow when I see the three dots pop up on the screen immediately.
Sol: Thank God. I was so worried.
I smile, my vision blurred by tears and my chest expanding at his words. But I don’t know what to write without making this situation more painful than it already is, so I switch it off and shove it under my pillow without texting him back. Heading for the shower, I decide to wash away my day.
I crawl in bed afterward and curl into a ball with the blanket cocooning me.
With the lights off, I let myself fall off the cliff and into the crashing waves of heartbreak.
Our love was a tragedy from the start, but like addicts, we kept coming back for more until, eventually, something had to give.
Tears are like rain for our souls. They wash away the pain and sadness in our hearts so we don’t drown. That’s what my mom once told me.
But my tears aren’t washing away the pain and sadness. Instead, they bring clarity.
Never again will I be someone’s second best.
The following morning I wake up feeling exhausted, with my eyes swollen from crying. Thoughts of what happened yesterday flash inside my head, triggering a fresh wave of tears.
The more I cry, the worse the pain builds in my chest. It’s too much. I need to stop before it destroys me, but I don’t know how to do that.
I have to try.
All I need to do is take a deep breath and release the ache.
Breathe in.
One, two, three.
Breathe out.
I repeat the process a few more times, my gaze fixed on the origami cranes swaying on a string from the ceiling until the hiccups stop and my breathing normalizes. My gaze cuts across to the desk, landing on the Memory Jar. Every good memory with Sol is stored in that glass.
How do I push past this pain? My head’s pounding and even though she has no idea what’s going on, the thought of facing my mom makes me queasy.
But I can’t keep myself holed up in here the whole day. She’ll know something is wrong, then I will have no choice but to tell her before I’m ready.
Dragging myself out of bed, I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. When I walk into the kitchen, Mom’s sitting in her usual spot at the table, smiling into the mug of coffee cupped between her palms. Lost in thought. Happy thoughts. She looks content.
I spent the past hour in bed, debating what I’m going to tell her about Sol and me. Now I’m standing five feet from her, nauseous and nervous, and I’m still clueless.
My eyes close briefly, and I imagine the disappointment clouding her eyes.
I wish I could avoid telling her.
But I can’t. She’s my mom, and I don’t want to keep it from her. Something like this will eventually come out, and I want her to hear it from me first.
“Morning,” I greet, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. “Date went well last night?”