Trigger Warning: grief, loss of a parent

“Bleh. This thing tastes awful,” I mutter, grimacing in disgust. 

The coffee in my mug smells heavenly, but it’s living proof that scents can be very, very deceiving. I wish I could stop by my favorite café, but stupid Andrew is probably there, as usual, and I don’t want to see him.

As I sit at the table, trying to focus on the blank document on my laptop, a loud thud from Hansel’s bedroom catches my attention, mainly because it’s followed by a string of swearing, bangs, and more thuds. Then, there’s absolute silence.

“Hans, is everything all right in there?” I call out, worried.

A few seconds pass before Hansel appears in the kitchen, looking—and smelling—like someone who hasn’t showered in weeks.

“Damn, that’s one hell of a hangover,” I mock, bursting into laughter.

My roommate mumbles something incomprehensible in response as he slouches into the chair across from me, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands, groaning.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” I tease, my lips curling into a crooked smile.

He shakes his head, uncovers his face, then lets it drop onto the table, hitting his forehead against the hard surface with another dull thud.

“Ouch,” he cries, his voice muffled.

I chuckle. “You need coffee and some self-respect.”

Hansel shoots me an inquisitive look. “Self-respect? Why?”

“You got kicked out of the nightclub because you tried to pee on the dance floor,” I clarify, enjoying the shade of red creeping across his cheeks.

“Oh, man,” he groans again and grabs my mug, taking an eager sip. “My god, Mily. What is this?” He grimaces, sticking his tongue out in revulsion.

“Coffee.”

“Did you brew it yourself?” He takes another sip, even though it tastes terrible.

I nod and pop a grape into my mouth.

“Why don’t you just go to Andrew’s café? That’s your favorite place in the world, after all,” he suggests casually.

“You know why.”

“Speaking of Andrew, I think I saw him last night,” he continues, frowning.

Laughing, I show him a photo on my phone that Faith sent me earlier this morning. “Andrew and Lucas helped me drag you home from the nightclub because you were completely wasted.” 

“How did Andrew end up helping you and Lucas bring me back here?” 

“That’s a long story, and believe me, it’s the least of your worries right now.” I laugh again. “So, that rumor going around about you… Is it actually true?” I snort, unable to hold it in.

“What?” 

I burst into laughter while he stares at me, completely lost.

“Oh, Andrew. I love you so much,” I declare, not realizing that I’ve just made a colossal mistake.

“Did you just call me Andrew?” Hansel smirks, one eyebrow shooting up as a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, embarrassed by my slip-up. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about that idiot, mainly because he turned down my invitation for Thanksgiving.

“I would make fun of you, but this hangover is killing me,” Hans whines, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower and go back to bed.”

“Hey, I’m driving to Lancaster tomorrow morning,” I inform him before he walks away.

“Shit. My flight to Canada is tonight.” He slaps his forehead. “I forgot to pack.”

“Just throw in some underwear and maybe a measuring tape, and you’ll be fine.” I wave a hand dismissively.

“Why would I need a measuring tape?”

“Oh, you know… To make sure it’s really two inches long when erect.” I laugh.

He stares at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I know you’re making fun of me.” He narrows his eyes and points an accusatory finger at me. “You’re going to hell when you die,” he huffs.

“Yes, sir. I’ll meet you there, then.” I salute him.

Hans shakes his head, glaring daggers, though the hint of a smile on his lips gives him away. “By the way, thanks for taking care of me last night, Mily.” He winks and heads to the bathroom without waiting for a response.

I turn my gaze back to the screen in front of me. “I need to write; I need to write; I need to write,” I repeat as my fingers hover over the keyboard—but nothing comes out. My mind is completely blank. I can’t think about anything except Andrew and his stupidly beautiful smile, which only irritates me more.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

The clock on the wall starts to drive me insane.

“Damn it. Writer’s block sucks; romance sucks; love sucks; Andrew Keegan sucks,” I grumble, snapping my laptop shut and heading to my bedroom, ready to take a nap in a desperate attempt to calm my restless heart.

* * *

The following day, I find myself ringing my father’s doorbell by lunchtime, excited to spend the rest of the week with my hero.

“My little oregano,” Dad exclaims as soon as he opens the front door, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Hi, Dad,” I whisper, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

“How was your trip?” he asks fondly, pulling away.

“It was good,” I reply, stepping into the living room with my suitcase.

“What are your plans for today?” He follows me as I head to my bedroom.

“I’m going to visit Mom. How about you?” I shoot him a warm smile.

“Grace and I are spending the afternoon at the mall. Would you like to join us?” he offers, looking and sounding hopeful.

“Who is Grace?” I arch an eyebrow, suspicious.

“Grace is the friend I told you about. She’s spending Thanksgiving with us,” he explains.

“Your ‘friend’ is a she, then?” I roll my eyes, not surprised, as my dad is a pretty good-looking fifty-year-old man, after all.

His lips curl into a smug smile. “Yes, my friend is a she. Anyway, come talk to me once you’re settled. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He steps out of the room, leaving me alone.

I sit down on the bed and unpack my clothes—something that takes all of ten minutes since I didn’t bring much from the city. I’m not planning to leave the house for the next few days, so my cute pajamas are more than enough to keep me comfortable and warm.

After three cups of coffee and a long catch-up with my dad, I finally head toward the cemetery an hour later, with pop and rock music from the nineties blasting through the speakers.

* * * 

“Miranda Sky. Beloved daughter, wife, and mother,” I read lowly, tracing the words etched into the headstone as I approach my mother’s final resting place. “Hi, Mom,” I whisper, crouching in front of it. “Things have been so crazy in New York, and I couldn’t come sooner. I’m sorry.”

Silence greets me in return. 

The cemetery is surprisingly empty today despite the clear sky and calm weather, though it’s cold as hell, and sadness always lingers here.

I trace my fingers over my mother’s name, letting the tears fall freely down my cheeks. Memories from fifteen years ago flood my mind, and I can’t help but close my eyes, pulled back to the most painful day of my life.

* * *

Fifteen years ago...

“Dad, why are we here?” I ask as he holds my hand tightly and leads me into the hospital.

“We’re here because of Mom, Emily,” he replies, his voice shaky and full of pain.

“Why? Is Mom sick?” I frown, clutching his arm at the sight of nurses and doctors rushing around. I’m scared of hospitals, and I haven’t been here since last year, when I broke my nose playing baseball with my friends. After that, I promised myself I’d never hold a baseball bat again.

My dad doesn’t answer. Instead, he presses his lips together and hurries toward the emergency ward, stopping to speak to a nurse at the reception desk. Meanwhile, I notice a couple crying as a woman in white scrubs talks to them in a low voice. I don’t know them, but I wish I could hug them because they must be hurting a lot, and no one deserves that.

“Emily, the doctor wants to talk to me about Mom. The nurse will take you to the cafeteria so you can have a chocolate soufflé. How does that sound?” Dad tells me, forcing a soft smile.

“Okay,” I mumble shyly as a strange man takes my other hand.

Dad waves at me, and I wave back. I’m sad I won’t see him for a while, but I love chocolate, and I can’t wait to eat it.

“Emily, my name is Ethan.” The strange man smiles. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Yes!”

“You’re going to love the chocolate soufflé, then.”

We arrive at the hospital cafeteria, where I eat two desserts because they’re really good. I want a third one, but Ethan doesn’t let me—just when I was starting to think of him as a friend. I guess I was wrong.

A moment later, Ethan takes me back to my dad, who is standing outside a room, crying.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Dad says.

“Don’t worry about it. Emily is an adorable girl,” Ethan replies, ruffling my hair. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Sky,” he adds, his eyes softening.

“Thank you,” Dad murmurs before breaking into sobs.

“Dad, why are you crying?” I reach for his arm, worried. I don’t like seeing him like this. Why is he so sad?

“Oregano, I need to tell you something…” Dad kneels in front of me.

I frown. “What is it?”

“Mom was badly hurt in the accident, and she… and… the doctors couldn’t…” His voice breaks, and he starts sobbing again.

“Dad…” I try to wipe his tears away with my hands.

“The doctors couldn’t help Mom because she was very, very hurt,” he whispers, looking into my eyes.

I tilt my head to the side.“What does that mean?”

He wraps his arms around me and cries against my shoulder. “It means that Mom will rest forever." 

“Is Mom dead?” I say the word he can’t.

“Yes.”

A long, heavy silence follows before tears start blurring my vision as my body begins to shake. Even though I don’t fully understand what death means, I know I’ll never see Mom again. From now on, it’s just Dad and me.

“Everything will be okay, Emily. I promise,” Dad comforts me, holding me tighter.

I can’t bring myself to reply because all I can think is that today is the worst day of my life—I’ve lost one of my best friends.

* * *

I blink a couple of times and look up, tearing my gaze away from my mother’s headstone. Fifteen years have passed, but it still hurts, and I don’t think the pain will ever get easier to carry.

I force myself to stand up despite the numbness in my legs—and in my heart. I wish I could talk to Mom and tell her everything about Andrew, but the words get stuck in my throat, choking me.

Who am I kidding? Mom isn’t here.

Before I can stop myself, I break down completely, my sobs echoing through the cold, empty air.

“Why did you leave me, Mom?” The question comes out like a silent plea for any kind of reassurance that everything will be all right.

“It’s okay, Emi. It’s okay.”

A familiar voice—his voice—echoes close behind me as strong arms wrap around me, instantly pulling me into warmth and safety.

I close my eyes, losing myself in his familiar scent.

“I’m here for you,” Andrew whispers, his lips brushing against my damp cheek as he presses a soft kiss to it. “I’m here for you.”

* * *