How did I ever think I loved my ex? This. Brady and Izzy. These are the people I love.
I swallow. Hard. It’s tough to keep my act together, but I will the tears back.
Leaning over, I stick my nose in her soft hair. “Love you, baby. So much.” I touch her cheek, overwhelmed by loss. Of Cal and Melissa and my sweet, darling Izzy. I hope she remembers me. When she's in Boston and in bed at night and wondering what life must have been like with her parents, I hope she remembers that so many people love her.
I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry I let your parents down. Images from that night flash behind my eyes. The way the barn door banged open in the rain. The dark expanse of night, so dark, I couldn’t see the stars. How I couldn’t scream their names loud enough when I saw their truck underwater.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions at bay.
“Kat.”
I ignore him and place the binder on the table. My voice is thick, but I can’t help it. “You’re gonna need this. It has every recipe. Every combination of scents. It’s alphabetized. The vials in my bedroom are all labeled too, so you should be able to figure it out.”
“Kat—”
“If you have any trouble, email me, and I’ll try to explain.”
“Katherine.”
I shake my head and sniffle. “But please don’t call. I don’t think I can handle talking to you right now.”
He suddenly stands and pulls me to him, and I bury my face in his chest.
I love you.
The words echo through me as I cling to his t-shirt, but I clench my jaw to prevent those words from slipping.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, making me tremble.
He doesn’t mean it. He has to sell. His parents need him too. What’s he going to do here? How can he afford to stay?
I back away and shrug my bag up my arm. He turns my chin and makes me look at him. A deep sigh leaves him as his eyes rove over my face. “Don’t go. Stay for the holidays at least.”
Glancing away, I try to get my bearings. When I look at him again, he seems just as anguished as I feel. In a moment of weakness, I ask the words I know I’ll regret. “Can you give me a reason to stay?” My heart flaps wildly in my chest. “Tell me you're not going back to Boston. Tell me you’re not leaving and I’ll stay.”
He squeezes his eyes shut like that’s the last thing he wants to hear.
“That’s what I thought,” I say to myself.
He shakes his head. “I just… I can’t make that promise.” He releases me to press his palms into his eyes.
When he looks at me, I give him a sad smile. “I can’t get any deeper knowing where this is headed. I’m in too deep as it is, you know?” The heat in my eyes burns, but I blink it back. “Good luck in Boston. I really wish you the best.” Reaching behind his neck, I pull him down to me and kiss him. “I’ll miss you. So much,” I whisper against his lips before I turn away.
When I step back, he looks away. I know what that means. The word I couldn’t say. Goodbye.
Thankfully, my car starts right up, and I tear down the driveway. I know I’m leaving behind half of my belongings, but nothing compares to the fact that my broken heart lies at his feet in that farm house.
It doesn’t matter. It’s where it belongs.
56
Katherine
When I reach the main road, I realize I can’t see the road through my tears, so I pull over to the rest stop by the highway, the one where my parents and I slept when I was a kid, and I cry harder.
I must fall asleep because the sun is starting to set when I pry open my eyes.
My head is throbbing, and I can’t contain the groan that rumbles in my throat because I’m so sore from sleeping like a pretzel. It takes me a second to orient myself, and then I wish I hadn’t.
I wait for the tears, but none come. Instead of heartache, I feel numb. And maybe that’s a good thing. A defense mechanism. Internally, I thank biology for pulling the plug on my emotions.
Grabbing my phone, I realize it’s dead. I dig in my bag but can’t find my charger.
“Dumbass,” I grumble, dreading my next move. But it’s the only thing I can do.
I head home. To Corpus.
The air is cold and salty when I finally stumble out of my car and up my parents’ driveway. Corpus Christi is on the Gulf of Mexico, so even though it’s December, the ocean is only a stone’s throw away, and I can smell it. Feel it in the wind that whips my hair into my face.
The driveway is lined with cars. It’s Christmas Eve, so I’m not surprised, but dang. I’m not in the mood.
My hand freezes on the door handle. Deep breaths.
The first step into the hallway makes me pause. It smells like tamales and cinnamon and lemon Pine Sol, such a familiar scent that reminds me of family get-togethers. Like the year our whole family was so poor, we gave each other socks for Christmas. Everyone got really into it, and it became a game to see who could give the ugliest pair.