Page 84 of Letters to the Lost

“He was. He was attentive, always making sure to be home for him on birthdays and Christmas,” she tells me, shattering my heart further.

“Then why is it so hard for him to love me like that?” I voice to her, hating how broken I sound, “Is there something wrong with me that makes me unlovable?”

“No Sugar. You are one of the most lovable people in this house, including those puppies of yours. Your dad is just being a dick right now,” Mrs. McKay says to me, her voice holding no humor as she looks at me with a sad smile.

“So why is he like this?”

“Because he's a man. A man who was never taught how to deal with his emotions. It’s not an excuse so don’t go thinking I’m trying to make them for him, but your dad had certain expectations for when he found you. He had a whole life planned for when you came home. He loves you, Autumn. Make no mistake of that but he doesn’t know how to process how he found you, what you had been through, and he’s been an idiot ever since.”

“He isn’t trying though. He continuously calls Jane my mom to me, he’s told me that I need to move on from Chloe’s death already. I could list more but honestly, I’m just exhausted,” I sigh, placing my hands around the warm mug of tea as Mrs. McKay takes her seat.

“I can tell Sugar,” Mrs. McKay says sadly, her hand reaching out and resting on my own, pausing the absent-mindedly scratching at my wrist, “Tsk.” She tuts, getting up and returning with a wet cloth.

She pulls my sleeve up revealing angry scratch marks, small wells of blood blooming from old scabs, “I hate that you feel like you need to deal with all of this in this way, it hurts my heart knowing that there’s nothing we can do right now to help other than support you.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, attempting to pull my arm away from her. Shame washes over me, as I desperately try to pull my sleeve down over the wet skin.

“Nothing to apologize for Sugar. You have been through so much in such a short life, that you have to apologize for nothing. Just try to get better. Not for me, or those men of yours but yourself,” She says, kissing my forehead.

Deciding to change the subject, I pick up a salted caramel cookie from the plate in the middle of the table and bite into the chewy goodness.

“So good,” I mumble around my chewing, my hand covering my mouth, so I don’t spit crumbs at Mrs. McKay.

“Apparently not as good as you are. Zander won’t stop bragging about how good of a baker you are,” She compliments.

“He’s exaggerating. It’s just a simple recipe.”

“I’m sure he’s not Sugar. That boy has no problem voicing his displeasure when it comes to food,” Mrs. McKay laughs, her hand reaching for her own cookie, devouring it in just a few bites, “Are you excited to meet everyone?”

“I am. I think it will be good to finally see everyone. I feel bad like I’ve been a bad girlfriend putting it off for so long, but I just could never bring myself to do it. It just felt like too much all at once,” I tell her.

My hand twitches the urge to scratch at my wrist intensifying by the minute. I’m not lying when I tell her that I’m looking forward to seeing everyone, but I’m also so overwhelmed at the idea of being surrounded by them all that I want to hide away in my room until they leave.

Tobias has promised to steal me away for a moment if things get too much, his dad not being invited gives him the perfect advantage of allowing him to stay by my side the entire time.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite granddaughter!” Doc exclaims from the kitchen doorway, a sheepish Tobias trailing behind him.

“Doc!” I shout, happy to see him.

Jumping up I walk into his open arms, feeling protected as I sink into his comforting embrace.

This man has been my rock through my recovery, his insistence on being by my bedside while I was in the hospital even when he was tired, and his weekly check-ins have brought us closer.

“When will you start calling me pops?” he asks, his lips forming a mocking pout as his eyes crinkle at the sides with a smile.

“When you buy me another puppy,” I deadpan.

“How about a cat?” He tries to negotiate.

“Hmm... maybe.”

“No more animals!” Dad’s still slurred voice sounds from down the hall.

All humor is sucked from the room, tension filling the air as Dad’s footsteps echo. His steps are harsh and fast as he walks toward us all.

“Mr. Carraher,” Doc formally greets Dad. All pleasantries fall away as Doc turns professional as Dad comes into the kitchen.

Their relationship has turned strained since my hospital stay; Dad’s envy is clear as he looks between us both.

---