“But I’m worried that maybe I gave up on him too soon.” I clench my jaw to control the emotion that wells up in me. “I was scared. I didn’t want to be left behind when he moves back East.” The silence lingers between us. Finally, I whisper, “Because I love him. And shouldn’t I put my money where my mouth is and fight for what I love?”
My dad grabs my hand and pulls me into another hug, not saying anything for a while. At last he sighs. “I’m glad you came home, mija. You deserve someone who will fight for you.”
57
Brady
Izzy cried all afternoon and half the night. Hell, I felt emotional too. I could barely grumble Merry Christmas to my parents when they called a few hours ago.
The truth is, nothing is the same without Katherine.
Her scent is everywhere. On my clothes. On the sheets. In the house. I can’t escape her. God, I don’t even want to.
Breaking up, or whatever we just did, fucking sucks. And it sucks even worse when it happens during the holidays.
Because here I am sitting on the floor next to the Christmas tree she decorated, lamenting my life like an asshole, staring at this beautiful gift she left me. And I’m only talking about the box and the wrapping paper. Because of course Kat went all out and had it wrapped in some expensive red paper and a huge gold bow.
And it makes me feel worse.
Izzy whimpers in my arms. She fell asleep a little while ago after another crying fit. I lean back against the couch and pat her back. Her little face is still flushed.
“This sucks, Iz,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking up everything.”
Really, I want to drown at the bottom of the bottle of bourbon I have stashed in the office, but I can’t exactly go on a bender with a baby in my arms. Plus, it’ll probably only remind me of the last time I drank—with Kat.
I stare at the tree until the sun starts to set. When my arms go numb from holding Izzy, I drag myself off the floor and tuck her in bed. Her sleep schedule is totally off. Kat would tell me to keep her up right now so the baby can sleep later.
Kat. Kat. Kat.
I’m going insane.
Fuck it.
I stalk to the living room and grab the gift, ready to chuck it into a closet, when a note slips out.
It’s just a folded piece of notebook paper.
Don’t open it. Don’t do it.
I open it. The handwriting is messy. She must have scrawled it out just before she left.
Dear Brady,
I can’t pretend I’m not heartbroken because I am, but please know that I understand why you’re leaving. I think you’re an amazing man. Your family is so lucky to have you.
I wanted to give you something to keep you and Izzy warm back in Boston. Something to remind you of your time here. I hope you’ll remember me. You’ll always own a piece of my heart.
Love,
Kat
I don’t think there’s a part of this note that doesn’t completely depress me. I give in and pour myself a shot before I continue, but I tuck away the bottle. I figure I can still change a baby on one shot.
The box is heavy on my lap, and my fingers sink into the sides as I grip it.
A minute later, I’m staring at a large quilt, the kind you inherit from a relative. With rich fabrics and tiny stitching. All in dark blues and burgundies. This must have cost a small fortune.
If I was depressed before, it’s nothing compared to seeing the words sewed on the front. Above the image of a small farm house surrounded by wildflowers, it says, Texas: Home is Where The Heart Is.
Is that what I’m doing? Leaving my heart behind? Because it sure fucking feels like it.
If I ever wondered what it was like to get my heart jacked with a rusty crowbar, I now have the answer.
I’ve tried calling her a million times over the last week, but it goes straight to voicemail. At the very least, I want to know she made it home safely. I assume that’s where she went, back to Corpus.
My cell buzzes in my pocket.
“Hey, Mom.”
I slump into a chair, exhausted from feeding all the animals, feeding the baby and making ten thousand phone calls. How women everywhere do this, day in and day out, I’ll never know. Men have it easy.
“Your father and I have talked. We think this is the right decision.”
Emotion clogs my throat. “Mom, I’m not sure what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. At the end of the day, you don’t have a choice. This window of opportunity won’t last forever.” She gave me her whole spiel last night. I had no idea she felt this way. “Did you call Mrs. MacIntyre? Can she and her husband help?”
Groaning, I mumble, “She had some choice words for me, but yeah, they’ll help.”
My mom chuckles. I really don’t know what about this situation is funny, but I table my complaint.
Sighing, I tell her I’ll call and let her know how it went. She thinks this is a foregone conclusion, but really, this could all blow up in my face.
“Love you, son. Happy New Year! And please drive carefully. You know how everyone gets tonight.”
“I will, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“And bundle up that baby! I don’t want her catching a cold. Is she over that bout of constipation? You know, baby poops—”
“She’s fine. Her poops are fine. Everything’s fine. And yes, I’ll drive safely.”