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“Yes,” Audra says firmly. “It does.”
“It doesn’t,” I try again. “Because now there’s this little girl growing in there,” I softly rub her belly. “And she’s not a mistake. She’s not a shouldn’t-have-happened. Or a regret, Audra. She’s part of you and she’s part of Matt. She made you guys a family. And I’m starting to think that it doesn’t really matter how people end up together, just that they do.”
Audra’s tears slow. “You’re not mad at me?”
I give her a lop-sided smile. “No. Not at all.”
“Do you think they’ll be mad at me?” She motions towards our group settled on blankets and camping chairs in the distance.
The sun is slipping behind the mountain, the light soft and glowing as it illuminates all the people I call family. If I had a camera, it'd be my favorite picture.
“No,” I tell her. “We all screw up sometimes. That’s just life. And those people over there might give you a piece of their mind and call you out on your crap when you need it, but they’ll always be there for you. Even though we’re not blood, we’re still family. Now that you’re a part of Matt’s, you’re a part of all of ours, too.”
Audra lunges forward and wraps her arms around my neck. “You have no idea what that means to me, Jenny. I’ve never had a family like yours before.”
And she hasn’t. Because her parents are gone again. Off on some adventure without her.
Seriously, parents of the year.
Maybe it's crazy to think that Audra's white lie ended up changing everything for the better. But Audra was always meant to end up with us.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Chapter 46
The first snow of October has already come and gone. The remaining leaves on the trees look like they're hanging on for dear life, but the changing seasons are forcing them to let go. I feel like those leaves. Time refuses to slow down as the days slip further and further away from me.
Each sunrise, cold breeze and inky night sky remind me that Diane doesn’t have much longer. Will she make it to Thanksgiving? Christmas? To the birth of her granddaughter?
Or will she succumb to her illness and go sooner?
I hate not knowing.
Every time Mom calls, I assume it’s to tell me Diane's gone. I dread the moments when my cell phone rings, chimes or vibrates.
Sometimes, I leave my phone in my purse so I’m not tempted to check it obsessively while I’m working. It makes it easier to pretend everything’s fine while I refill coffee cups and steam milk and put pastries in the display case.
It's not fine. I want more time—infinitely more—with Diane. It seems so unfair that I live two hours away now, in a place that's mostly unfamiliar. And I'm lonely when Kyle's working late or studying for a test or going to class. I don't know when he sleeps. He's busy all the time and our schedules don't give us much time together.
Homesick.
I think I'm just homesick. For the mountain. For Mom and Dad. For Kyle. For life before Diane's brain tumor took over. I wish things could have stayed the same for a little while longer.
One of our regulars, a bicyclist who wears skintight black spandex and likes to flirt with me, walks into the coffee shop. Brian’s auburn helmet hair makes me laugh as I start a new pot of coffee for him. He can down three cups in just a few minutes.
“The boss in?” he asks as he leans his elbows on the white counter space.
I nod my head. “He is.”
“I better keep a safe distance then,” he jokes.
“You could just stop flirting with me,” I suggest as I set a mug down in front of him.
He gives me a crooked smile, flashes his eyebrows playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”
We banter back and forth for a few minutes until another customer arrives. Brian takes a seat by the window as I finish up the woman’s nonfat soy vanilla latte.
As I’m refilling Brian’s mug, the door to the Gallery opens and, from a distance, I can see who’s walking in.
