“Come on.” She pulls me to her bed and sprawls out beside
me, running her hand through my hair. “You can talk about it if you want.”
“What’s there to say?”
“I don’t know. We could just talk about them.”
“Whatever.”
She gives me a stern look but doesn’t chastise me other than
that. “Remember when Gran died and I couldn’t leave the house for two weeks?”
“Yes, I missed you so much. And you had already cut your
outdoor playing in half once Gran really got sick. That was rough. And you were
so sad. I had no idea what to say.”
“You said all the right things.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. You reminded me about all the fun things we did together:
how she would make us playdough and those Jell-O popsicles, and how she’d walk
us to the park but let us ride a street ahead. I just needed to be reminded that
I didn’t miss out on anything. I had all these great memories. And, Edward, you
have great memories of your parents. Things will be different now, but they were happy.”
“They were. I miss it. The laughter and silliness. My mom’s
constant eye rolling and her way of getting Dad to shut up when he was boring
us at the dinner table. ‘Carlisle, pass the—‘”
“’Peas.’ It took me forever to figure that out. There were
not always peas on that table. They’re such dorks, if you think about it.”
“No, they had their own language.”
“Yeah, it’s sweet.”
“You are so nice,” I say, pulling her hands from my hair and
tucking them into my chest.
“I just care.”
“I know. I’m so glad.” I reach out to stroke her cheek, and
she leans toward me, kissing me and collapsing into my shoulder. I wrap her in
my arms and squeeze her tight. “Let’s never give up, okay?”
“Deal,” she says, kissing my chest and snuggling against me.
No comments:
Post a Comment