Rory reaches back into her tote bag and pulls out some flowers.
“Sorry for not coming sooner, but I brought you flowers.”
She leans forward to place them closer to Mom, and sits back again, still balancing her daughter in her lap.
“It’s very on-brand for you to show up way too late,” I mutter.
“That’s—” she stops to wipe her nose before putting on her bad bitch face and continuing. “That’s not all I brought you. There’s someone here to meet you. You have a granddaughter. She got Wyatt’s dark hair, but I think she’s got more than just our cheeks. The Weiss woman attitude is already showing up with her.”
A wet laugh breaks from me unexpectedly. That baby can be stubborn, just like her mama, auntie, and grandmama have been known to be a time or two.
“We named her Laura Lee,” Rory says, kissing the baby’s cheek and cradling her head, her eyes squeezing shut for just a moment.
My own tears break past the defenses of my eyelids and I give up the fight, letting them run rampant down my face, one hand covering my mouth to try to stay silent.
Rory keeps talking. “I wish you got to meet her. I wish you were still here. I still need you, Mom.” Her voice is barely a whisper by the end, and I reach my free hand out, putting it on her arm as her chest shakes with silent sobs. “There are so many things I need help with as a mother, and Wyatt’s mom’s cooking isn’t as good as yours.”
Her attempt to lighten the tone only works a little, as now we’re both laughing, even though we are sobbing, and I think it’s even messier than the crying was.
“I miss the way you’d make fun of Rory when she says shit like that,” I tell her. “It’s really hard to keep her ego in check on my own.”
Rory’s shaking with a ratio that’s more laughter than crying now, as she leans over and places her cheek on my shoulder, but the tears still seep through my gingham shirt beneath the robe.
“We’re trying to keep going without you,” I whisper, throat closing up. “Because I know that’s what you want.”
Baby Laura Lee crawls off of Rory’s lap and starts rocking on her hands and knees on the blanket.
“I’m not at the grocery store anymore,” I tell her. “Finally re-opened the diner downtown. I think I’m in over my head, but you should see downtown, Mama. It’s beautiful.”
Rory puts her arm around me, her head still on my shoulder.
“Rory’s done a great job,” I whisper.
“All for you.” Her lips are barely moving but I hear the words, and I think Mom does too.
I want to ask her questions; I want to unload the things that have been weighing down my heart.
I’ve forgiven Daddy, and I hope you don’t hate me for it. Rory would disown me if she knew. But I don’t want to wish I’d done something after it’s too late. If there’s one thing losing you taught me, it’s not to waste the time I have with the people I love, and I’m trying. You don’t hate me for that, do you?
Forgiveness is harder than it sounds. Rory and I are close again, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forget how she left us. I wish you could give me a talk that makes it all make sense.
I lied on some paperwork and it might get me in trouble one day, but I’m trying to follow in the family footsteps the only way I can. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, right?
There’s this man who’s insufferable and I hate him, but somehow I want him anyway, and I’m worried I don’t hate him after all. What would you do if you were me?
But she can’t answer me. So I don’t bother.
Rory fills her in for the both of us, telling her about the last couple of years. About Wyatt taking over the garage, and how even Weston is back in town, a partner in the garage now. About the woman who he tied down, and how she’s becoming like a sister to both of us. How we all do family dinners on Sunday nights at her and Wyatt’s cottage, and how Duke comes to every single one of them.
“I know he comes to visit you a lot,” she says, a soft smile on her lips. “He probably told you all about his trip to Thailand a few months ago. But I wanted you to see your granddaughter in what he brought back for her.”
Rory holds her hands out to the baby to pick her up and show her off, but my niece surprises all of us. Feet beneath her, she pushes up with her hands and takes her first steps, right into her mother’s arms, happily chirping the whole couple of steps.
Face buried in her daughter’s neck, Rory moons over her, telling her how she did such a good job walking, to happy giggles in response.
When she pulls back and looks over at me, her eyes are lined in silver.
“She took her first steps in front of Mom.”
