Chapter 18 #2
Her expression softens as she wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. Her scent—rose perfume and a faint trace of her coconut-vanilla hairspray—settles over me like a blanket. Comforting and familiar. Like childhood and lullabies.
“I know it’s awful about Hayden’s father.
And that you’re upset about his move,” she says gently.
“But maybe this is just the push you need to branch out a little. To start figuring out who you are outside of him.” She sighs, smoothing my hair like I’m a little girl again.
“Maybe it’s time to try something new. Make new friends. ”
“I don’t want new friends—I want Hayes.”
A single tear slides down my cheek. I swipe it away, frustrated.
“You never know. I bet there are lots of wonderful people at LHU,” she says. “You just have to put yourself out there. Give it a real shot.”
“You don’t get it.” I shake my head, my voice turning hoarse. “Hayes isn’t some scarf from Free People. I can’t just go out and replace him.”
A sad little smile touches her mouth.
“I know this is hard, sweetie. But it’s like I’ve always told you, this is what men do. Even the good ones.” Her voice flattens then, taking on that bitter edge I know all too well. The one that only ever comes out when she’s thinking about him—my father. “They all leave eventually.”
“Mother.” I pull away from her. “Not everything is about him.”
But I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t agree.
And that’s what hurts the most.
She really believes Hayes, the one person who’s always been there for me, is just another version of the man who walked out on us like a coward before I was old enough to remember his face.
“Hayes and that—that lowlife—are nothing alike. And they never will be.”
She folds her arms, giving me an almost pitying look. “I know Hayden’s young, and not everything is in his control here, but the result’s the same. He’s still leaving you.”
I bite my lip, resisting the urge to push back. To list every way she’s wrong.
Because she is wrong.
Hayes isn’t one of her deluded fantasies. He’s not some vanished myth, like her half-baked theories about ancient gods and secret worlds. Hayes is real.
What we have, however pathetically platonic, is grounded in something solid. A lifetime of shared moments. It isn’t make-believe or one of her fairy tales. And it sure as hell isn’t tangled up in the strange make-believe mythology she’s built around my father.
One day soon, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about all this, but not today. Not when I’m barely holding it together.
“Please. Can I just have some space?” I press the still-burning sage bundle back into her hand and burrow under the covers.
“Sure, honey.” She nods, reaching across my nightstand to snuff out the sage in the little ceramic bowl I use for hair ties.
“You know, I was afraid this would happen one day. You act so strong, but you never properly grieved your father. When we don’t heal those wounds, the pattern just repeats.
” Her voice softens as she pats my shoulder.
“Abandonment doesn’t go away. It just shape-shifts.
Until you do the soul work, it’ll keep finding you. Different face, same pain.”
I press my lips together, blinking back fresh tears that threaten to overtake me.
“My only friend in the world is leaving the country. And he’s taking my dog, too,” I say. “So, please, forgive me for not being emotionally enlightened about it.”
She exhales, a long, theatrical sigh perfected through years of maternal disappointment.
“Bad things happen to all of us, Alysander,” she says. “If you can look back years from now and this turns out to be the worst pain you’ve ever felt, then you’ll be one of the lucky ones. Believe me.”
“Nice, Mom. You should write sympathy cards.”
I grab a cold slice of pizza from the grease-stained, dented box on my bed and take a savage bite, tearing the crust with my teeth. Mom eyes the pizza with a judgy look, but to her credit doesn’t say anything about it—for once.
“Well, if you don’t want my advice, don’t ask for it,” she says.
“I didn’t ask! You barged in!”
“Listen, honey.” Her tone remains maddeningly even. “I think this is an important life lesson. It’s time you understand that the only person you can truly count on is yourself.” She leans in again, smoothing back the baby hairs on my forehead. “Well… and your mother and sister, of course.”
“Men are trash. Got it,” I deadpan, giving her a sarcastic salute.
I finish the slice of pizza and shove the empty box off my bed.
One more bite of junk food and I’ll probably implode.
“What about my dog? Am I allowed to be upset about Argy, or are dogs on your hit list too?” I snort. “I mean, he is male…”
She pauses, fixing me with a long, thoughtful look.
“Actually, dogs are worse,” she says. “Your father told me that’s how they tracked him here. It was the damn hellhounds. He said that’s why he had to leave.”
“Oh my God.” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Argy is not a hellhound, Mom.”
She shrugs, entirely unfazed, as if she has no idea how utterly insane she sounds.
“Well, you never really know these things, do you?”
“Yes, I do. Because hellhounds DO NOT EXIST,” I insist.
But for some reason, I picture Argy’s teeth flashing in the light that day in the woods—so savage I was almost afraid of my own dog for a moment.
“Okay, baby. Whatever you say.” Mom climbs into bed beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, and the creepy image of Argy vanishes as quickly as it came.
Her head rests against mine, warm and steady.
“I just hate seeing you like this. I know losing something you love hurts like hell. But little by little, the sharp edges soften. Eventually, you’ll get through it.
And one day, you’ll wake up and barely notice the ache at all. ”
I exhale, sinking into the quiet comfort of her embrace.
“You promise?”
“With all my heart.”
“I don’t know if I can live without him, Mom,” I whisper, the sadness threatening to drag me under.
She brushes her fingers through my hair and kisses the top of my head.
“Take it from me, honey,” she says. “You never know how strong you are until you lose something you thought you couldn’t live without…
and survive anyway. I did, and you will too.
Sometimes the heart has to break to grow stronger. ”
I glance over at my desk, my eyes locking on the bulletin board covered with photos of Hayes and me. Snapshots of us through time—birthday parties, bonfires, camping trips, prom. Each one hurts to look at, but I can’t turn away.
My throat tightens as I smile at all the good memories… and then it hits me. In a few more weeks—or maybe even days—there might not be any more memories for Hayes and me.
These pictures might be all we ever have.