She Drives Me Crazy(58)

“So you didn’t have butterflies when you started dating Mom?”

Mom raises her eyebrows in a way that means Be careful what you say here, buddy. Dad merely kisses her hand.

“I thought there was no way in hell I’d end up with your mom,” he says. “We weren’t each other’s types. She was ten years younger than me, much better-looking, and she loved to put me in my place.”

“And I had a five-year-old,” Mom says. “And your dad didn’t want kids.”

“I thought I didn’t. But let me tell you, something with your mother and me just worked. The more I saw her, the more time we spent together, she came to feel like home. Being with her was like a warm, cozy buzz.” He pauses, and his eyes twinkle satisfactorily. “Not so much butterflies as bumblebees.”

Daphne giggles. “Good one, Dad.”

“And wouldn’t you know, the more time I spent with Thora, the more I enjoyed being a dad. She was the cutest, spunkiest little kid I’d ever seen, even when she pushed our buttons.”

Thora smirks, her chin in her hand.

“So before I knew it, we had not just one precious little girl, but three of them! And here they are, growing up too fast, learning how their hearts work.”

Mom smooths my hair back from my forehead. I melt into her shoulder, sniffling and wiping my eyes.

“I really like Irene,” I admit. “But I think I just ruined everything. There’s no way she’ll even look at me again.”

Mom smiles wryly. “Don’t count yourself out, sweetheart. Let the wounds breathe for a bit and see what happens.”

“I’m tired of wounds. I still feel sad about Tally even with all the work I’ve done to get over her. I feel like I gave her a piece of me I’m never going to get back.”

“My sweet girls, let me tell you something,” Mom says, looking around to each of us. “You will move through life and fall in love with many different people, and at some point, you will get your heart broken. It’s unavoidable. The key is to not be afraid of the breaking. People break our hearts, but they create more room in them first, and that room makes it possible for us to become more ourselves.”

“I don’t think I’ve become more myself,” I whisper.

“You can’t always see the process when it’s happening,” Dad says. “But a year from now, you’ll see how the pieces lined up. Give yourself time to heal, Scottie. Give yourself a break.”

I nod, wiping my eyes. BooBoo jumps into my lap and purrs against my stomach.

“All right,” Mom says. “That’s enough heavy stuff for today. Time to let things breathe.”

“Yeah, time to leave this bullshit behind,” Daphne says unexpectedly.

“Daphne—” Mom starts, but when she sees the rest of us cracking up, she buries her face in her hands and laughs.



* * *



I wake up exhausted the next morning. It feels like all the heavy emotions I’ve been carrying these last few months have finally knocked me down and told me to stay there. I feel some relief after talking with my family yesterday, but I also know I have a long healing path in front of me. Because that’s the truth I have to face: It’s time to meet my grief head-on and allow it to move through me.

There’s a gentle knock on my bedroom door. Three people poke their heads in: Thora, Daphne, and, to my surprise, Danielle. They hover in the doorway, eyebrows raised like they’re not sure what kind of state they’ll find me in. When I pat my bed, smiles break out on their faces. My sisters snuggle up on either side of me while Danielle sits cross-legged at my feet, balancing a mug of coffee in her hands. Daphne hands me a coffee of my own in her favorite mug, the vintage Peter Rabbit one we’ve had since we were little.

“When did you get here?” I ask Danielle.

She wrinkles her nose. “Half an hour ago. Thora texted me. I showed Daph how to make coffee.”

I smile my gratitude at Thora. It’s easier to meet her eyes today.

“How’s the coffee?” Daphne asks me. “Did we add enough cream?”

I lean into her. She smells like her floral shampoo, the one I only use when I run out of my own. “It’s perfect, Daph. You’re perfect.”

Thora nudges me until I look at her again. “I woke up feeling like a bad sister,” she says quietly. “It hit me what you said about how I never fully listened to your pain. I’m sorry, Scots. I shouldn’t have been so quick to shit on Tally without understanding how you felt first.”

I nod. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m glad we can always call each other on this stuff.”

“I love our band of sisters,” Danielle says, and we all laugh. “So … I heard about the New Year’s Eve party. And the picture of you and Tally kissing.”

“We filled her in,” Daphne explains.

I risk a look at Danielle, afraid of what she’ll think of me, but she merely looks concerned. “Are you okay, Scottie? Is Irene okay?”

I take a sip of coffee, considering the question. “Can I ask you guys something? What do you think of that scene in Say Anything … where he holds the boom box outside her window?”

“It’s so romantic.” Daphne sighs.