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“Adam.” Evie’s voice is gentle but stern. “Don’t ever apologize for your family. They’re amazing.”
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. They didn’t scare her off by making her think they’re already planning our wedding. Which it’s possible they are. But I guess she didn’t get that vibe from them. I don’t know how, but I’ll count myself lucky.
“I would have liked to meet your mom,” she says quietly. “Is she too sick?”
The question surprises me almost as much as the sudden emotion that comes up with it. I swallow hard, pushing back a rush of guilt. I should have gone inside to see her. If I hadn’t been so worried about getting out of the awkwardness happening on the porch, I would have remembered to check in on Mom, give her a kiss, and hope she remembered who I am.
“She gets upset meeting new people sometimes.” I lick my lips, debating how much I should tell her.
“My grandpa got like that toward the end of his life. He had dementia too.” She holds the emergency handle while she looks at me, but not in a nervous way. “How old was your mom when she got diagnosed?”
“She only got diagnosed a little over a year ago—I guess when she was fifty-two, but it’s a progressive form. She’s deteriorated pretty quickly.” Usually, I don’t enjoy talking about Mom. At least not the Mom I know now. There’s a lot to process beyond her illness.
Dakota had wanted to wait to get married, but I pressured her to move up the date—to choose a date, actually—so that Mom could be there. I should have listened to Dakota when she said Mom would rather be there in spirit than be there sick and unable to remember most of the guests. People she’d known her entire life.
Maybe she was concerned about Mom. Or maybe that was her attempt to let me down easy.
“I’m really sorry, Adam.” Evie moves closer and slides her hand into mine. The warmth of her touch travels through the layers between us, soothing me to my core.
“Thanks.” I want to go back to talking about who lives where and how I’m related to them, but Evie’s opened a portal where I’ve buried all the hard things. “I wish I would have come back to Paradise sooner, when she first started showing symptoms, before we knew what it was, when she was still herself. I could have helped more. Spent more time with her.” What I don’t say is that I wish I’d paid attention to the signs that things weren’t going to last between Dakota and me. I wouldn’t have stayed in New York so long. I could have been home with Mom.
I feel Evie’s eyes on me, but seconds pass before she says anything.
“That’s a lot of guilt to carry, telling yourself you should have done something different based on the information you have now.” Her brow creases softly. “Maybe you should let that go. Or at least tell yourself that wishing you had been here is a sign of how much you love her, not that you failed her somehow.”
“Yeah.” My breath hitches.
Evie’s hit the heart of what I’m going through. I want more time with Mom. It hurts too much to think about her being gone. Guilt is less painful than getting sucked into the depths of sadness lying under the surface of my emotions.
“So, tell me about her.”
I have a hard time remembering why Evie’s bright voice used to annoy me. Not when she’s inviting me to share all the good things about Mom, while also giving me permission to feel sadness in the telling.
I take a deep breath and turn on the main road leading out of Paradise. “Where do I even start?” A million memories flood my brain, but I land on one that always makes me smile.
“She loves to cook. The minute I showed an interest in cooking, she pounced.” I laugh to myself. Evie smiles and waits for me to go on. “She had me making ebelskiver at Britta’s when I was ten years old. We spent days making and tracking different variations of the same recipe, modifying the ingredients and measurements, then judging people’s reactions. We knew we had the right combo when my grandma—she was the original Britta—would say, ‘tastes like home.’”
“Sounds fun,” Evie says. “Does your mom like science? Your process sounds very scientific.”
The question hits me like a surprise snowball. “I guess so.” I think the question through longer. “A lot of what she did was scientific. She’d always point out scat when we went shed hunting, and we’d have to guess what animal it came from.”
I stop, realizing I’m talking about Mom in the past tense. My chest tightens and breath doesn’t come as easy as it did a few seconds ago. Evie squeezes my hand, and I swipe my thumb across hers. “I never thought of her as being interested in science before. She never went to college. She was always just my mom.”
“Isn’t it funny how we can be so close to people that we miss the tiny details of who they are?” She tucks her arm under mine, and the tiny shift brings her closer to me.
“That’s a good way of putting it.” I wish I could take my eyes off the road long enough to examine every detail of Evie. Her openness. Her understanding and compassion. “It’s probably especially true of moms. No matter what else they do, they’re the place we come from and the place we want to go back to. Metaphorically, of course.”
Evie huffs a laugh, but there’s more sadness in it than genuine laughter. “That probably depends on the mom.”
I follow her gaze to the mountains turned white that surround us. Snow-covered pine trees dip with the weight of the snow they’ve caught in their boughs. The maples still cling to the last of their golden leaves. They peek through the snow-covered branches and the ground below, polka-dotting the white mountainside with yellow. As we crest the hill, a doe and her fawns watch us drive by from their grazing spot under a willow tree.
“Do you ever forget how beautiful all this is?” Evie asks, still gazing out the window. “I mean, are you so used to it you don’t notice it anymore?”
I shake my head, ready to answer, but then she turns back to me. Not for the first time, her full blue eyes leave me breathless. Transfixed.
Seconds pass before I find my voice again. My eyes lock on hers. “Some things are so beautiful they can’t help but take your breath away every time you look at them.”
Chapter 35
