That I’ll take care of dad.
That I’ll go to college and be everything she knew I could be.
That I’ll be happy.
That I’ll try to be happy not just when it’s easy but when it isn’t.
That I’ll keep the window open.
I leave the daisies.
Walk back to the car.
Cassian is leaning against the passenger side.
He doesn’t ask how it went.
He just opens his arms.
I walk directly into them.
And then I kiss him.
Full and grateful and completely snot-filled because I’ve been crying for an hour and I am nothing if not consistent.
He makes a noise of mild protest.
Kisses me back anyway.
“Disgusting,” he says against my mouth.
“You love me,” I say.
“Unfortunately,” he says.
I laugh.
• • •
I feel okay.
I actually, genuinely, in a way that isn’t medication or distraction or denial — feel okay.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
But okay.
Like something that had been wound too tight has finally let out a little slack.
Like I can finally get some air in.
Like I said goodbye.
We get home and I find my dad in the kitchen.
Making dinner.
