do everything I can to return the favor and be there for him. Even if that means biting my tongue and letting him make those awful jokes about dying.”
I feel CeCe inhale deeply next to me. I should have avoided that word, but we can’t pretend it isn’t happening.
“He knows there’s nothing funny about it—I think that’s just how he has to deal with it. To try to lighten the mood. I know it’s hard, and I’m so sorry you had to hear him talk like that tonight. But just know, he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Why do you care so much about work anyway?” CeCe asks. She rolls over on her side and tilts her head up to look at me. That’s not exactly what I meant for her to take out of the story.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say, even though I know it’s a cop-out.
“Let me guess, I’ll understand when I’m older?” She leans her head back against the wall.
“I hope you will,” I say. “If you have a job that you love, then it won’t feel so much like work, but it’s not just that.” She looks up at me, waiting for an answer that will make all the missed moments make sense. “What if I told you I didn’t believe you could make a soufflé that wouldn’t fall?”
“I’d prove you wrong.”
“Exactly.” I manage to hold back a laugh, but I can’t stop a smile. She is my daughter more than she knows.
“So who said you couldn’t do something?”
“My old boss, when I was pregnant with you. He pretty much said my career was over. That I couldn’t be a good mom and a good employee. I wanted to prove him wrong.”
CeCe nods and I hold my breath, hoping that she doesn’t say what I already know. That I wasn’t a good mom. But I’m trying now, and hopefully that counts for something.
“I know that’s not an excuse, and it doesn’t make everything okay. But every time I wasn’t there for you, I knew your dad was. And I thought that would be enough, that he would be enough.”
“He was,” CeCe says. “He is.”
The silence hangs between us, heavy with the words neither of us wants to say. But I’m the mom, and I’ve got to start acting like it.
“I promise you I’m going to try harder. Not just try, I’m going to do better. I know I’m not your dad.” A tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it. “But I love you so much it hurts. And if you need to talk, or if you need me to listen, or if you need me to leave you alone or be there by your side, I promise you I’m not going anywhere.”
CeCe hiccups back a sob and then launches into my arms, letting the tears go. I don’t tell her to stop, I just hold her, letting her cry until she falls asleep in my arms.
Chapter Thirty-Three
CeCe
Table for one?” the hostess at 790 asks.
“For two,” I say, trying to sound as grown-up as I can.
Monica and I have been texting for a few weeks, ever since I “accidentally” found her number in Dad’s cell phone—but it was her idea to meet for lunch before filming started up again after the Fourth of July break.
I was going to tell Aunt Jill that I wasn’t feeling well so I had to leave the café early—but Beau pointed out that she might call and ask my mom if I was feeling better, and then I’d be busted. He has a lot more experience breaking the rules, and he told me that when you’re lying, less is more. So I just told Aunt Jill I needed to leave work a little early. She didn’t ask why, so I didn’t tell her. And if she mentions my leaving early to Mom, I’ll just say that I needed some time to be alone. After our heart-to-heart the other night, I know she won’t push or question me.
The restaurant I picked is just a few blocks down the beach from the café, so I got here in plenty of time to change into clothes that aren’t covered in flour.
The hostess grabs two menus and walks outside to the patio, which Dad says is the prettiest hidden gem in Destin. It isn’t touristy and it’s right on the beach with a view of the sand dunes and the water, which is like every shade of blue and green rolled into one.