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She struggles to catch her breath as she takes in the surrounding wreckage. “I’m scared to say goodbye again, Tate.”
“I know.” I tug her into me again, wishing I never have to let go. “So am I.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
TALIA
You have to feel to heal.
I feel everything.
What began as an unbearable pain, starting the day Tate left, slowly eased into a manageable discomfort, but it was chronic. Then he returned, and so did the crippling pain, inflaming my heart and reminding me of what we lost and gave up. Over the weeks, his presence turned into a balm, making it easier to breathe and filling the hollowness he left behind.
I hated falling apart the way I did in the rage room. I wasn’t emotionless—far from it—but the feeling of vulnerability that came with releasing those emotions suffocated me, crushing my chest. I was ready to succumb to them all, but then Tate caught me. He held me. He had hope. Hope that we would make it.
He’d always been optimistic, the one in the relationship to take chances and go with the flow. I was the rigid, realistic half of our pairing, always looking at the world through a slightly skeptical lens. It’s why we worked so well. Until we didn’t.
I was sure the time spent together, going on dates and dredging up the past, was simply a farewell reunion.
But through the overwhelming doubt and sense of loss, his hope broke through the cracks. We’re almost there. We’re almost whole again.
And for the first time in a long time, the hope stuck.
I sit in the grass in our backyard, staring up at the fluffy clouds floating by, decompressing from the eventful weekend and day at the office. A burning lingers in the wind from the wildfires north of us. Everywhere is dry, parched, desperate for rain. I close my eyes, manifesting a single drop.
The one and only time I’d enjoyed the rain was our wedding day.
Tate is in town picking up pizza for dinner. I offered to drive, but he wanted to get some fresh air. I was worried he was doing too much again, risking another seizure, and not getting enough rest, but he reassured me he wanted to clear his head after the emotional outpour from yesterday afternoon.
My eyes pop open at the ring of the doorbell. Tate left his keys, but I was sure I’d left the front door unlocked. Climbing to my feet, I brush the dried grass off my shorts and T-shirt and head back inside.
I really needed to check the side window before opening the door.
It wasn’t a swarm of paparazzi waiting on the other side this time. It was worse. So much worse, it stuns me speechless as I gape at the sour-looking couple standing on my doorstep.
“Mom? Dad?” I white-knuckle the door handle. “What are you doing here?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t return my calls, Talia. What else were we supposed to do?”
Stay away.
“Sorry. I’ve been busy. Is something the matter?”
“No. Can we not visit our daughter without an excuse?”
I don’t answer her. We’ve lived in Tennessee for almost a decade, and this is the first time they’ve visited. I’d rather they didn’t visit at all, but if I had to choose, it wouldn’t be now, when my marriage hung in the balance.
“Can we come in?” my mom snaps.
Dad is silent. It would be easier to determine the meaning of life than to work out what goes on in his head. He isn’t under my mom’s thumb, more of an accessory, never as spiteful as her, but also never putting a stop to her hurtful words.
“Right. Sorry.” I shuffle out of the way when I notice the small suitcase my dad’s holding. “Are you staying?”
“Enough with the questions, Talia.”
They walk past me, stopping at the bottom of the staircase. Discomfort crawls over me as they dissect every inch of the entryway. I should be thankful it’s not me they’re judging.
“How are you both? Did you fly? We could’ve picked you up from the airport if we knew you were coming.” My hands twist in front of me.
