knew he would think I was the world’s biggest loser if I came to school wearing glasses, so I yelled at her that I would never wear glasses, and if she made me, it would be her fault if no one wanted to be my friend anymore. She told me I would always be beautiful whether I wore glasses or not, and that if someone didn’t want to be my friend for a dumb reason like that, they weren’t worth being friends with in the first place.”
Zara scrunched her eyes shut as her tears started to fall. “When we pulled into the driveway, I got out and slammed the door and said I would hate her forever if she made me wear glasses.” Her words were blurring together in her tear-clogged throat. “A little while later, she came up to my room, which I had locked, and said through the door that she was going back to the optometrist to talk to him about getting contacts for me. I didn’t open the door, didn’t say thank you, didn’t give her a hug or tell her I loved her.” Eyes closed, she was fourteen again, hearing the police officer tell her the horrible news. “A car shot through a stop sign and hit her. I’ve never told anyone this before—I couldn’t bear to admit it even to myself—but she died because of me.”
Somewhere in there, Rory had put his arms around her. She held tightly to him, her face buried against his neck, his hair.
“It was an accident,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was,” she said through her sobs. “If I hadn’t been such a little jerk, if I’d just worn the glasses without making such a stupid fuss, she wouldn’t have driven back to the office. She would have stayed home with me. And I would still—” Her throat tightened around the words. “I would still have my mom.”
“You weren’t the one driving the car that went through the stop sign. And you were no different from any other fourteen-year-old girl who didn’t want to seem different, especially around a guy.”
She wished she could believe him. “I swore I would never change myself for a guy again.” She sniffled loudly. “And I swore I would never wear contacts either. That’s why I got a degree in industrial and product design. So that I could devote my career to designing cool glasses. So that other kids—and adults—who needed them would never have to worry about being uncool again.”
“After what you’ve been through,” he said in a soft voice, “I think you’re amazing.”
“I’m not.” She appreciated that he had her back, but he needed to understand one thing more. “The last words I ever spoke to my mom were that I hated her—and she got hit by that car because I made her feel she had to go back to the doctor’s office.” Fresh tears fell, drenching her cheeks. “I will never forgive myself for either of those things.”
He gently brushed her tears away with their clasped hands. “Your mom would have never blamed you for what happened. Not in a million years. Not when she knew just how wonderful, how good, how generous you are. I guarantee that the only thing she ever wanted for you is happiness. And the very last thing she would have wanted was for you to spend fifteen years beating yourself up with guilt and blame.”
But Zara could only hear his words as if through a haze. “I went through all the stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression—before making it to what I thought was acceptance. But the truth is I haven’t accepted her death or my role in it. Even all these years later, grief sneaks up on me at the most unexpected times. Like tonight, while I was going through the hope chest. Or when I’m driving, if one of her favorite songs comes on the radio. Or if I see a mom and her teenage daughter fighting, I want to shake them both and tell them to appreciate each other because this might be the last fight they ever have. And then I hate myself all over again for being the reason Mom was in that intersection.” She looked up at him through blurry eyes. “What if I can never accept that she’s gone? And what if I go to my own grave hating myself?”
“You won’t.” He gathered her closer in his arms. “I won’t let you.”
It was exactly the kind of