Page 131 of Things I Wish I Said
The idea of leaving my mother better off than when she started is an enticing one. The freedom I could give her . . . dying with this knowledge would bring me a hell of a lot of peace.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, turning to him.
“Really?” He blinks, shock glittering in the darks of his eyes.
I nod.
“Like really think about it? Not like how you told your mother you’d consider treatment, but for real this time?”
“For real this time. I promise.” I lean forward and brush my lips over his, both wanting to change the subject and erase the doubt from the intensity of his gaze.
His free hand reaches out, sliding to my waist and tugging me toward him.
He tastes like ice cream and desperation, so I kiss him until we’re both breathless. Until the last of our ice cream melts and the desperation fades, swallowed by my promise and the hope it brings.
After Grayson drops me off, I shut the front door behind me and call out, but no one answers. I cock my head, hearing thesoft sound of classical music coming from the basement and realize Mom must be in her studio.
I head that way, cutting through the kitchen to the thick oak door beside the refrigerator and swing it open. I only get three steps down when the trickle of voices reaches my ears, the hushed tones of Mozart an incongruous backdrop to the husky sound of John’s voice. “I know we said we’d wait, but I saw this and knew it had to be yours. Just like I knew I couldn’t let another day go by without asking . . .”
I pause, a frown replacing my smile as I quietly walk down another step. Dipping my head, I peek beneath the landing to see inside the room and the breath catches in my throat.
Mom is wearing one of her stained smocks, hands covered in drying clay and paint while John kneels in front of her. A black ring box is nestled in his outstretched hands, and though I can’t see his face from this angle, I imagine the crease he gets in his brow when he’s talking about something serious. The twinkle in his eye whenever he looks at my mother.
Clarity hits me, smacking me in the face. I grip the handrail beside me to steady myself, because I know what he’s asking, even if my heart doesn’t want to hear it. Just like I know I shouldn’t be witnessing this moment between them. It’s theirs and theirs alone, but I can’t seem to move my feet as I wait for him to ask her the question I know is about to come out of his mouth.
“The last six months with you have been both the hardest and best of my life,” he continues, voice shaking with emotion.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight.
“But there’s no one else I’d rather go through life’s ups and downs with than you. Jillian Sinclair, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Mom chokes out.
A sob rips through her throat as she throws her arms around him, her face splitting into a smile. “Yes, yes, yes,” she murmurs.
Their lips meet, and then they’re kissing.
A ragged exhale leaves my lips, my own eyes tearing as I slip back upstairs unnoticed.
I don’t know how much time I spend pacing the living room. All I know is that by the time they join me upstairs, I’m almost relieved, ready for them to put their secret out there in the open, to tell me the news so I don’t have to pretend that I don’t know.
Mom sees me first, her smile genuine as she crosses the room and draws me in for a hug. “Hey, sweetie. How was your date with Grayson?”
“Good.” I shift my gaze to her left hand, bracing myself for the news as she pulls away, only to find her ring finger bare. “We had a picnic and got ice cream,” I murmur.
“Hey, kiddo,” John says, and my normal prickle of irritation at the greeting is absent, too preoccupied with what’s going on to get pissed.
Maybe it didn’t fit and they’re taking it to get resized?
“So, what did you guys do? Anything exciting happen while I was gone?”
Mom shares a look with John, emotion I can’t read flickering through her eyes, before turning back to me. “Uh, no. Nothingmuch. I was just working in my studio and John stopped by for dinner.”
I nod, waiting.
Several minutes of awkward silence pass before I realize they have no intentions of telling me what just happened. “So . . . that’s it?”
Mom laughs. “Of course, honey. What were you expecting? Are you hungry? John wanted to go out.”
