Page 65 of Once Upon A Second Chance
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“You fell asleep in a seminar. On me. And then drooled on my shoulder.”
“That was strategic. A bonding tactic.”
“You were snoring like a dying lawnmower.”
“I was charmingly exhausted.”
She laughs, soft and easy. “You were trying so hard to be perfect back then.”
I shrug. “I didn’t know any other way.”
She grows quiet, and I can feel the shift. The way the memories settle differently now, with age and loss between them.
“I know you probably didn’t hear,” she says. “But my mom diedthree years ago.”
I blink. “What?”
She nods slowly. “Ovarian cancer. She didn’t catch it early. By the time she did, it had metastasized and moved quickly.”
“Penny…”
“I was with her at the end. It was peaceful. But... yeah.”
I set my mug down and reach for her hand, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I wish I’d known.”
She gives me a small smile. “I figured you'd find out eventually. But tonight seemed like a good night for ghosts.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry. She was good to me. She made the best grilled cheese on the planet.”
“Because she used half a stick of butter per sandwich.”
“Well, it worked.”
There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s full.
“Remember my mom got cancer when we were in college? Right before winter break. You were the only one who didn’t say something useless.”
She blinks. “I don’t even remember what I said.”
“You didn’t say anything. You just sat on the stairs with me at that stupid campus chapel and let me be mad about it.”
Her hand tightens in mine.
“She got through it, though. After a really tough year of treatments, she finally turned the corner and came out on top of it. I had hoped it might change her; soften her. But it didn’t. Sometimes I think it made her even more bitter and judgmental, if that’s even possible.” I say after a moment. “They still live in New York. We talk sometimes, but… it’s different now. Especially since I left and came back here. I doubt they’ll forgive me for leaving their ‘high society’ life style. And Rebecca, of course. They thought she was just perfect for me.”
She nods. “It’s always harder to connect with our parents after they think we’ve disappointed them; or made bad decisions for ourselves.”
I look at her then—really look—and I realize how far we’ve come from who we used to be.
And how much of us still remembers.
I brush a thumbacross her cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For still being here.”
