Page 30 of My Dearest Mackenzie

Frances nodded, a strange look across her face. “I wasn’t sure if there was a connection, but I’ve seen older bottles of it. My Paps used to buy it for my grandma, which sounds atrocious but I guess it was his way of being close to Milly.”

I nodded, not wanting to discuss how awkward that made it all sound. I read on, ignoring the woman possessing my mind. She still had a distant look on her face, but I chalked it up to the weirdness swirling the room.

My parents are being extra watchful after seeing us on the park bench.

I explained we are friends from the store, but they don’t believe in girls and boys being friends, especially ones of different religions.

My Dearest James, I’ve explained to you that when I am ready to get married, I will go on meetings with a chaperone and my suitor. It seems outdated, but it is our way.

Although it’s been like a dream to think about you being the suitor for a brief moment while we sat on the bench. Our five children running around our house, your customs and mine mixing and blending, our love and adoration carrying on forever.

For five minutes, we were in love in the open, for everyone to witness what true, true, true love is like. When two people love one another for their deep souls and beautiful personalities. That is me and you. Until we were spotted.

My dad said none of it is possible and that broke my heart.

I miss you, my Jimmy, and I will see you soon. Even if it’s to say goodbye.

“I don’t think I want to read the final letter. This was enough,” I said, setting the next-to-last letter down on the coffee table.

“It’s mostly more regrets and goodbyes.”

“Too sad,” I muttered.

She nodded but didn’t move to my side of the room.

Her hair was down, smooth and glossy, but she wore her jean shorts and black tank top, a bunch of necklaces twisted around her neck. I liked the casual side of Frances.

“They definitely had a thing,” I stated.

“Do you think your dad knew?”

“No. He and Milly were not fans of one another. They mostly fought. No way he wouldn’t have dragged this in if he knew.”

“I’m sorry.” With those two words, she was on the move, coming close, her hand touching my arm.

“I’m not saying he didn’t feel the effects of it. Maybe Milly resented him. I don’t know. But he sought love from places he shouldn’t. Like my mom. He became consumed with his love for her.”

With the tips of Frances’s fingers singeing my forearm, she spoke. “That’s why you don’t believe in love? Because your dad believed in it too much?”

Running my free hand through my hair, I took a deep breath. “She was the only person my dad loved. Samantha, that’s my mom. Sami to my dad. Sure, my dad loved me, but not in a deep, soul-shattering way.”

I watched Frances slide her hand down my thigh. It felt weirdly platonic and sensual at the same time; I needed space, and to be closer to Frances.

I was losing it, yet I kept going on with my emotional vomit.

“What I mean is my dad didn’t care for me in the ‘I would go to the ends of the earth for my kid’ way. He did go to the end of the universe for my mom. Several times—looking for her when she disappeared once, then twice. First time, she was in Barcelona. After that, she wasn’t as easy to find. She’d pop back up and go again.”

“I can’t imagine,” Frances said, her voice raw and raspy with emotion.

“I knew you couldn’t from just the way you spoke about your pregnancy.”

A tear fell from her eye, and she waved her hand, signaling me to not bring up the subject.

My leg felt the absence of her palm and my heart broke at her not wanting to discuss what a wonderful mother she would have been.

“Milly was left to take care of me, and she adored me. She gave me the unconditional warmth kids crave, but I never saw her act that way with my dad. Maybe she never did. He looked for the feeling with my mom, and she couldn’t give it to anyone but herself.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that. You could love and be loved.”

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