Our eyes meet, and for a moment all I want to do is look away. Somehow, manage to hold myself steady.
“She passed within a few weeks of us finding out. Then it was just my sister Kyla, my dad, and me. Kyla was only two. She was just a baby, really.”
I think about the handful of photos Kyla has with Mom. Practically nothing, compared to the three entire albums I filled in secret over the years, careful not to let Kyla see. I never wanted her to feel like she had missed out.
Because she had. I knew she had. I couldn’t bear to think about all the moments stolen from Kyla, and from Mom. Moments they would never get to spend together.
“God, that’s awful, Chloe,” Nolan says softly. I nod grimly. “What was she like?”
“Mom was the best. She was just…she was so in love with life. There wasn’t much that could really, truly upset her. And when shedidget upset, usually it was at something like ‘Why aren’t more people adopting all those stray dogs?!’ or ‘What’s everyone’s problem with two men getting married?!’ She was the opposite of cruel or unkind.”
I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, and I swallow the lump growing in my throat.
“Anyway, after Mom died, I helped my dad take care of Kyla. I guess, in a way, I became her replacement Mom. Plus, Dad was such a doting father that she kind of got the whole family unit, even if Mom was gone.”
“That’s a lot for a preteen to carry,” Nolan says, concern knitting his brow. “Raising a child when you’re still one yourself.”
“I mean, yeah. But I love my baby sister. I would do anything for her.” I scratch at the back of my neck awkwardly. “Kyla and I are very close. We always have been. I hope we always will be. We live together now, although I’m not sure for how much longer. She just graduated from college and is looking for a job. It might take her to another city, or it might keep her in Toronto. I don’t know yet.”
“What about your dad?”
“He…also passed. A year ago. Actually, I guess the anniversary is in a few weeks.”
“Shit, Chloe. I thoughtmysob story was sad, but this…I’m sorry. I’m saying all the wrong things here.”
I laugh. Between both my parents’ deaths, I have a growing list of weird shit that people have said to me; everything from “They live within you” (which issoweird—why are you quotingThe Lion Kingstage musical to an adult who just lost their parent?), to “Everything happens for a reason” (Oh, really? What reason? To give me trauma and a sad backstory?).
“Nolan, don’t even worry about it. It’s sad, yeah, but it’s also…I don’t know, kind of full circle. Is that fucked-up to think?”
“It depends on what you mean.”
“Well, Dad was devastated when Mom died. Like,devastated. He never dated again, never remarried. He kind of floundered. But when he was in the hospital, he looked so happy at the idea that he would see Mom again. Like, he knew his daughters were adults and didn’t need him anymore, so he could finally go be with his one true love and let us figure ourselves out.”
These are words I’ve never spoken aloud. And I know, before Nolan even responds, that theyarefucked-up. Becausethey identify the one emotion constantly simmering beneath all my grief, even since my mom’s death: anger.
And I’m starting to wonder if that’s why talking about my family is so…complicated. Because I’ve been angry at Dad for giving up. For putting so much on me. He never acknowledged that I was still just a kid, when I stepped in to take care of Kyla after Mom died. Because he could barely even take care of himself, let alone his two young daughters. I know why his health failed—it was because he drank, smoked, and ate like shit. I getwhyhe spent the years after her death spiraling.
But I had needed him…and he hadn’t been there for me.
At the end, there was a moment, in the hospital. We knew that Dad was in rough shape, and his heart was failing. Death had been such a scary topic for all of us, but Kyla was trying to comfort him as things were looking grim, and she told him not to worry about what comes next, because “you’ll see Mama again.”
And after those words slipped from her lips, he smiled.
It wasn’t a sad smile. It wasn’t a “Yes, but at what cost?” smile.
It was a “Finally” smile.
And it killed me.
I shake my head to shrug off the grief threatening to overtake me and flick my eyes to Nolan’s. “Pretty fucked-up, right?”
“Yeah, a little bit,” he agrees. “Look, I’m going to be weird for a second here, because that’s kind of my MO.”
“Oh, yeah?” I arch a brow as he gently pushes off from the island and steps toward me.
“Can I give you a hug?”
My instinct is to say no, like it always is.
