“That’s great, Til,” he says sweetly. “That’s a big step for you.”
“Can I be honest?”
He moves his head backward and glances down at me. “Always, doll.”
“When we were kissing, everything was great. But afterward, when I woke up this morning, I felt like I was cheating on Mitchell.”
Roger moves one hand off my back and brings his fingers to my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You can’t think that way.”
“I do, though.”
He has both hands on my face now. “Hey,” he whispers when I try to look everywhere else except his eyes. “Look at me.”
For a moment, I keep my gaze trained on the cupcake case because this isn’t a conversation I am ready to have with Roger. He’s been trying to get me to find my happiness for years, but even talking with him about last night seems like a betrayal.
“I’m proud of you,” he says softly as soon as I finally look at him.
“For what? Kissing a man?”
“For taking that step. It’s a big one.”
I fist the sides of his dress shirt, tethering myself to him. “Will I ever get past the point of feeling like I’m cheating on your brother?”
Roger sighs. “There’s no one in the world who loved my brother as much as you, Tilly, besides me. Sometimes even I feel guilty.”
My eyes widen. “For what?”
“For everything.”
“That’s silly.”
“No. It’s not.” I can see the pain in his eyes. “Mitchell isn’t here, standing with you today with his arms wrapped around you. I’m here in his place instead. There are moments where I’m happy, flying high on life, and then it all comes crashing down around me when I realize my brother won’t experience that type of joy again.”
Tears form in my eyes. Sometimes, I forget I’m not alone in my grief. Moments like this, when we’re being raw and honest, remind me Roger’s lost just as much.
“Don’t cry.” He swipes his thumbs over the top of my cheeks, wiping away my tears. “We’ve cried enough.”
I don’t think I’ll ever cry enough tears for Mitchell. There were so many days when I thought I didn’t have another tear to shed, only to end up bawling my eyes out because of a song on the radio or a memory of something sweet from the past.
“Now tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you figure out what’s really causing you so much pain.”
I swallow hard before taking a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. “When we woke up this morning, Tate was staring at us.”
Roger’s eyes widen. “Oh shit.”
“We were dressed. We fell asleep on the couch, but still. I felt so shitty that she found me there.”
“Was she upset?”
I shake my head. “She made me help her get dressed and do her hair, and she insisted I stay for breakfast.”
Roger smiles sweetly. “It sounds like Tate’s quite taken with you.”
“But…”
Roger raises an eyebrow. “Tilly, Tate’s been through more trauma than finding a fully dressed woman sleeping on her father’s couch.”
I know he’s right. The kid’s been through more in her first seven years than I did in my first twenty. But that doesn’t make it easier for me to swallow or for any of it to feel right.
