Page 90 of Torn

I didn’t text Tor last night when I got home because I spent hours sitting with my father on the patio talking about everything we missed in each other’s lives over the past two months. At one point, he went inside to get a cold drink and came back with three gift-wrapped boxes for me, all in pink paper with silver bows.

“Dad, you didn’t have to get me gifts.”

“Don’t be crazy.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head before taking his seat across from me. “I can’t believe you’re eighteen. That blows my mind, baby. It feels like just yesterday we brought you home and had no idea what to do with you.”

I smile at him as I open the largest box. “You did great, Dad. I made it to eighteen without ever smoking pot, getting drunk, getting a ticket, or losing a limb. And I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you to go screw yourself. So, job well done.”

“When you put it that way, I feel like the best father on the planet.”

“To me you are.”

Pushing the white tissue paper aside, I pull out a charcoal sketch of Snuggles on canvas. My hand flies to my mouth as I choke back tears.

“Daddy… oh my God. It’s my Snuggles. This means so much to me.” In the lower right corner is the signature of my uncleLukas, and that just makes this even more special. Lukas is an amazing artist.

“I didn’t have any pictures of her so Lukas had to draw her from his memory. I hope it’s okay. He said he can fix anything that you’d like changed, or he can start over with a new one.”

“No,” I reply quickly, taking in all the details of the incredibly realistic drawing. Lukas captured her exactly and I wouldn’t change a thing. “It’s absolutely perfect. I’m going to have to call him and thank him.”

“Actually, he’ll be here tomorrow night for your bonfire birthday get-together, so you can thank him in person.”

“Even better.”

Smiling, I pick up the next box and unwrap it as he takes a few pictures of me.

“I want your mom to see these someday,” he says, and I must make an involuntary face because he quickly puts his phone back down on the table and holds his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Okay, I won’t take any more and we won’t talk about that. Just open your presents.”

This box is filled with different types of stationery, a new leather planner, monogrammed note cards, and matching envelopes.

“Aw, Dad. You’re feeding my new planner addiction. I love it.”

“Chloe told me you wanted that one to go with the ten others you have,” he teases.

“I did. I’m going to actually use this one, though.” I have no idea what I’ll be planning, but I feel like it will motivate me to do something every day if I have to write it down.

My dad slides the last, and smallest, box across the table to me.

“I’ve been waiting to give you this one.”

I put my hand on it and study his face. “Uh-oh. That means it’s going to be extra special. Is it going to make me cry?”

“It might.”

I open the box slowly, and inside is a smaller, red velvet oval box. It has a tiny gold clasp that I lift with my fingernail, and inside is a white gold and diamond watch that belonged to my mother, gifted down to her on her eighteenth birthday from her grandmother. My mom absolutely loved this watch and only wore it on very special occasions like Christmas and her and Dad’s wedding anniversary.

I carefully lift the watch from its white satin pillow and turn it in my hand, the light catching the sparkling diamonds. The glittering gems always fascinated me when I was younger; I used to call them tiny stars.

“Dad… are you sure?” I ask with uncertainty. I’m not sure I should accept this when Mom isn’t here to give it to me herself. I can’t bear the thought of doing anything that would upset her or taking something that meant so much to her.

He nods, his eyes dark pools of emotion. Love. Sadness. Pride.

“I’m positive, Kenzi. She always planned to give it to you on your eighteenth birthday. She wanted you to have it.”

“Will you put it on for me?” I ask, handing it to him. My eyes are misty as he takes it from me and gingerly clasps it around my wrist. It’s delicate and beautiful and a hundred memories of my mom wearing it flip through my mind.

“I promise I’ll take care of it just like Mom did,” I say, wiping at my eyes with my napkin.

“I know you will, baby. She knew that, too.”

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