A Cosmic Kind of Love(19)

My heart banged in my chest as Dad studied me carefully. I didn’t dare reach for my glass of water, even though my mouth was so dry, because I didn’t want him to see my hands shake.

For not the first time in my life, I cursed this incessant need to please.

Finally Dad sighed. “Look, I know it’s a little awkward, but we need to move past that. You can’t let your mother make you feel guilty for spending time with me and my new family.”

I tried not to flinch at his words.

“Miranda and Alison are in my life. They’re not going anywhere. So we all need to be grown-ups.”

He wasn’t wrong.

But he also wasn’t the one who would have to put up with Mom’s constant bitching about the whole thing. Bitching that covered her hurt.

“You’re right,” I acknowledged. “But, Dad, I’m not lying when I say I’m snowed under with work. I just don’t think I have time to plan a sixteenth-birthday party on the side.”

He frowned at me and sounded hurt as he asked, “But you have time for that boyfriend of yours, right?”

I stiffened. “We broke up actually.”

His expression softened with sympathy. “No doubt because you work too hard.” Dad reached over and covered my hand with his. “Take it from me, Cupcake, work isn’t everything. Don’t push away your loved ones in favor of your job.”

Duly guilted, frustration cut off my protestations. I wanted to tell him that George broke up with me because he thought I was ridiculous. I wanted to tell him I was too busy to plan Alison’s sixteenth because I worked for one of the most demanding and successful event-management companies in the country. I wanted to tell him that even more so than that I didn’t want to plan the party of some girl I barely knew who had only ever acted like a brat in my presence. Who didn’t seem to appreciate that my dad was stretching himself to the financial limit to provide her and her mother with a house that made my mom seethe with jealousy. I wanted to tell him I didn’t want to plan a sixteenth-birthday party for his “new kid” when he’d never even bothered to show up to mine!

I didn’t say any of that. Instead I pasted a smile on my face and agreed to plan the damn party.





EIGHT





Chris


Standing on my aunt’s sheltered back porch, I watched the rain hit the ocean. Today the sea was a dark grayish purple, reflecting the brooding sky. But as the rain made contact, the water splashed upward in thousands of bursts of what seemed like frenetic joy.

“You’re restless, I can feel it.”

I turned to my aunt as she walked out of the kitchen and onto the porch. “I’m always restless lately.”

“True. But you can usually run some of it off.” She handed me a mug of coffee that I accepted with a thank-you. “Sit.” Aunt Richelle pointed to the porch swing behind me.

I did as she asked, and she sat down beside me, her gaze on the water.

“I love the rain.” She sighed happily. “When we were kids, your mom and I used to sneak out to our tree house anytime it rained. Dad built it and it had a tin roof. We loved the sound of the rain dancing across the top.”

Sliding my arm along her shoulder, I pulled her into my side. Aunt Richelle relaxed against me, and I kissed her temple and confessed, “I miss her too.”

“I know,” she whispered, her eyes still on the water. “She would have been so proud of you.”

That I knew. It was nice to hear it, anyway.

A while passed as we quietly watched the rain together. Until my aunt pulled away from me, searched my face, and abruptly asked, “What are you doing here, Chris?”

“I needed my family,” I answered honestly, my tone a little gruff.

Aunt Richelle caressed my cheek, tenderness in her expression. “Sweetheart, you will always have that in me. And you can stay as long as you need. But—and you know I try to give you time to work these things out for yourself—I’m worried about you. You seem lost.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t know what my next move is. I do know if I don’t make it soon, doors that are currently temporarily closed may never open again.”

“NASA?”

I nodded. “They don’t want astronauts who aren’t fully committed to the job.”

Contemplating this, Aunt Richelle settled against the swing again and studied the landscape stretched out before us. “Well . . . I think the place to start is the obvious one. What do you enjoy? What do you still want to accomplish in life? And before you answer, take your father out of the equation.”

“He’s very much in the equation.”

“Right now, he’s not even here.” Her expression was uncharacteristically stern. “He’s not a part of this discussion, so put him from your mind and just think about what you want.”

Considering it, focusing on my currently itchy feet, I blurted out, “Travel.”

“Travel?”

“I know I traveled with the air force, but it’s not the same. I always wanted to backpack but—”

“Your father said it was for bums,” Richelle interrupted. “I remember, I was there, and it stung. I backpacked, which he knew.” She muttered something that sounded a lot like “asshole” under her breath.