“I know my situation is vastly different from yours.” I steal a glance her way. “I didn’t lose my mom.”
Her expression drops, and she pulls her knees closer.
“But I like to think the people we love never really leave us. They’re still here. Just in a different way than before. So maybe instead of sitting through that church service hating how everyone’s looking at you, we come up with your own version of Emily’s game.”
She looks up at me again, her brows pulled in. Then she signs,How?
“You can pretend you’re spending today with your mom,” I suggest. “If she were here, what would you do?” My expression brightens. “Better yet, what would you want to do with her if today was a ‘yes day’?”
She signs,A yes day?
“You’ve never heard of a yes day?” I gasp, scandalized,especially since my entire life has been one yes day after another since I got out of the hospital.
Presley shakes her head.
“A yes day is when parents have to say yes to everything you want. Within reason, of course,” I add quickly. “No skydiving. Probably.”
Her eyes light up as she signs,Ice cream for breakfast?
I grin. “Absolutely.”
Cake for lunch?
“Mandatory.”
She tilts her head.Ice cream again for dinner?
“Honestly, that feels like good planning.”
She smiles. It’s a small one, but it feels like a victory, all things considered.
“I know it’s not the same as having your mom with you. But sometimes these little games help us get through the hardest parts.”
She swallows hard, her lower lip quivering slightly.
“So…what do you say?” I wrap my arm around her. “Want to go inside and give it a try?”
She draws in a deep breath and shifts her gaze forward for a beat. Then she looks back at me and nods.
I pull her closer, leaving a soft kiss on the top of her head.
“I’m really proud of you, Presley. I may not have known your mother, but I know she’d be proud of you, too.”
She pushes out a sigh as she rests her head on my chest.
Right over her mother’s heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HAYDEN
The function roomsmells like roasted chicken, warm bread, and too much perfume.
It’s the same private room at Matteo’s where we gathered a year ago after Cora’s funeral.
The same circular tables draped in white linen.
The same fluorescent lighting that felt like it was shining a light on all my inadequacies.
