Page 176 of Things I Wish I Said
I frown. “I’m not fretting.” I totally am.
“Uh-huh, sure. Just face it. You’re a total baddie.”
Katie laughs at my eye roll, and I follow her out of my bedroom and into our small living room where Mom is currently boxing up our things. Since they’re getting married in two months and John’s place is bigger, it makes sense for us to move there, and thanks to Wishing Well, she can sell our place and do so without a load of debt.
Mom pauses her packing the moment I step into the room. Beside her, John glances up at me from the newspaper he’s reading. “You’re all set for your trip?”
“I think so. Victoria just wanted me to stop by her office first, and then I’m off.”
“You have a bag?” Mom asks, eyeing my empty hands.
“It’s already in my trunk. Packed it last night,” I say, because I’d been too nervous to sleep. Grayson is just as likely to refuse to even speak with me as he is to forgive me.
“And you have all your meds, right?”
I nod. “And I already took my doses this morning,” I say, referring to the target therapy and trial drugs I’ve been on for the past two months—the ones that are miraculously eviscerating my remaining cancer when nothing else would.
“Can you think of anything else?” Mom turns to John who smiles back at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Sounds like you have the bases covered.”
“Are you ready for this?” Mom asks.
“No,” I blurt.
“He’ll forgive you. Have a little faith.”
“But it’s been three months since I left him, and we last spoke. He could have a girlfriend for all I know.” The thought sours my stomach.
Mom sighs and steps forward, pulling me into her arms. “Then maybe you weren’t meant to be.”
Her words needle at the hole in my heart.
She pulls back, meeting my eyes. “But if he loved you,reallyloved you like you think he did, then he won’t have moved on that quickly.”
I want to believe that, but a part of me is worried I’m all out of second chances.
“Okay. Wish me luck.”
I let myself into the De Leon home without knocking or announcing my presence. I’ve been doing this nearly every day for the past three months to the point where this feels like my second home.
After I received the check from Wishing Well, I paid Victoria a visit.
I’ll admit, a part of me had hoped by some miracle—Grayson would still be here instead of at school like he was supposedto be—but after I sat down and thanked her for the money and explained what happened in LA, she invited me back the next day for lunch. Over the course of a week, I’d spilled my guts to her, explaining everything from the shock of my diagnosis, giving up soccer, my treatments, and coping with all the changes of graduating high school, and accepting John, while she shared what it was like to lose her husband, Antonio, and watch Grayson spiral.
Once we’d both shed our emotional baggage, I thought our daily coffee sessions might come to an end. Much to my surprise, she invited me back the following week. This time, for a job. Turns out, Wishing Well is going national, and she needed someone to help overlook the day-to-day running of a nonprofit while she focused on funding and preparing for launch.
Maybe Victoria De Leon was simply lonely, or maybe she genuinely enjoyed my company. Maybe I’ll never know her true motivations for opening up to me, but I’ll be forever grateful. She gave me a purpose without realizing it, an unbiased ear, and the direction I was so desperate for.
My footsteps echo off the walls and high ceilings as I make my way through the foyer. The kitchen and living room come into view, the most impressive part of the De Leon home, and as I take the hallway to Victoria’s office at the back of the house, I can’t help but think of the first time I came here with Grayson. I’d been in awe of the place, but now I’m used to it.
That first time feels like a lifetime ago.
I pause outside the open French doors and knock on the doorframe.
Victoria spins around, her smile spreading when her gaze finds mine. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks.” I manage a smile, but my nerves are getting the best of me.
