They say time heals everything, and you’d think grief would get easier as the years tick by, but I haven’t found that to be so true.
The picture Rory had blown up and hung over her desk, one of the very last we got of our mom, I don’t know how she gets anything done under it.
Not sure she’s even realized that’s why I don’t set foot in her office unless I can’t help it. Seeing my mother’s face shining down, six feet tall, I don’t find it comforting or inspiring, the way she apparently does.
It hollows out my insides, the grief clawing a path out that turns into vitriol so it doesn’t liquify into tears.
The love of her life must notice my thoughts wandering, because I feel his rough hand come down on my shoulder and it shakes me out of my funk before anyone else catches on.
“Thinking about her?” Duke asks.
“When am I not?”
“Touché,” he whispers.
His hand falls, and I have to wiggle my nose for a second to regain control of my tear ducts, but crisis averted.
“She’d’ve loved Amelia,” he says, husky voice lower than usual, watching fondly from the edge of the garden where I perched myself.
“She loves her,” I correct him, and he just nods.
If her memory dies, too, what do we even have left of her?
“Rory told me what you two are planning for her birthday.” Silence fills the space between us, because my voice will crack if I try to respond. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“It’s time,” I whisper, eyes on my niece, balanced on her dad’s shoulders, giggling as her uncle tickles her way up in the sky.
“If you want me to come, I will,” he offers. He’s the only one of us who’s been to visit her since the day she was interred.
All I can do is nod again, and I take off before he breaks me in front of all these people we call family.
The sound of baby giggles draws a much needed smile to my face, and I scoop her off of Wyatt’s shoulders and pretend she’s a plane, flying her around the yard until we make it to Amelia and her mother Billie, standing with Rory by the edge of the far table.
“Mama,” Rory’s daughter calls, reaching for her.
“You don’t want to hang out with Auntie Lexi?” I ask her, curving my neck so I can put my face up to her tiny one.
“She has impeccable taste,” Rory says, cooing at her, taking her from my arms.
I might squeeze my niece just a moment longer before I give her over.
“So, is Amelia giving you the grand tour of the Heights? You settling in okay? I’m sure you two have a lot of lost time to make up for,” Rory asks Billie, voice warm the way it rarely is with me.
Billie looks over at her daughter next to her, the way she seems to do every few seconds, like she can’t get enough of the sight, the color in Amelia’s cheeks, the genuine happiness that she wears like a second skin.
“I’d be happy if we sat in a parking lot together, but, yes, I’ve gotten to see so much of it already. Looking forward to getting into a normal routine here and just setting up my new life.”
“You’ll let me know if you have any issues with where you’re staying?” Rory asks, a hand resting on Billie’s wrist.
“It’s wonderful, please. Thank you for everything.”
“We’re basically family now.” Rory smiles at her.
Weston swoops in, an arm curling around Amelia that doesn’t pull her away from her mother, just offers his presence, a physical extension of his love for her.
My lips fold in over my teeth and I bite down on them, not letting the jealousy win today.
“So, I’ve met your mother, Weston. Is yours here, Rory?”
