Apology after apology forms and turns to dust at the tip of my tongue.
She wasn’t wrong. Sometimes, it isn’t enough.
To say it here, amidst the rows of headstones we walk past, would be insulting. I should just consider it enough that she lets me come along instead of ditching me in the car with Otto. It’s been so long that she has to search for her mother’s grave.
Eventually, we come across a modest stone beneath a maple tree:
Here lies
MAYA TAMAR DRISCOLL
Devoted mother & wife
1979-2013
Janella drops to her knees in front of it. Her breaths leave her in short, staccato bursts.
“Mama,” she sobs softly, her forehead pressing to the stone. “I miss you. I’m sorry it took me so long to come.”
I’ve never put much stock into talking to ghosts. There’s barely been any dead I’ve wanted to honor. Hardly any death I’ve encountered, to be honest, that I haven’t purposefully been the harbinger of.
Yet, standing behind her, listening to her sob, I find myself wishing for ghosts. I want her mother to hear—to see how much she has to be proud of with this person she made. This wonderful woman who’s tipped my universe on its axis without ever meaning to. By simply being who she is.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Janella whimpers. “I’m so, so sorry, Mama. I wanted to so badly. I just didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to stop him from any of it. From selling your café. I should’ve fought harder, and I didn’t know how. I’m learning now. It’s too late, I know, but I’m trying so hard. For you. It’s all for you.”
I can’t stand it. I shut my burning eyes and drop beside her, pulling her to me. She doesn’t fight me. Thank fuck. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she wouldn’t let me hold her through this.
It breaks my heart into a thousand fucking shards when she buries her face in my chest and unravels. More than a decade of grief bursts from her in wave after wave. My hands don’t have to hold her together. Theygetto. They get to cradle her to me, to rub circles into her back, and feel her breaths slow after.
Just like my stupid fucking mouth gets to press kiss after kiss to her face—her brow, her temple, her wet cheek.
I get to do this.
And no matter what she chooses one day, I want to do it.
I need to.
For as long as she lets me get away with it.
Chapter 18 - Janella
It’s one of those endless-feeling days at the café.
By the time the lunch rush finally dies down, all three of us are already exhausted. But no one’s mad about it. A month in, and the café is still doing well. Every day has been a labor of love—and the product of no one person.
Even now, Carmen wipes down tables, and Jin restocks the pastry case. Both of them are vibing with the playlist the three of us compiled over dinner the other night.
I busy myself with fixing the fairy lights when the bell above the door chimes once more.
In a precarious position, I hastily call out, “Welcome to The Great Escape! I’ll be right with you!”
I nearly fall off the chair when I turn.
My eyes latch to the man I inherited them from.
Stricken, I can’t help but look him over. This used to be our routine, didn’t it? On the bad days. On the good ones. Rarely did my inspection find him looking as sober as he does today. He’s showered. His hair is even combed through.
“Hey, Nellie. I heard you got your mom’s place back. I wanted to see it with my own eyes,” he explains when it becomes clear I’m too stunned to make any small talk of my own.
