Page 27 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

She stood and rounded the table. “You know…you never cried. You just tried to shut it all out and refused to talk about him. You wouldn’t even mention his name?—”

“Because he’s gone. What’s there to say? I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” I gritted my teeth. “Who cares about Nick Ashby? No one. He wasn’t even there for you when he was alive. So why do you want to memorialize him?” My eyes narrowed onher. “Are you going to tell the truth oryourversion of the truth?” There was so much venom in my voice that I barely recognized it.

My mom reared back like she’d been struck.

I never spoke to her like this. Never. But I couldn’t reel the words back in and even though my stomach was churning, I didn’t really want to.

My mom leaned against the edge of the table and folded her arms over her chest, her gaze drifting to the window where a blue jay hopped onto the window frame. A splash of color against the brown landscape.

“It’s a message from a loved one,” my mom said. “That’s what a blue jay symbolizes. Nicky is trying to tell me something?—”

“No, he’s not,” I said through clenched teeth. “You need to stop, Mom. It’s beenseven years. No more Tarot cards or crystal balls or searching for signs from the universe?—”

“I’m sorry if this upsets you but it’s something I need to do. I need closure,” she said. “Your father was the love of my life. We grew up together. No one knew him like I did.No one. And I need to find a way to make sense of it all.” My mom held out her hands, palms up. “To do that, I need to write our story.”

“Then just write it for yourself. The whole world doesn’t need to know. Just do it for you.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “I should have waited until you were gone. That was silly of me. I’m sorry.” She released a weary sigh and massaged her temples as if this whole morning had been taxing beyond belief. On that we could agree. “But it’s nothing you need to worry about right now. When it’s done, I promise I won’t do anything without your blessing. How’s that?”

Did I have a choice? Apparently not. She was going to do what she was going to do and there was nothing I could say to stop her. “Fine,” I muttered.

“Now. Would you like to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“Killing off Jakob and Petra and resurrecting Nick Ashby aren’t reasons enough for you?”

She laughed softly. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me. But we’re going out for lunch and we can talk about anything you want.”

I relaxed my shoulders. I wasn’t in a big rush to get home anyway. I had a bad feeling I knew what I’d find. My best friend, heartbroken. A gift from Gabriel I wasn’t sure I wanted. And the end of my little fantasy starring the Notebook Boy who had turned out to be a freaking musician. How’s that for irony?

“Nothing deep and heavy,” I said, putting on my coat. “I’ve had enough of that for one weekend.”

She crossed her heart. “We’ll stay in the shallow end.”

“Strictly rom-com territory.” I quirked my brow at her. “Something you should probably think about for your next book since you have yet to write a happy ending.”

She slung her arm around my shoulder and ushered me out the door. “You’re my happy ending.”

CHAPTER TEN

The scentof bleach and pine-scented cleaning products assaulted my nostrils as soon as I walked through the door.

Annika always went on a cleaning spree after a breakup.

I dropped my bags in my room and gave myself a mental pep talk before I walked down the hall and eased Annika’s door open. Unlike my moody blue bedroom, hers was a pastel dreamscape.

She turned from her closet with an armful of clothes and stuffed them into a Hefty bag in the middle of the floor. A few Polaroids tumbled out and she snatched them up, crumpled them in her hand and stuffed them back into the bag.

When she stood, she flashed me a bright smile. “I’m so glad you’re home. I’m cleaning out my closet so if you see anything you want, just grab it. Out with the old and in with the new,” she singsonged, tying a knot in the bag and tossing it out her bedroom door.

I looked over my shoulder at the overstuffed bag ripping at the seams. No doubt it held every article of clothing she’d ever worn with Gabriel.

“I’ll drop it off at Goodwill for you.” I wouldn’t. She did the same thing after her last two breakups, and I’d stashed the bag in my closet until she was ready to deal with it.

By next month or the one after, she’d want her clothes and mementos back.

She gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

I lowered the volume on the Violent Femmes blasting from her boombox and sat on the edge of her mattress. “What happened?” I asked tentatively.