Page 123 of Perfectly Grumpy

“We are,” she says quietly. “But we realized we can’t figure anything out while we’re stuck in the same place, surrounded by the same memories that keep us trapped in our grief.”

“So you’re just…giving up?” The question comes out more blunt than I intended, but after thirty years of marriage, it’s painful to watch them dismantle it piece by piece.

“No, honey. We’re not giving up. We’re trying to save what we have left.” She sighs. “Your father can’t stand living with Nancy—no surprise there—and I’ve been traveling, staying with different family members. For the first time in years, I actually feel like myself again. We’re taking six months to figure everything out. Your father’s getting a little apartment near his work, and I’m going to find a place of my own for a while. Then, if we both want to, we’ll try again in a new home.”

“So there’s still hope you’ll get back together?”

“More than we’ve had in years,” she says. “We love each other, Tate. We just forgot how tolikeeach other. This isn’t giving up. It’s giving us both the space to remember who we fell in love with in the first place.”

I run a hand through my hair, processing this. “And the house? All our memories?”

“The memories come with us. But living in a museum with Hope’s things wasn’t helping anyone.” She pauses. “Including you. She wouldn’t want any of us frozen in the past. She’d want us to keep living.”

I spin Hope’s bracelet on my wrist. “I used to read her my stories. Do you remember?”

“I do.” Mom says wistfully. “She used to tell me all about the magical kingdoms you created. She was so proud of her big brother.”

I remember her listening to my early stories, which were pretty terrible. “What are you going to do with her things?”

“Keep her favorite books, some of her art projects, that ridiculous stuffed lion she dragged everywhere.” Mom laughs gently. “But Tate, she was never just in that room. She’s part of us. No matter where we live, her memory is always with us.”

I look down at the four simple beads, lining up the letters:Hope.

“So, where are you thinking of going?” I ask.

“Well, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I was hoping to come visit you for a while. Get to know Sully’s Beach, see if it might be a good place for me to live for the next few months.”

“You want to move here?” I say, aghast.

“Maybe. I’d love to be closer to you, especially if there’s someone special I should meet.”

I grin. “What makes you think there’s someone special?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe that picture of you on the beach looking happier than I’ve seen you in years?”

I laugh, surprised by how good it feels to joke with her again. “Her name is Lauren. And, Mom, I think you’re really going to like her.”

“I already like anyone who can make my son smile like that. When do I get to meet her?”

“Soon, I hope. She’s interviewing for a job in Kansas City this week, but when she gets back, I’ll have you meet her.” I trail off, thinking about everything that’s possible now.

“Well, I can’t wait,” Mom says. “And I have to ask—whose dog was that in the picture? Yours or Lauren’s?”

“Technically, neither of us—but Annie was always meant to be hers. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

FORTY

Tate

To:Lauren “Sunny” Williamson

From:Tate “Sheriff” Foster

Subject:Breaking My Own Rules (And I’m Not Sorry)

Sunny

I know what you’re thinking—Sheriff Foster, rule-follower extraordinaire, is breaking his own no-contact policy after exactly 36 hours.

---