Ready for You (Ready #3)(49)

That was supposed to be our graduation day, our accomplishment.

So many lost moments.

So many regrets.

How could we move forward when we were both still stuck in the past?

~Garrett~

Sweat poured down my bare back as I wiped my brow and pushed my parents’ lawn mower back into the shed.

Correction—my mother’s lawn mower.

Would it ever get easier?

He’d been gone almost two weeks, and I couldn’t bring myself to take his cell number out of my list of contacts. Clare and I still called this our parents’ house, regardless of who lived here. For the life of me, I couldn’t walk into the living room without expecting my father to be sitting in his favorite chair, ready to ask me about work or read a story to one of the grandchildren.

But he wasn’t here, and as I locked the shed and walked back into the house where my mother now lived alone, I felt more lost than ever.

My father had been my rock in life, my mentor and guide, the one I turned to when I needed advice or strength. Even after Mia had left and I shut down and closed myself off, he had still been the person I went to when I needed an outlet.

Now, he was gone, and after a week of silence, so was Mia.

I didn’t know why I’d expected anything different. It was what we’d wanted and needed—no attachment beyond one night. In one moment of weakness, we’d reached out for each other to remember, and God, had I remembered.

Her skin had jump-started my heart, her kiss had ignited my passion, and every single touch had reminded me that my soul would never belong to anyone else but the woman beneath me. Mia owned me and always would. The rest of my life would be a game of trying to find someone who would never quite measure up to the woman I’d lost. Was it even worth trying? Would it be cruel to pursue someone, knowing I’d never be able to give her anything more than a lukewarm companionship?

No answers came to me as I grabbed a freshly laundered towel from a basket near the laundry room. I used it to wipe away the sweat still left on my body from outside. My dad had always been the one to take care of the immaculate lawn. Now, I would have to do it or find someone to take over because there was no way my petite mother was taking charge of that task.

I meandered into the living room, avoiding the empty chair in the corner. I lifted my shirt from the back of the couch and threw it over my head. Taking a look around, I found my mom in the kitchen, trying to make sense of all the food, flowers, and gifts that had been dropped off over the last week. Every inch of countertop was covered.

“Here, Mom, let me help you,” I offered.

She nodded, and we started making stacks and piles. Desserts went into one pile, flowers went on the kitchen table, and cards went in another stack to be taken to Clare so that she could write thank-you cards.

“I can write the thank-you cards,” my mother objected.

“So can Clare,” I countered. “You’ve done enough. Let us help.”

“I just don’t want anyone thinking I’m ungrateful.”

“No one is going to think that, Mama.”

She smiled. “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

“What? Mama? Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t, not since high school.”

“Oh…well, it wasn’t on purpose,” I said, scratching my head.

“I know, sweetheart.”

We continued to make headway through everything, and I stole a muffin from a giant stack. My midday mowing in the middle of summer had left me starving.

“Mia brought those over yesterday,” she mentioned, pointing to my muffin as I shoveled it in.

“Mia was here?” I said between bites.

“Mmhmm.”

“Why?”

“To offer her condolences and to spend some time with me.”

Confused, I looked around, like I expected her to suddenly appear and explain herself. “But why?” I asked.

“What do you mean, Garrett?”

“Why would she come see you after—” I started but stopped myself.

“I have no ill will toward that girl, Garrett Finnegan. I loved that child, and I still do. That hasn’t changed, no matter what happened between you two.”

I grumbled under my breath and continued to pick at my muffin. It was still delicious, and that pissed me off.

“You need to find a way to move past your anger,” my nosy mother said.

My eyes flew up to hers. She’d set down the cards she was going through, and she was now looking at me with that motherly expression that made me feel like a small child again. It was the same expression I’d seen over and over throughout my youth, the one that told me I was being stubborn and needed to get over myself.

Well, I had news for her. I might be stubborn, but I had grounds this time.

“Mom, you don’t understand—”

“I do,” she interrupted.

“You couldn’t possibly.”

“No? I couldn’t possibly understand how difficult it might be for a young woman—still a child herself and probably under great pressure at home and elsewhere—to make a monumental life decision?”

How could she possibly know anything?

I looked into her eyes, the same eyes that had been staring back at me since birth, and I knew she was calling my bluff. She knew.