Page 23 of Letters of Faith
I follow her command, setting my keys on the counter and slipping the floral apron over my head.
Without a word, she places a ball of dough on the counter beside her, and I join her, kneading the dough into the flour until it’s ready to roll out.
We work in silence, side by side, just like when I was a teenager.
I appreciate the silence. My mom likes to push me sometimes, but she also knows that there are times when I need to come to her. This is one of those times.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, avoiding the talk I really want to have withher.
“He’s in the garage. He’ll be in soon.”
I nod—letting the silence build into an awkward tension until I’m ready to burst.
“Mom,” I say, the seriousness in my tone causing her to stop and place her rolling pin to the side.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she rests her hip against the oak cabinets and studies me, waiting until I’m ready to continue. “Do you think Nate would be disappointed in me? You know—in the way I’ve handled his death?”
In two seconds flat, I’m wrapped in her arms, and she mutters into my hair, “No, baby, I don’t.”
My throat aches. I didn’t tell her about the first letter, and I don’t want to tell her about this one. Somehow, it feels fitting to keep it between Grayson and me, but at the same time, I can’t help feeling like this is Nate’s way of telling me he knew I wouldn’t keep my promise to him—like I failed him.
“Look at me, sweet girl,” she says, pulling back from the hug and putting a hand on each side of my face. “Healing isn’t linear. I know I push you because I’m worried about you. I overstep that line of being there for you and being overprotective because I’ve not been in your shoes, and I’m trying to be there for you in the best way I know how. Here’s what I do know, though. Nate loved you, and he would understand. Don’t you ever question that.”
“I’m lost without him, Mom.”
“I know, Georgia. I know you are, but the bravest thing you can do is find a way to keep breathing. You’ve been doing that for a year, and to me, that makes you the strongest person I know.”
A sarcastic laugh slips out. “Others would disagree. There are so many things I should have done differently—“
“So do them differently,” Mom interrupts, impatiencehidden under the tough love.
“What?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“You said there are things you should have done differently. Ifyoufeel that way, and not because others are making you, then change them. You can’t change that he’s gone—no matter how much you wish you could—but you can change your choices from here on out. So if you don’t like the choices you’ve been making, then change them.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes and returning to the dough on the counter. With the rolling pin in hand, I roll my hands back and forth, pressing down until the space between the dough and the countertop is nonexistent, and still, it’s not enough.
“Give me that,” Mom says, yanking the rolling pin out of my hands. “You’re ruining my dough. Now, you asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you. Don’t be getting mad at me because you don’t like what I have to say.”
“You act like it’s so easy—like my whole world didn’t change when Nate died,” I snap.
I don’t know why I’m snapping. She’s trying to help—I asked for her help—but her help always comes with sharp edges that make me defensive.
“No, Georgia—I don’t. I know it’s not easy. I loved Nate because he loved my little girl. I miss the man, too, but I know that my grief is not the same as yours. Change is never easy, honey, but the world doesn’t stop spinning because we are sad. All I’m saying is that if the choices that you are making now aren’t helping, then maybe it’s time to make different choices.”
I know she’s right, but it stings, making me want to lash out. My relationship with my mom is complicated. I love her. She’s always been there for me, but she’s blunt. Empathy is not her strong suit. She’s not like the other moms who held your hand if you scraped your knee when you were little or bought chocolate when a boy broke yourheart. Instead, she told you to get up and walk it off because life isn’t fair. Sometimes, I wish for a mom who knows how to coddle me—just for a minute—because life is hard enough without someone there reminding you.
I open my mouth to respond, but the door to the garage swings open, and my dad walks through with a big smile. He must know when Mom and I are at odds because he’s always had perfect timing. He is a peacekeeper between us.
Not minding the flour all over me, he wraps me in a hug tight enough to cut my air off, and I feel the tension in my body melt away. My dad gives the best hugs.
“Hey, Georgia Jane. When did you get here?”
“Not that long ago,” I wheeze. “Now, would you let go of me? I can’t breathe.”
He chuckles, stepping back and taking a good look at me. While he’s checking me over, I do the same to him.
He’s tall, filling the space of the room with his presence and a protruding belly that he’s worked on for years. He claims it as his bragging right. Despite his size, he’s the most laid-back man I have ever met. It’s why he and Nate got along so well. They were one and the same.
