The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(3)

“Just be careful,” I beg.

“Salem,” she says my name softly, carefully. My back is to her, grabbing a mug for my coffee so I turn around. “You know I’m going to die, right?”

I lower my head. I know. Georgia knows. We all know.

“Yes.”

“I just want to still feel like me with as little time as I have left. All right?”

I give a tiny nod in understanding, damming back the tears that beg to burst forth. It’s the worst feeling mourning someone while they’re still alive.

“I was thinking,” she continues, “that we could bake some cupcakes together today. Since I’m feeling okay.”

My shoulders stiffen. I haven’t baked cupcakes since whenever the last time was I made them for Thayer. Afterwards, it hurt too much. They only make me think of him.

“We—uh—we can do that.”

I’m not about to tell my dying mother no.

“I thought we could make cookie dough. They were always your favorite. Thayer, next door—they’re his favorite too. I always took some over when I made them, you know, before I got too sick to bake anymore.”

My shoulders tighten with tension.

“Y-Yeah,” I stutter. “I remember he loved those.”

She’s watching me carefully, with this assessing look, and I stare back. “He’s a nice man. It’s a shame what happened all those years ago. His poor son. I think I would’ve had to leave, but he hasn’t moved.”

“Mom,” I try to change the subject, “do you want a drink or something?”

“Not really.” She closes the magazine and slides it away from her on the table. “He mows the yard for me, you know?” She continues on, still talking about Thayer. I don’t want to hear about him. I don’t want to know. It hurts too much, but I can’t say that to her. With my back to her, I add some cream and sugar to my coffee. My hands shake, but from where she’s sitting I know she can’t see. “He comes over sometimes, I think he’s lonely, and we’ll have a drink—”

“Are you into him?” The question rushes out of me before I can stop it and I immediately cringe.

I don’t even want to consider the possibility of Thayer and my mom. I might throw up.

“God, no.” She laughs, but it turns into a cough. I sit down across from her, watching with a careful eye to make sure she’s fine. “But it was nice to have someone to talk to. You moved clear across the country and Georgia was busy with work and her family. I needed a friend.”

“Well, I’m glad you had each other.”

Fuck Thayer Holmes. He can talk and be friends with my mother, but he can’t talk to me?

I think of all the time I spent trying to get him to open up to me. I knew he still loved me like I loved him, but it wasn’t enough apparently, and I gave up trying. I couldn’t be the only one trying to fix what was broken. He needed to put in some effort too and he wouldn’t.

“When we finish the cupcakes, you can take some over to him.”

I tap my fingers on the table and force a smile. “Sounds great.”

It’s been six years. I should be over him. Moved on.

But I’m not sure you ever really move on from your one true love.





CHAPTER 3





SALEM





The kitchen smells of cupcakes and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m weak and cave to the need to eat one. They taste just as good as I remember, and baking felt good too. It was like riding a bicycle. I don’t think I let myself realize how much I missed it.

“I need to … go sit down for a while.” My mom sounds out of breath, the weakness creeping back in.

“No problem.” I rush around the counter to her side, giving her my arm to hold on to. I guide her into the living room, feeling her rest more of her weight against me as we go. “Do you want to sit on the couch or the bed.”

She thinks for a moment. “Bed.”

“Okay.” I help her into the hospital bed and cover her with blankets. “Rest, Mom.” I kiss her forehead.

“Don’t forget to take cupcakes to Thayer.”

I stifle a groan. “I won’t.”

I send up a silent prayer he won’t be home when I take them over.

Her eyes grow heavy and she’s already dozing off asleep before I leave the room.

My phone rings and it’s Georgia.

“Hey.” I put her on speaker so I can clean up the kitchen as we talk. “What’s up?”

“How’s Mom today?”

“She had some energy this morning but she’s taking a nap now. We made cupcakes.”

“Oh.” I hear the smile in her voice. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“I thought so too.” I load the dishwasher.

“Thank you for coming and staying with her. I know you didn’t want to, and I don’t blame you, and I understand not wanting to have—”

“Georgia, she’s our mom. You don’t need to thank me. I want to be here. I need to be.”

She clears her throat and I know she’s getting a bit choked up. “I have to get back to work. I’ll call you later.”