Page 35 of Almost Perfect
“Thank you. Maybe taste it first to confirm,” I joked, and watched as she chewed a bite. Her eyes fluttered shut for a minute as she tasted the food, and my stomach dropped.
Time to focus elsewhere. I dove into my piece just as a bang sounded from the mudroom.
“It is colder than a bucket of ice cubes out there.” Warrick slammed the garage door and must’ve taken a moment to ditch his shoes before coming all the way inside.
“Told you it wasn’t a good run day.” I didn’t need to say it, but I couldn’t resist. He’d gotten annoyed when I’d said he should hit the treadmill instead.
“You went running outside?” Calla asked, mildly terrified.
War tugged his gloves off and tossed them on the counter. Then came his fleece cap, which left his hair sticking up in all directions. “I did. But I don’t even want to talk about that because it smells so good in here. I’m going to go thaw in the shower, and I’ll be back to inhale that before I head to town.”
And with that, he disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, leaving me and Calla staring after him.
“He can be a little like a storm that blows through. You just have to go with it,” I said, returning to my meal.
“I like it. He’s got such crazy good energy. Like, he comes in a room and it just gets brighter, you know?” She stared after him.
Jealousy twitched in the back of my mind, but I stomped on it. She spoke true.
“You’re right. He’s always been that way. There’s a bit of a gap between me and War, and even Wilder and him. We were all so desperately sad for so long after my dad passed, and Warrick was like this… little sunbeam we could focus our energy and attention on.”
Her eyes found mine. “When did your father…”
“I was eight. He was twenty-eight. Wilder was six and War was about six months. Car accident.”
Her dark eyes were all compassion. The feel of her hand on my wrist, just a gentle squeeze, didn’t surprise me either. She’d done something similar when I’d mentioned Charlie. And since I’d thought about the lightning bolt her touch had sent into my brain the other day, I didn’t end up decompensating into a stunned statue of myself at this contact, thankfully.
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine losing someone that young.”
Her fingers brushed against my skin again, and her hand fell away.
I wanted to grab it and bring it back. Or take it in mine and knit us together there, fit our palms to each other and allow us to just feel for a moment. The longing to physically connect with her beat boldly in my chest, but I didn’t. Of course, I didn’t.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago, but we all miss him. Sometimes, I think maybe War does the most because he had so little time with him. A handful of photos of him being held as a baby, and no real memories except stories he’s heard so often they became memories.”
She swallowed. “It’s good you tell stories to remember.”
It hit me. Somehow, itjust nowhit me. She’d lost her mother, and recently. “I’m sorry for your loss. For your mother.”
She straightened in her seat and speared another bite of breakfast. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s… I don’t know.”
I waited, not sure what to say in response to that, a dull ache in my gut lingering from talk of losing my dad and the thought of how vivid her grief must be. After a moment of searching around the room, her gaze found mine.
“We had a pretty unhealthy mother-daughter relationship. She was my mom, but after the first year or two of modeling, she became more like a guardian and manager. She was my manager for a long time, until we hired someone. But I don’t really remember her being much of a mother after I started working.”
Her voice was smooth and calm, almost like she sat at a distance from all of this.
“That sounds difficult in its own right, aside from the loss.”
How would it be to have a parent who didn’t act like one? The concept sounded so foreign to me, especially because my own mother was so engaged with us, so loving. Like she had to be to make up for what we’d lost, and yet I knew she would’ve been that way if Dad hadn’t died.
“It’s funny. I’ve cried more in the last ten days of being here than I have… probably ever. But I think most of what I’m grieving is just that. The feeling like I lost a mother so long ago, and the woman who died a year and a half ago was something far more complex.”
Her brow furrowed and she looked so raw. I wished it wouldn’t be out of place for me to pull her into a hug.
“It’s good you’re grieving, though. Keeping all of that bottled up can’t be healthy.”
She nodded. “I know. It’s exhausting and I hate it, but I also feel a little better lately. Like acknowledging how messed up our relationship was, that sometimes she was a mom telling me I couldn’t stay up past eleven, and other times she was setting up late night dinners with me and photographers or producers… that dissonance was real. Not imagined. And accepting it now is worth the effort, even if it feels terrible. I’ve even been able to write a bit, which I haven’t done in years. I didn’t even bother to bring my guitar because I had no idea my words were locked up behind all that baggage.”
