“Yes, I do!” Grammy yells with a malice I’ve never heard before. She still won’t look at me. “I knew better, and I was selfish and I dragged you into all this like a fool. I’m ashamed and humiliated that I put you through that.” This time, her voice cracks, and she smooths her skirt as best she can, trying to keep back tears. “I knew better, I knew better.”
The tears come cascading quietly down Grammy’s face again. I reach out for her hands and cup them in mine, my eyes also wet.
“I miss her too, Grammy. Or at least the idea of her,” I say.
I pause, and after a beat I say, “But I had a dream, and I think I figured out what to do with my anger—how to make it useful.”
This brings Grammy’s gaze right to mine. “And how’s that?” she croaks.
“By holding it close, not being ashamed of it, and then letting go so I can make room for something new—something that will hold me too.”
Grammy nods through her tears. “That’s sounds real nice, baby girl.”
Then we sit together for a while longer—all the things we could say irrelevant, our heaving, hardworking lungs the only remedy for the grief.
As much as my whole rib cage aches with all the could-bes, all my hopes and worries and wants; as much as it hurts; as much as I am angry at my mom for ghosting again—the last thing I want to do is hit something. Instead, I want to gather all the pieces—put them back together, but this time, without fear of letting the cracks show.
CHAPTER 28Juniper
SONG OF THE DAY:
“Hard Candy Christmas” by Dolly Parton
The amount of times
I’ve almost texted Lyric
to apologize
over the last few days
is, wellembarrassing.
Equally embarrassing is
how many of those times
were from the cave of my room
where I’ve spent most of my time
wallowingtrying to sort out
how to beginagain.
My eyes are bloodshot
my hair
a flat mess
after being under my slap cap for days.
I need a shape-up in a bad way.
Finally, on the morning of the thirtieth
Mom busts into my room, unannounced.
