I can practically hear the shrug. “Sometimes these things happen for a reason. Now’s your chance to make things right. I’ve missed her. I wouldn’t be shocked if she has some resentment toward me, too.”
This is bigger than just me, I’m realizing.
I should have realized that sooner.
Amara lost many people when I retreated. She had a close relationship with my grandpa, whom she couldn’t say goodbye to. She was close with my sister, too. And they haven’t seen each other in years.
She loved my family as much as I did.
“Look,” Natalia says softly. “I know that girl’s heart. And I know yours. You’re going to have a lot of making up to do, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
My head starts spinning. “What do I have to do?”
“Be yourself. Understand her. Give her time. Make sure she knows where your heart is. She’s guarded, and rightfully so.”
I don’t respond right away; instead, I let that sit between us. She doesn’t push me to speak, instead allowing me to ruminate on it. Sometimes it takes me a moment to figure out what I'm thinking. To pull them apart and place them in an order that makes sense.
My thoughts are so loud that I can’t differentiate them.
“I feel like I hurt everyone,” I whisper finally.
“Maybe,” Natalia confirms. “But we all do at some point, right? We all let people down. Maybe we don’t show up asmuch as we'd like. I think what a lot of us don’t understand is that while our worlds are crumbling, life keeps going for everyone else. Most of the time, no one else really knows what’s going on in our heads. We can accidentally hurt people while dealing with our own grief. Or our own internal battles. It doesn’t make either feeling any less valid.”
“I love you.” I don’t know what else to say.
“I love you too. But all we can do is survive and make things as right as we can. We only have so much time in this world, and if you have regrets, it’s important to figure out what is going to make your life exciting.”
She takes a deep breath, and I can hear her car turn off, the crackles of the speakerphone turning crisp.
“If there’s one thing I learned from our experience, it’s that there’s always going to be alast timewe do something. Things we don’t even think about. The last time we hear a certain song. The last time we laugh at a joke. The last time our fingers are strong enough to open a soda can. Those are almost more heartbreaking than hearing someone’s voice for the last time.” Her voice is sad, breaking at the end as tears well in my eyes. “I think we take a lot of that for granted. I know I did. I know that you did too.”
“I missed so much,” I whisper. “I’m terrified that he hates me.”
“He doesn’t,” she says quickly, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “You were right where he wanted you to be.”
I breathe deeply. “You’re my little sister. I should have been there for you. And for him.”
“Cooper,” she says sternly. “That man would be haunting you from the grave every single day if you weren’t exactly where you were. I’ve never seen someone believe in someone more than he believed in you. I promise you, with all my heart, that he was okay with it.”
“But you?”
She waits a beat too long to respond, the air hangingbetween our silver string of connection thick and heavy with grief we still haven’t quite worked through. “I handled it. And I’ll never think poorly of you for not being there more.”
“Okay,” I whisper, not feeling like it’s enough of a response.
“Cooper,” she starts, “I need you to know that I’m proud of you, okay?”
“Push it a little to the left,” Leo whispers into the phone.
I stop what I’m doing, a little worried. “Is your phone in your mouth?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It sounds like you’re deep throating the phone.”
“Well, I could just hang up.”
Rolling my eyes in annoyance, I continue setting the things on the counter. I’m hoping that if Amara is up to it, she’ll start helping me decorate, and I can get an actual dining room table, but for now, this will do.
