Page 38 of Return Policy

Her pained eyes connect with mine. “I don’t think you can.”

“Try me.”

She finally lets out a sigh of defeat. “I-I lost—Oh my God, this will probably sound so stupid to you.”

“Sophia, I promise whatever it is, if it has you this upset, it can’t be stupid.” The urge to reach out and hold her is overwhelming. “Can I hug you?” I open my arms and watch as war wages behind her emerald eyes. About what? I have no clue.

She falls flush against me, snaking her arms around my waist. I rub my hand along her back as her rib cage expands and contracts in my embrace.

“Whenever you’re ready.” My fingers idly comb her golden blonde hair.

“I lost my sketchbook,” she mumbles into my chest.

“I’m sorry.” I squeeze her gently. “Want me to take you to get a new one?” She hiccups against my chest, and her breathing becomes sporadic. “Soph?”

“You don’t understand,” she whimpers quietly.

“Explain it to me?” I ask gently, desperate to determine the source of her sadness.

“I… It’s just…” Tears trickle down her cheeks.

“Breathe, Soph,” I instruct, taking her face between my hands and angling it towards mine. I make an exaggerated breathing motion, and she holds my eye contact, following my lead.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“It’s not just a doodle journal,” she admits between breaths.

“I gathered that when you wouldn’t let me peek,” I tease while rubbing my thumbs under her eyes to brush away stray tears.

She burrows her face against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. My chin rests on her head, and I’m enveloped by the scent of coconut and something fruity.

“Well… you know how I told you my sister died?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my way of… kind of… You’re going to think I’m crazy.” She shakes her head, and I pull away just enough to look into her beautiful green eyes.

“Sophia, I won’t think you’re dramatic or crazy or whatever else is going on in that pretty little head of yours. I promise. Just tell me.”

“It’s how I deal with my grief… Idrawher.” She smiles weakly as the tears start to dry. “I draw her whenever I miss her… which is still a lot. Today I went to draw in it because it’s—because she—” Her misty eyes darken with pain before she falls back against me, choking on a sob. “I can’t believe I still cry like this after all this time,” she says after collecting herself again. “Today it’s been nine years…”

Oh.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Every year, on the anniversary of her death, I draw her a little older. Imagine how her features would have matured if she was still around. You know?” I drag my fingers through her hair, untangling a lock of it. “Sketching makes me feel like I still know her even though it’s been so long… I don’t know, it’s silly.”

“Stop doing that.” I rub my hands along her shoulders and up her neck, then angle her face to mine. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to draw her every damn day if you want to. That’syourgrief process. It’s unique, and it’s beautiful.”

One corner of her mouth pulls up before she returns to her rightful place on my chest.

“I think I feel better now… Thank you.”

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