Page 113 of Falling Like Snow

“Sloane, you can talk to me about anything. It’s my job to make sure you’re happy and healthy and thriving. Not the other way around. When I ask you about your life and how you are, it’s because I want to know, even if it’s a difficult conversation.”

“Okay.” I finally look at her. “It’s just when Dad died, we spent that December completely devastated. Then it was like you woke up one morning and said, ‘All righty, well, that’s over! Moving on!’ But moving on literally meant avoiding all reminders of him. Moving on has seemed more like trying to forget. And I’m so afraid that one day I will forget, especially if we never talk about him.”

“Oh, baby girl”—Mom wraps her arm around me and kisses the side of my head—“as you get older, your memories might fade, but you will never forget your dad. I promise you won’t forget his laugh, because you can hear it every time you laugh, and you won’t forget his adventurous spirit or his spunky attitude, because, girl, you got that from him, despite what everyone thinks about me passing on those traits. And while the images in our heads might become less vivid, you will never forget the way he made you feel when he walked into a room. The way he brightened the mood and lit up the world. Those memories never go away.”

A teardrop falls on the arm she has around me, and I’m not sure if it’s hers or mine.

“I am so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about him. You deserve better than that,” she says. “You are so strong. You lost your father—your biggest supporter and most enthusiastic fan—and you’ve continued putting one foot in front of the other each day. You’ve continued acting and going to school and helping me. But you also allow yourself to be sad.

“You’re right—I do avoid everything that reminds me of him, and I fill every second of every day with work so that I’m too busy to dwell on everything we lost. Because, unlike my beautiful, resilient daughter, I’m not sure I would be able to get out of bed if I started thinking about him. I’m not sure I’d ever stop crying.”

“Asher says crying is grief leaving the body,” I tell her, pressure building in my chest at the thought of him. My heart actually hurts.

“Wow, I love that so much,” she says. “And I love that you face your feelings and deal with your grief. I hide from mine and put on a smile because it’s the only way I know how to function. But I’ll admit… it’s also probably not the healthiest way to deal.” She pauses, thinking. “Maybe… maybe we could see someone or go to a grief group or something. Would you be open to doing that together?”

“Really? Yeah, for sure.”

She leans back and tucks my hair behind my ears, her mascara now smeared beneath her eyes. “I am in awe of you every single day, Sloane Sullivan, and I want to be stronger for you. I want you to know without a doubt that you can talk to me about anything, including your dad.”

“Okay.”

As I dry my face with my sleeve, she grabs the bottle of sparkling grape juice off the table and pulls the foil wrapper off the top. After pouring our glasses, she turns to me. “All righty, well, that’s over! Moving on!” she says with a laugh as she parrots my words from earlier and dabs at the black makeup on her cheeks. “But not forgetting,” she adds.

I bite my lip. “Actually, if I can talk to you about anything…”

She freezes. “Oh no… What is it? You look nervous. Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.” She masks her horrified face with a seriously awful attempt at a smile. “But if you are, we’ll figure it out together.”

“Oh god, no,” I say quickly, a laugh escaping me. She visibly relaxes. At least in comparison, this talk will be like discussing the weather.

She motions for me to continue. “Okay, then go on.”

I take a deep breath. “I… don’t want to be the next mayor of Bramble Falls.” She tilts her head, and I rush to clarify. “I mean, I love this town, and I have fun planning all the events. I think we’re a great mother-daughter team and have put together some great festivals and built a super-strong community… but I don’t want that for my future.”

Mom shakes her head, speechless for a moment. Then she says, “I would never expect you to do or be something you don’t want. You know that, right?”

“Yes? But that doesn’t mean you won’t be disappointed.”

“Sloane, you can’t disappoint me,” she says, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “I tried to raise you to be confident and independent and to do what makes you happy. I have never expected you to follow in my footsteps. I’ve never thought you would.”

“But you are always making comments about how good I’ll be at running this place…”

“Sure, if that’s what you end up wanting,” she says. She shifts her body, crisscrossing her legs and facing me. “But most of the time I’m just kidding around, you know, about having to beat me in elections—like you could,” she teases. I grin at her, and she takes my hand and continues. “Look, being a young adult means you get to explore the world, take risks, find yourself, figure out your life. I want you to venture out, to seize opportunities, and to figure out what you want and take it.”

“As simple as that, huh? I just take it?” I ask.

“Well, I never said it’d be simple. But you can have whatever you want—with enough time, good connections, a lot of hard work, and the right mindset.”

“Oh yeah? What about a million dollars?” I ask like a petulant child.

“Sure. I don’t see why not. It might take a while, though—unless you get yourself a sugar daddy. Based on Aunt Annie’s experience with Ellis’s dad, I wouldn’t recommend it, but it’s your life.”

“Doesn’t sound very independent,” I note.

“You’d independently be making the decision to be financially dependent, so there.”

I laugh. “Fair enough. What about a puppy? I’ve always wanted one.”

“And you can have one. When you have your own house.”