Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,84
on to Christmas. Red plaid, pleated short skirt, white, lace tank as this fall is going to be the hottest on record, red-and-green-striped socks that end above my knees and black combat boots. I look good, very good. Sexy and ready to kick ass.
“You didn’t tell Sawyer how serious your brain tumor is. It’s growing. You know it is. Leo, at least, understood the implications of being with you. Are you being fair?”
I sigh because Mom’s persistence on these matters is starting to get annoying, and it’s really difficult to be mad at your mother’s ghost. “Dad went and visited Sawyer and his mom before we left for Florida, opened his big mouth again, and told Sawyer about your agonizing death and how the same fate awaits me when the tumor grows. As far as I’m concerned, Dad’s already told Sawyer all he needs to know. I’ll find out today if, after having time to think about it, that officially freaked him out and has driven him away.”
It’s Sunday. Dad and I returned from our trip last night. We drove to the Gulf Coast, dropped off his load, had two days to play, picked up another load, took it to Daytona, spent time there, then picked up another load and headed home. Overall, it was fantastic. I just wish that Mom wasn’t tethered to this house and she could have been with me.
Today, I’m dressing to break all sorts of hearts. But it’s really Sawyer’s heart I want to pound a bit harder. If he’s going to run for the hills, I at least want him to sort of regret it. After brunch with Dad, because I slept too late for breakfast, Sawyer and I are meeting to work on our project. I texted him last night asking if he would be willing to go over his photos and my EVPs. He texted quickly back yes. I’m choosing to see that as an encouraging sign.
“You look nice,” Mom says, and I grin at her tone. She means what she says, but she’s also hinting that she’s aware of my hidden agenda. “I’m sure Sawyer will like it.”
My stomach flutters with butterflies at the thought of seeing him, and I put a hand there in an attempt to tame them. Chill. This is a chill, kissing-only, hardly-any-emotion relationship. “Did you ever kiss a boy when you knew no serious emotions were going to happen?”
Mom shakes her head, but not in reprimand. “My mom told me to never do such things, but I like that you’re more adventurous than I was. It’s a quality you inherited from your dad.”
She unfolds her legs from underneath her to touch her toes to the floor. “The question is, how does kissing a boy who you don’t have feelings for make you feel?”
Her question causes hesitation, and I stop fussing with my hair to join her on the window seat. As I sit beside her, there’s an ache because I miss her warmth and her smell. Whenever Mom walked in the room I would immediately breathe in the scent of roses. I have a rosewood candle in my bedroom, but it doesn’t quite smell like her.
“I kissed a couple of boys just to kiss when you were sick. I thought it would make me feel better.” That it would help me forget.
“Did it?” she asks.
My throat tightens at the memory of the boys pawing at me. “No.” I don’t think there was anything that could have made me feel better when Mom was so ill. “But when Leo kissed me after the eighth grade dance, I liked it. And when Sawyer kissed me this past weekend, I liked that, too.”
Mom reaches out like she’s going to touch my cheek, but then stops just a breath’s distance away. Since the ice-pick headache, Mom’s stopped touching me. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s punishing me for not being honest with Dad. But the loss of her touch has created a gaping, bleeding hole. I miss her, so incredibly much.
She withdraws her hand and lays it on her lap. “What’s important is that you’re comfortable with your body and how you decide to use it. If you want to kiss the boy and he wants to kiss you, then you kiss. If you don’t want to kiss the boy, you don’t. Kissing is magical, but it’s not magical enough to make your wounds heal. Only time can do that.”
I know that now, and it was a hard lesson. A