He apologized and explained what happened to Claud. I knew something was off that day, and thankfully, everything turned out fine. I’m okay, Claud’s okay, and her beloved Skye is making a speedy recovery.
My leg might be okay—my heart—not so much.
With Claud home now, sleeping at Harrison’s is out of the question, and he has wanted to spend most of his time with her since she’s been gone. On top of that, he had a business trip that’s been planned for a while.
We’ve tried to make plans, however with our conflicting schedules and the need for our “relationship” to stay semi-private, we’ve seen one another twice in the last three weeks, and recently, the phone calls and texts have diminished as well.
Of course, I knew this was coming; I just hoped it wouldn’t.
“Are you okay, Juliette?” Barbara asks, and I realize I’m still standing there quietly, staring at an unlit cell phone.
Dropping my shoulders, I swallow my feelings and nod. “Yes. I have to get back to the bakery, though,” I tell her, making plans to see more places next week before leaving.
Deciding I’m not ready to go home, I walk toward the East River and admire the skyline of the greatest city in the world, my home, and take a moment for myself.
I’m trying my hardest not to focus on the fact that I’m standing directly across the river from where I had the most amazing date of my life only a few weeks ago.
I lean my head back to let the sunshine warm my face, let my thoughts run free, and suddenly get an idea. Instead of returning to the bakery, I lie to my mom for the first time and tell her we’re still looking at spaces, then get an Uber to Westchester and visit my father’s grave.
“Juliette, my love,” Mom whispers as she opens my bedroom door. I know I need to get up to open the bakery, but I can’t move this morning. My body is tired, my head hurts, and I’m feeling completely out of my skin…a shell of a human.
I need to get out of this funk soon—I’m sick of crying and feeling sorry for myself.
It’s freaking exhausting.
She walks over and sits on the side of my bed, brushing my hair back from my forehead as she looks down at me, watching closely as I hold Dad’s sweatshirt to my chest.
Closing my eyes so she doesn’t see my pain, I pull my knees to my chest and bury my head in the sweatshirt, inhaling the scent of my father to comfort me.
I miss you so much, Dad.
Since visiting his grave at the beginning of the week, I haven’t slept much. Last night, though, for no particular reason, was worse than the others.
I stayed up and talked to him for hours, wishing he was here with me, needing his advice and comfort.
God, even one hug from him would make me feel whole again.
I scrunch my eyes, not wanting to think like this anymore, but at the same time, I can’t stop. I want this nightmare to end, for him to come home where he belongs.
With me and Mom.
Over the past year that he’s been gone, I’ve never missed him more. I feel sick to my stomach that I have to live the rest of my life without my best friend.
I open my mouth to talk, but the tears blinding my eyes choke me up, and I can’t get out the words.
Mom maneuvers herself against my pillow, then pulls me down so I can lay my head in her lap as she lightly strokes my hair. She’s been doing this since I was a little girl, and I’ll never be too old for the comforting gesture. “Have you spoken to Harrison?” she asks softly.
I shake my head. This isn’t about him.Not entirely. I feel so out of my element in every aspect. I needed the comfort of my dad, even if it was a stone in the ground or a sweatshirt around my body, but unlike other times since his passing, those comforts weren’t enough, and now I’m stuck in a perpetual state of hopelessness.
“I miss him so much,” I sob. “It’s not fair. Why did he have to die?”
My mom stills, I can feel it under my body, then lets out a long-winded breath. It’s hard for her, too. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but I can’t hold this in any longer.
“Is this why you’ve been crying all week? I’ve given you your space because I thought it was about Harrison.”
I nod into her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you could hear me. I…” My voice trails off, unsure how Mom will take this, admitting this to her.
“What is it?”
