Curvy Girls Can't Date Bad Boys - Kelsie Stelting Page 0,78

became friends this year. I almost wish we could go back to freshman year and do it all over again so I could have you by my side. I love having you as a friend. If there’s anything you need at all today, let me know! Love celebrating you!

Tears spilled over my cheeks as I read each message, one after another, filled with so much love and hope. These girls were my people, my soulmates, and they saw me through the mess, even when I couldn’t see it myself. My mom would have loved them—I could only imagine the slumber parties we would have had with Mom making special tea and plenty of pastries to pig out on.

It had been years since I’d been to Mom’s grave, but after getting ready, I went to the store and got flowers and drove to Emerson Cemetery. The tree-lined drive brought back painful memories, but I kept driving and parked at the space closest to her grave.

Dad had bought a massive headstone for her shaped like a pair of angels, because Mom was one. He used to introduce her as his best half. The thought made me smile as I walked closer to the place where she lay to rest.

Next to her name on the stone was Dad’s name with his birth year, a dash, and an open space. A reminder that life didn’t last forever—but love did.

I rested the flowers next to the multiple bouquets that surrounded her grave and pressed my hand over my mouth. Dad still brought flowers here—still made sure she was adorned like the queen she was. It made forgiving him that much easier.

I sat cross-legged on the ground and fumbled with my fingers in my lap, already holding back tears. I turned my eyes up toward the clear blue sky, at the few clouds that wisped through the air.

“I miss you,” I breathed.

No answer came. But that didn’t stop me from remembering. From imagining.

Mom had said I was born on the most perfect spring day. She said the heavens were ready to welcome her baby girl and that she could see the sun shining through the window of the hospital room as she had me.

That had been eighteen years ago today.

Would she have done it all over if she had known what she’d be saying goodbye to? What we’d have to mourn?

I reached forward and touched the carved letters of her name. Amara.

In my mind, I saw the memory, felt her pushing her frail fingers through my hair. “You know my name means eternal? That means no matter what happens to me, whether I’m living on earth or in heaven or reincarnated as a cup of tea, I’ll be with you. Every day for the rest of time I’ll be with you.”

I closed my eyes and tears slipped down my cheeks. My mom had been with me—she’d given me friends when I’d needed them most. She gave me an adventure in Ronan when I thought I would have none. And today she gave me a beautiful spring day.

I felt the sun’s rays warm my skin and imagined her feeling the same eighteen years ago. And in that moment, I knew she was right. She was with me, and my heart was with her.

Forty-Eight

Dad and I sat at our new table for a late lunch. At our old house, we’d always had so much space, but at the four-person table, I could practically reach across the glass top and touch him.

He took a bite of the curry chicken and rice he’d cooked and set his spoon back in the bowl as he chewed it over. “Your mother made this way better.”

I smiled, thinking of her homemade meals. “She was a good cook, wasn’t she?” Dad had always told her that we could have a chef cook for us, but she insisted. To her, food was love, and if she was making it, then she knew exactly how well we were cared for.

“The best,” he agreed, eating quietly for a moment. “What did you do this morning? Did you meet up with some friends?”

I kept my eyes on the table, at my feet I could see through the glass. “I went to see her. At the cemetery.”

I looked up in time to see his hand freeze midway from his bowl to his mouth. He slowly lowered it to his bowl. “You went to see her at the cemetery,” he repeated, as if the only words he could conjure were