A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(28)

I sniffle back the start of my cry and find Lucy’s makeup bag. I dab on her concealer, even a little eyeliner. Anything I can to look normal. When I’m done, I’m better. Not great—but better.

I walk out and find my dad in the kitchen making an early dinner, a red dish towel hanging over his shoulder. “And the dead have risen,” he says without looking up. He’s been using that same joke for years, but it’s suddenly not very funny. “How was the nap?” he adds.

“Refreshing.” I pull out the pitcher of lemonade and I pour myself a cup, sipping slowly. “So . . .” I start. He side-eyes me.

“What?”

“Abe asked me to a party tonight.”

“I’m not sure I like it, Elise. I knew you’d date eventually, but he just seems too experienced for you.”

“That’s just a rumor. I mean, Lucy doesn’t even know him. I want to go to a party, Dad. And Abe’s a gentleman. Completely, I swear.”

My father looks doubtful.

“What if I bring him to church?” I offer. “If he can sit through your sermon he has to have pure intentions. No one else would subject themselves to that sort of torture.” I smile. My father takes a lot of pride in his sermons, but I can’t help it—they’re boring. So Lucy and I tease him about it sometimes.

“Sunday,” my father says, as if it’s settled. “I’ll expect you and your . . . guy friend in the front row. Paying very close attention.”

“Wow,” I say. “What will you ever do if I get a boyfriend?”

“Fret.”

I sit down and wait for dinner, clicking through the laptop that Lucy left out. The bookmarked page is WebMD and I worry again about her cramping.

My father sets a plate of pasta in front of me before sitting. “Have you or your sister tampered with the security alarm?” he asks.

“Uh, no. Not that I know of.”

“Doesn’t set anymore.”

I widen my eyes as if that’s fascinating and take a bite of food. It sounds to me like the gods of sneaking out have smiled upon Lucy.

“Have you been taking your vitamins?” my father asks.

“Yes,” I mumble, knowing that the vitamins won’t help. I quickly compliment my father on his ever-improving culinary skills, determined to not think about Marceline’s stories.

“They say good cooking keeps teenagers home more often,” my father says. He pauses, staring into his plate. “You know, Elise. I’ve been thinking about what’s happening with you—the out-of-body feeling.”

I look up. My father doesn’t even know half of what’s wrong with me, but he might still have answers. Better and more rational ones than an old psychic’s.

“I think it could be delayed grief from your mother’s passing,” he continues. “Or even this move from Colorado. Maybe it was too sudden. I should have thought it through longer.”

“Dad,” I say, reaching for his hand. “This isn’t your fault. Lucy and I could have dug in our heels and demanded to stay in Colorado, but we didn’t. So if I’m emotionally scarred for life, you’re not the one to blame.” I smile, unable to let him beat himself up. “It’s Lucy’s fault too.”

He chuckles, telling me to finish my dinner. It’s difficult at first, but I swallow it down, along with my fear. I wish I could talk to him about the Forgotten, but I know he’ll be disappointed in me for going to the old woman in the first place. My father grows silent. Thoughtful.

“Elise,” he says after a long moment. “Do you remember what your mother used to say near the end, when she was very sick?”

Pain aches in my heart, reminding me of the loss. “She said life was too short to mourn the dead.”

He nods. “Your mother—she lived life to the fullest. Every second of it, even when—” He chokes up and stops talking, waiting for the grief to pass. “She loved you girls,” he says after a moment. “And I know she wouldn’t forgive me if I made you unhappy with all of my rules.” He reaches to tug on his lip, sniffling back his cry. “Am I doing all right, kid?”

“I think you’re doing a bang-up job,” I say as tears gather in my eyes. “Even if the noodles are now cold because you can’t stop talking.”

He ruffles my hair before leaning back in his chair, seeming more content that he did a few minutes ago. As I finish dinner, we don’t mention my mother again. Or my episodes. Instead we slowly ease into proper table conversation.

I think about what he said, though. How my mother thought living was the most important thing. That was all she wanted—to keep living. To be happy. So maybe that’s what I need to focus on right now: finding happiness.

“So a date, huh?” my father asks, sounding defeated. “Why couldn’t you stay ten forever?”

I smile. “I really tried, Dad. So can I go?”

A date with Abe sends a mixture of feelings through me. I chalk it up to my courting inexperience, because I like Abe—I really do. And although he’s a bit unsettling sometimes, he also seems to understand me. Is patient with me. He can’t be as bad as his reputation, not after he took my non-kiss in stride. Not after he was so kind to Marissa while she was a total wench. Abe is a sweetheart despite the rumors. And who knows, he might not even be that slutty.