Allen shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I mean, I feel bad feeling bad when you must feel a thousand times worse. But he was such an important part of my life these past few years.”
“It makes me feel better knowing that he mattered to so many people,” I assured him. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Both, please. Is Mrs. Walton here?”
“She’s spending the night with friends.” I put a mug that said I Put the Lit in Literature under the spout and opened the fridge.
He blew out a breath. “I’ll catch up with her next week. I just can’t believe he’s gone.” He winced. “Sorry. I feel like I’m appropriating your grief.”
“It’s our grief,” I assured him, putting his coffee in front of him and making one of my own even though I didn’t really want it.
“I don’t know if you know, but he came into my life when I needed him most.”
“How did he do that?” I asked as the coffee maker spit out another cup.
“I used to want to be an architect, and then when I hit fifteen, I did some dumb stuff,” he said, cupping the mug with both hands.
“We all do dumb things as teenagers,” I assured him, taking the chair across from him. I had done a few spectacularly stupid things myself.
His lips quirked. “That’s what your dad said too. But my dumb stuff had consequences. Consequences my mom paid for. That’s when I decided I was going to be a lawyer.”
“Good for you,” I commended.
“I met your dad at a community job fair. I was on my own after high school, sleeping in my aunt’s basement, and was working two jobs trying to save up for law school. Simon made me feel like it was possible, that I could do it. He gave me his card and told me to give him a call if I needed any help. I called him that night.” Allen paused and smiled wryly.
My heart squeezed.
“I blurted it all out. How I’d screwed up, how my mom paid the price, how I wanted to make it right. Simon listened to my story and didn’t judge me. Not once. And when I got done telling him why I was such a mess, he told me he could help me. And he did.”
It was so exactly like my father. The lump in my throat was back. I took a sip of coffee to loosen it. “Wow,” I said.
Allen rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Yeah. He changed my life. He invested hours in me. Helping with scholarship and grant applications. He introduced me to his favorite professor at Georgetown. He was the first person I called when I got accepted. And when I still came up short, after my savings and all those grants and scholarships, your dad made up the difference for the first year.” He stopped, his eyes going damp.
Pride filled my chest, wrapping itself around the pieces of my broken heart. My father wasn’t just a good man. He was the best. “When do you graduate?” I asked.
“May,” Allen said proudly. Then his face fell. “Since my mom couldn’t be there, your parents were going to go.”
My heart hurt for him.
For my mom.
For me.
There would be a Dad-shaped hole in every event from now on.
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sure my mom is still planning to go. She loves graduations and weddings and baby showers. Anything with a party really.”
“My mom was like that too,” he said with a sad smile. “Someday I’m gonna throw her a huge surprise party for everything she did for me.”
He talked about his mother in an interesting mix of past and present tense that made me curious. “Is your mom still…around?”
He looked down at his coffee. “She’s in prison.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s my fault. But I’m gonna make it right.”
“I’m sure she’s really proud of you,” I said.
His smile was stronger now. “She is. She really is.”
I knew firsthand how good that parental pride felt and felt another pang.
Allen glanced at his watch and grimaced. “I should be getting back. I have another exam tomorrow morning.”
“Are you sure? The snow looks like it’s really starting to come down.”
“The highways are clear and I’ve got four-wheel drive,” he assured me.
I walked him to the door. “It was really nice to meet you, Allen.”
“You too, Sloane.”
I waved Allen off and had just enough time to clean up the coffee mugs and start crying before the doorbell rang again. It was still echoing throughout the house when a barrage of fists banged cheerfully against the wood.
“Seriously? Can’t a girl have an emotional breakdown in some peace and quiet?” I muttered into a soggy tissue.
“Let us in before we freeze our asses off,” Lina yelled through the front door.
“We brought hugs and tequila,” Naomi called.
“Naomi brought hugs. I brought tequila,” Lina corrected.
“Shit,” I murmured under my breath before sticking my head under the faucet in the kitchen and washing away all signs of my crying jags.
They entered the house like two beautiful, energetic whirlwinds toting grocery bags and pitying looks. Lina looked glamorous in a royal-blue parka and fur-trimmed boots. Naomi was pretty in a pink puffy jacket and earmuffs.
“Why are you here?” I asked as they shed their winter layers.
“Lucian tattled and said you were spending the evening alone instead of at your sister’s,” Naomi announced cheerfully, her perky ponytail bouncing.
“That interfering son of a bitch.”
“Don’t worry. Naomi retaliated by unleashing the Morgan boys on him to ruin his solitude,” Lina assured me.
“I didn’t ruin his solitude. I made sure that he had the emotional support he might need,” Naomi corrected.
“You have to have emotions to require emotional support,” I pointed out.
“Lucian is pretty upset about your dad’s death. They were close,” Naomi said.
I wanted to argue, to question her. But I didn’t have the energy. I changed the subject instead. “Where’s Waylay?”
“My little tech genius is sleeping over at Liza J’s to fix her smart TV again,” Naomi announced.
Double shit. If overnight child care arrangements had been made, I wasn’t getting rid of them that easily.
Naomi slid her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the staircase. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower? We’ll get dinner started.”
Forcibly shooed upstairs, I slunk down the wood-paneled hallway on the second floor to my bedroom where I proceeded to take the longest shower in the history of indoor plumbing. I spent the first half of the shower passive-aggressively taking my time in hopes my friends would get bored and leave. When it became clear from the scents of garlic that wafted into the bathroom that this was not going to be the case, I spent the second half crying quietly until I felt as if I’d washed enough emotion down the drain to appear normal for a few hours.
I combed my wet hair and entered my bedroom, crawling onto the window seat. Outside, the snow continued to fall. Knox’s pickup was parked in Lucian’s driveway. I hoped he was having a miserable time with his retaliatory forced socialization.
My stomach growled and I realized I hadn’t eaten since Lucian’s burrito delivery that morning. Except for the French fries I’d stolen off his plate…and out of the bag in the car.
I returned to the bathroom, slapped on some moisturizer, then reluctantly headed downstairs to the kitchen.
My friends had topped store-bought pizzas with hot sauce and banana peppers—my favorite. There were two packs of cookie dough on the counter as well as three bags of chips with an assortment of dips. It looked as though Naomi had brought all the fixings for Honky Tonk margaritas, which she was pouring into five bucket-sized glasses.
“Nothing says mourning like post-funeral margaritas,” I observed.