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Chapter 28

Taryn

After Dante storms out, I exhale a ragged breath that gets caught in my throat, and suddenly I can’t see, my eyes so blurry I need to cling to the counter to lead me over to the corner where I have a box of tissues. Of course, no one in this house refills or throws anything out, and it’s empty.

The straw that breaks the camel’s back.

I release a shuddering sob, covering my mouth with my hand so the kids don’t hear, but my sweatshirt sleeve is almost immediately soaked with my tears. I need to find more tissues.

After flicking on the light, I carefully make my way to the basement, sniffing and coughing, throat burning, face tight, and I hang a right to the corner that has the washer, dryer, and storage for things Ian insists he buy me from Costco—one hundred rolls of toilet paper and a million boxes of tissues. For once, it comes in handy, and I grab a box, ripping it open carelessly as I trudge out into the main space of the basement.

It’s unfinished and mainly a place to keep anything I don’t know where to put, but since all of my pottery has moved out tomy shed, I’m able to appreciate this as usable space. Like Dante said.

One day, he randomly mentioned that he could finish it, giving the kids and me a little more room. In a house this pea-sized, sometimes it feels like we’re right on top of one another, especially with only one bathroom and only one communal living space.

I blow my nose a few times and wipe my face dry before tilting my head back, filling my lungs with air, willing myself to settle down. I shouldn’t have acted that way with Dante, but I felt like a cornered cat. I couldn’t listen to him and his fantasies about being a family when I’m in the middle of fighting for mine.

Yet he kept pushing and pushing, and I lashed out.

After the chats we’ve had about how his father treats him, I went and treated him the exact same way. As if he doesn’t know his own mind, as if he wouldn’t be able to be a good parent.

That’s not true. He is smart and capable, and anyone would be elated to have him offering himself up on a platter. Except for me. Because I self-sabotage. I am afraid of getting hurt, and it’s easier to break things first than to have to experience the pain when they cut me later.

But Dante is the last person I want to hurt.

I pivot, intent on going back upstairs, and freeze when I finally notice the new piece of furniture in the corner. A curio with glass panels and dark-stained wood, filled with all myI Love Lucyknickknacks. All the pieces my mother amassed during her life: the Barbie and porcelain trinkets, a collector’s plate, a rare first edition of Lucille Ball’s memoir. There are pins, a lunch box, and small tins that can’t hold more than a few quarters but are set up to show the many faces of Lucy.

It’s a display of all the things I shared with my mother, the only items I have left of her.

Dante built this for me.

For my mother.

And I pushed him away.

A sob escapes my throat, raw and painful, and I fall to the floor. I’m a fucking idiot.

Dantelovesme, and I acted as if it wasn’t enough.

When it is everything.

I cry for myself, the grief of my mother, the resentment of my father, the rage for my ex, and the overwhelming love I hold for the man who has built me a curio, shed, and safe place to land.

I don’t know how long I sit, crying into my hands, but it’s long enough for my face to ache and my back to hurt from the position I’m in. But as I finally hoist myself to standing, my cell phone buzzes in my pocket with a phone call from my brother.

Instantly, I know something is wrong.

Griffin would sooner do another tour with the service than have to make a phone call. A pit forms in my stomach, heavy and foreboding, and there is a moment while staring at my screen that I wonder if I can simply ignore it. If I don’t pick up, will the bad news on the other end simply cease to exist? If I never hear the words, does that mean it never happened?

I recall the phone call from Ian, informing me of Mom’s passing. My life changed in those seconds, and I know whatever it is Griffin tells me will change it once again.

I cannot stand another heartbreak. How many can a person withstand before they crumble?

I don’t know, but I compose myself to answer and hope I will survive it. “Hi, Griffin.”

There is no preamble. “Dante’s been in an accident. It’s bad, Tar. Reallybad.”

My heart stops, and I slap my hand on the wall to steady myself as my brother continues. “I thought you’d want to know. I was called to the scene. He was hit by a car.”