Mom doesn't even pretend to be subtle anymore. She practically shoves us out the door with a mischievous grin,telling uskidsto go have fun and promising she'll close up the shop herself.
Those nights are really special.
We'll walk down to the boardwalk, and I'll buy her ice cream—swirl in a waffle cone for her, chocolate and chocolate sprinkles for me—and we'll sit at our bench facing the water. Sometimes talking, sometimes just taking in the view of the waves and the sunset. We'll just talk. She'll tell me about college, living in North Carolina, her classes, frat parties, and the feeling of freedom she felt being out of her parents' house.
I'll tell her about growing up with Maeve as a mom, working on woodwork projects with my dad, and our family camping trips. Fishing with my dad and hunting for herbs and flowers with my mom. Cooking our food over the fire while my mom tells stories, spinning a tale the only way she can, while my dad looks at her like she's everything.
Sophie smiles a little dreamily when I tell those stories.
And I try not to stare at her, but fail miserably.
She hasn't opened up completely to me about Paul, but she's let some small things slip here and there. I understand that every relationship is different, and I shouldn't judge a relationship I wasn't in, but from my perspective, the relationship seemed a bit one-sided. Sophie seemed to be doing all of the compromising and heavy lifting. Not that it’s surprising to me.
I don't know Paul as an adult, but some things just never change.
I don't push Sophie for more information, and I think she'll open up when she's ready.
It's not good to pick at a wound. You gotta let it heal first, then you can touch the scar left behind.
I'm not quite sure how I just know this about Sophie. My mom believes in soulmates and said that my dad was hers. When she saw him at the harvest festival, and he walked up to gethis tarot read, she was just filled with aknowingfeeling. She described it as her soul seeing his and going, “Oh, there you are,” as if it had been waiting for him all this time.
I have to go slow and steady with Sophie.
So last night, I gave her space.
When Bailey asked me last night about Sophie, I told them something had come up, and she wouldn't be here tonight. I think, knowing what she's going through, everyone gave Sophie the grace she needed.
Though Tonya did look a little pissed when she walked into the book club, and when I said Sophie wasn't coming, that annoyance turned into suspicion and worry. That concerned me, and I was only half paying attention to the book club, texting Sophie through the night to see if she would respond. Just so I could know that she was home safe.
Later that night, I tried to call her, but it went straight to voicemail, which opened a pit of dread in my gut. My mom cautioned patience, you don't just reach out and grab something that's been spooked, you go at its speed, you coax it gently.
So, I waited... and tossed and turned all night, worried, until I woke around five-thirty and checked my phone for any new messages.
Nothing.
I tried to distract myself by doing chores around the apartment and eating breakfast with my mom, but I couldn't stand it anymore. I had already agreed to drive Sophie to chemo from now on, so I was just going to go over early and make sure she's okay, and make a pit stop atRise N' Grindafter April texted that she had apick-me-upfor Sophie.
I texted and called Sophie twice more on the way over, but she didn't answer either time.
When she finally opened her door, looking so sleepy and bundled up in her hoodie, the relief that flooded me made melightheaded. All morning, her demeanor was off, and she looked a little jumpy and exhausted.
When I touched her face in the kitchen, I was running on pure instinct because everything inside me told me to comfort this sweet girl, take care of her, and assure her. Her pretty eyes grew a little misty, and then she smiled, and I felt my chest crack wide open.
When she walked out of the infusion center, the very sight of her made happiness flood me, the usual reaction my body had to her presence. But as I saw her face and her tears, that happiness immediately chilled. She collapsed right into my arms, feeling so precious in my embrace, like the dove that my mom calls her. I pulled her in closer, as if I could shield her from this cruel world.
I would in a damn heartbeat if I could.
Since then, I've barely let go of her.
I loaded her into the front seat of my truck and buckled her in, her face still looking a little green. I grab the bag from the back and push it under her chin just before she throws up, and then again.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out, tears rolling down her cheeks. I gently shush her and keep the bag under her chin.
When I think she’s okay, I close the door and race over to my side, starting the truck and pulling away from the curb. She gets sick again on the ride home, mumbling apologies through heaves.
Grabbing a ginger candy from the cup holder, I place it in her hand, and she shakily pops it in her mouth. She spends the entire rest of the way back to her apartment with her eyes closed, leaning back against the seat.
The entire time, I keep at least one hand on her. I park in a visitor's spot at her building and come around to her side. She doesn’t move right away when I open her door, so I grab her tote bag, take her keys out, and then swing it over my shoulder. ThenI gently unbuckle her and lift her out of the truck into my arms, which makes her eyes pop open in surprise.
