Page 34 of Final Proposal

“He smashed the new car?” My eyes grow big. We just got it, and he loved that car so much. Oh, he’s going to be so mad when he gets home.

“No. Not that kind of accident.”

Why does she keep shaking her head back and forth as if she doesn’t believe what she’s saying?

“Then what? Did he accidentally cut himself with that super sharp knife in the kitchen like I did?” Man, I got in so much trouble for trying to use that to cut an apple last month.

“Baby. You need to listen to me.” My mom kneels in front of me and puts her hands on my face. Her mouth opens and closes as she blinks away more tears. It looks like she’s already cried so many she’s probably out of water inside to cry more.

“Okay.”

“Daddy has gone away and . . . he won’t be coming back.”

It’s hard to swallow and my tongue feels heavy. Thick. “Why? He’s my dad. He loves me. He wouldn’t leave me.”

She makes the most horrendous sound as she pulls me against her and just holds on. Her chest heaves against mine and her fingers dig into my shoulders.

It’s then I get it.

It’s then I know.

Daddy’s gone.

My perfect world inside my perfectly pink room on my perfectly lacy bedspread with my perfectly perfect parents will never be the same.

And he’s never going to be able to come back.

“Sometimes people’s minds are sick. And they can’t help it. I loved him and you loved him . . .”

I nod again because it’s easier than speaking. We both study the photo. A picture of love . . . until it wasn’t. “You have his smile and his laugh and his intuitive sense to make people who are nervous, comfortable.”

It feels good to hear all those things, to feel like I’m like him somehow, some way . . . but it doesn’t take away the sting of his absence.

“Do you still love him, Mom?”

Tears well in her eyes as do mine. “I do. Yes. I’ll always love him.”

“So will I.”

“Of course you will. You’re a part of him.”

“But you married Garland, though,” I say of my stepfather.

“I did.” She gives a measured nod.

“So you love him too, then?”

Her smile falters. “He’s a good man.” Her eyes dart to the doorway as if to make sure no one is there and then back to mine. “But our marriage . . . it’s different from the one your father and I had.”

“How? Isn’t being married the same thing?”

Her sigh is hesitant as she moves to the bed and sits beside me. “Garland is kind. He treats us well. He’s a good provider. I mean, look at the company and everything it has allowed us to do and have. Who would have thought that this could happen to us? That I could build that with him.” She smooths a hand over my hair and leans down to press a kiss on my forehead.

“But wasn’t Dad kind and didn’t he treat us well?”

“Yes, silly. He did and then some. What Garland and I have is just . . . how do I explain this? Sometimes two people meet and decide that they want a partnership in a sense. Meaning, we want the same things out of life, for our children, and in most respects, really.” Her smile is tight, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself of it, and I’m too young to understand why.

But I do know that when I look at my mom, when I see her talk about my dad and then Garland, her eyes go from being alive to hollow.