Page 133 of Touch the Sky

Morning is here, pale and rosy with possibility.

“Is it what you wanted foryou?”

Gabrielle’s voice is so soft I almost miss her question. Her gaze is still pinned to the sky.

“It’s not supposed to be about me.”

She shakes her head and grins, like she and the sky are sharing a joke.

“That’s how it goes for mothers,non? We want the best for everyone else.” She turns to look at me, her gentle expression sharpening into something sterner. “But you’re not just a mother. You’re a daughter. You’re aperson, and other people want the best for you too. I’m sure your mother would say the same. You can want things for you, Tess.”

That’s exactly the kind of thing my mom would say if I called her right now. She’d set down her mug of mint hot chocolate, wag a finger at me, and tell me she didn’t bring me into this world just to forget all about myself.

The corners of my eyes begin to sting. My throat burns, and I turn away to cough.

“God, sometimes I really miss my mom,” I say. “I don’t even know how to talk to her about?—”

I catch myself before I can say ‘Jacinthe.’

“All this,” I finish instead.

Gabrielle gives my arm another pat. “I may not be your mom, but I amamom. Maybe you can talk to me.”

She’s so kind. She’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. All I’ve found here in La Cloche is kindness, and somehow, I’ve still turned it into a mess.

The tears I’ve been blinking back begin to streak hot, thick trails down my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I mutter, swiping at my face. “It’s just…”

“It’s Jacinthe, isn’t it?”

My head jerks up. I try to stutter out a denial, but I can’t make a sound.

Gabrielle smirks. “I see the way you are together. I am not as old and clueless as I look.”

There’s no point denying everything, not when she already seems so convinced, so I just sigh and settle deeper into my chair.

“I just…I don’t know what to trust,” I admit. “My head is telling me there’s no way it’s responsible to live with someone, work with someone, and…be with someone, at least not in a matter of months. It’s the most obvious recipe for disaster I’ve ever heard.”

I squirm a little at even alluding to having something going on with her daughter, but Gabrielle isn’t fazed; she nods like I’m saying everything she expected me to.

“But your heart?” she prompts.

My heart is saying it needs a goddamn break from all these emotions, but beneath the complaining, there’s a deeper truth.

“My heart is saying I’ll never forgive myself if I throw this all away without giving it a chance.”

The daylight is splashing over the edge of the porch, nearly reaching our toes as the sun gains more strength. A few songbirds who haven’t migrated are twittering in the trees.

I could get used to mornings like this.

Ihavegotten used to mornings like this: the stillness, the peace, the routine of chores and coffee that somehow turns meditative instead of monotonous over time.

“And I don’t think Shel will forgive me either.”

She’s gotten used to this too. I didn’t even realize quite how much, but yesterday proved it.

Forever.