Delicate

Chapter 42

HAVEN MCQUEEN

Sitting on one of the barstools at my kitchen counter, I fold my arms on the marble and rest my chin down, watching my mother in all her grace as trims the crust on the pumpkin pie she's making me. Her lips are stained red, as always, and her soft blonde hair is pulled back in a claw clip with some of the layered pieces falling out. I wish I was her.

"Now, the secret is to add the sugar crystals to the crust before you bake it," she smiles and tilts her head as she sprinkles them on. "And finally, you say a little prayer to the baking gods before you put it in the oven."

I blink at her as she holds the pie out to me like she wants me to pray over it. I'm fighting a smile. "I don't want to."

"Oh, come on," she stomps her foot. "Say the prayer to the gods."

"Mom–"

"Say it."

Involuntarily, I chuckle faintly and place my hands together. "Dear baking gods, please don't let the pie burn. Amen."

"Amen," she smiles like she's satisfied now as she turns to place the pie in the oven, setting a timer before she can forget.

Because she cleaned up as she went along, the kitchen is as spotless as it was when she started, so we leave it to take a seat on my couch instead. It took a while, but my house is officially completely furnished, minus some corners and wall space that could use some love. Still, it feels like a home to me.

"Talk to me, pumpkin," she spreads a cashmere throw blanket out for us to share. "How's your pretty head?"

I wet my lips and bite down on the bottom one, shaking my head while I try to think of an answer. "I'm still crying every single night and I still can't listen to music. I still feel like I'm just half of a person."

Rather than acknowledging how melodramatic that is, she nods as seriously as ever, reaching her arm out until I move in closer to cuddle with her. "I wish there was a good explanation for why this happened and I wish it wasn't so hard to get over. And I wish I could take it all away for you."

"I know," I rest my head on her shoulder while she pets my hair. "It seems like every day it gets a little bit easier, but then I'll be reminded of something or he'll text me and everything falls apart all over again. It's like trying to build a sand castle during high tide."

"Well, that's why he's coming to pick his things up tonight, right? And you're going to get closure?"

My stomach turns at the mention of all that as if it wasn't my idea. Honestly, I just can't stand looking at his bag in my room anymore and it's been a month. It's time to start moving on. "Yeah, I think so. I just can't even tell you how terrified I am to see him again."

"Why's that?"

I pull back to look at her. "Why were you so hesitant to see Dad in person again after all that time?"

In response, she presses her lips together like she understands without needing to give herself up by answering the question. "You haven't spoken to him at all except to tell him that you want him to get his things?"

"No," I rub my eyes, mindful of the light coat of mascara on them. "He's been calling me every single day."

"Every single day?"

I nod. "He hasn't missed a single one since it happened. The only difference is that he'll call at different times so I never know when it's coming, but I've been ignoring him so he'll just leave a voicemail instead."

"Hm," she keeps playing with my hair, sighing deeply. "I just still can't believe it. He was such a good one. I could see it and I could feel it."

Join the fucking club.