Dad got me in a way that Mom didn’t. I knew she wished I was more like Charlotte. Into shopping and sports instead of spending my time behind a computer screen.
Dad accepted me and encouraged whatever I wanted to do.
“Whatever, Dad. It’s just a hobby,” I protested modestly.
“Don’t do that, Hannah,” he scolded.
“Don’t do what?” I frowned.
“Make light of your talents. If you’re good at something, own it. Celebrate it. Don’t hide it away.” He smiled again. “Now show me what exactly you’re doing.”
—
My dad had made up for what lacked between my mother and me. Having his love mattered more than what I was missing from her.
Memories of Dad were bittersweet. I loved them. I hated how they hurt. Even after all this time it felt like I was being ripped open.
When I lost my father, I lost the one person who accepted me and loved me in equal measure. I lost someone I felt close to.
I hadn’t felt that sort of connection since. Except with Charlotte. And that was all mixed up with grief and pain. I had forgotten what it felt like to be cared about and not to have it hurt.
I had tried with Rose. Our quasi friendship had resembled intimacy, but it had ultimately proven toxic for both of us. I had attempted to get close to a boy or two in college, but it had all been so empty.
I spent most days believing I was okay with the isolation. That I required it to exist.
Then my mother came along with a picture of my sister and me, reminding me of exactly what I was missing.
My mother fidgeted with the strap of her purse, pulling it up higher onto her shoulder.
“We don’t do coffee or lunch, but maybe you could come by the house sometime,” she suggested tentatively.
I knew she meant well. She always did.
But that ship had sailed.
There had been a time when perhaps we could have been closer. But the person I had become over the years couldn’t afford transparency with anyone.
Mom couldn’tknowme. So it was easier to keep her at arm’s length.
“You should probably get going if you’re going to see Charlotte. Let her know I’ll be by soon.” I patted my mother on the arm and she pulled me in for a hug. A stiff embrace that had us both pulling away almost instantly.
“Okay. We’ll talk soon,” she said, making no further overtures for us to spend time together.
It was a relief.
It was heartbreaking.
I walked her to the door and waved as she made her way to her car.
And when I was alone again, I hated the silence that I always relished. I hated the solitude I usually craved.
I picked up my phone, wishing I had someone to call. Someone to unload to.
But I had no one.
No friends.
I had built my life that way on purpose, but for the first time it felt…lonely.
