Page 97 of Good as Gold
“Fuck a duck.” I take the mug from her hand and pour the coffee with a shaky hand. “I have those dreams, too. He told me to make a reservation for your birthday next month. Said you like surf and turf.”
Lissa gasps.
“I know.”
Her startled laugh echoes in my kitchen.
“Do you dream about him a lot?”
She tips her head from side to side like she’s considering the question. “Not alot. But when I do, it’s vivid. Like he’s really there. But he always leaves before I’m ready, and I wake up mad. And yet I don’t really want it to stop.”
I take another deep breath. “I wake up angry at him, too. It’s a mind fuck.”
“My psych lady says anger is part of grieving.” She rolls her eyes. “Like I couldn’t figure that out myself.”
I laugh, and some of the tension drains out of me. “Is guilt part of it, too?”
“Yup,” she says cheerfully. “I check that box, too.”
I set down the milk carton and stare at her. “Why the hell wouldyoufeel guilty?”
Her eyes drop to her mug. “Because he asked me if I wanted to ride with him that day. I said no.”
Ohshiiit. I almost say it aloud but stop myself just in time.
“So he went up with you instead. And I know he would have chosen differently if I were there. We wouldn’t even have been on the same peak.”
“Honey. That is a lot to carry around. It wasn’t your fault he chose that run. And even if you went somewhere else together, it could have happened a week later.”
Her eyes are suddenly streaming. “I know. I know. But then we’d have another week with him.”
God damn it. I don’t want her to feel this way. It was never her job to stop her dad from dying.
We all know it was mine.
My heart is breaking. I wrap my arms around Lissa and hold her tightly, until she finally wiggles out of my grasp and sips her coffee. “So happy birthday. Do we know how to party, or what?”
I laugh, and my phone dings with a new text. Like the robot I’ve become, I grab it to see if it’s possibly a text from Leila, telling me she wants to visit.
Nope. It’s from my mom.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY BOY.
Thirty-seven years ago, you made me a mother. I hope you’re having a nice day.
“Aww,” Lissa says. “Your mom is so cute. Aren’t you going to reply?”
Like the dutiful son I never was, I tap out my response.
Thanks, Mom! About to have birthday donuts with Lissa.
I love that girl! Tell her hi from me. And then tell me you’re coming home for Thanksgiving.
“Ooh! Your mom is smooth,” Lissa says. “She just slipped that right in there. I think you have to go now.” She laughs.
Fuck it. I’m homesick, and Lissa is right. I reply before I change my mind.
I’m in for Thanksgiving.
