Page 8 of Chemistry: The Chemist

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to leave the earth without knowing you’ve done your part.”

History, it was made to be repeated and then perfected. That was my father’s memo and he’d nailed it in my skull as a boy. I was the better version of him. He’d made sure of it. My turn had come. He wanted the same for me. He needed the same from me.

An heir.

Questioning his resolve wasn’t necessary. It had been discussed time and time again.

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, one he’d given me at the tender age of twenty-two. At thirty-six, it was the only demand he’d ever given that I hadn’t fallen through with.

“Understood.”

Without another word, I exited his home, leaving my heart right where he’d broken it.

“You know, I’ve seen so much in my lifetime. So much. But, the one thing I desire I haven’t quite gotten the chance to experience has been sitting with me. Heavy on me, one would say. There, every time I lay down for bed the world is finally silenced. There.”

“Yeah?” I asked as I lined the ball with the hole I was aiming for.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

I smacked the small white ball, landing it right where I wanted it.

We gathered our things, ready to move to the next hole, but not before my father’s words continued.

“My son sharing his heart with someone other than the girls I gave him or the woman I brought into his life. Other than Malachi’s wife, Anna, or his mother.”

“You speak about me as if I’m not the one you’re speaking to.”

“Mmm.”

“You said you wanted a grandson. I’ll give you that much. Giving pieces of a heart that isn’t mine to share, I can’t make a promise.”

“Your mother.” He chuckled. “She was a ball of fire tucked away in the most gentle being one could ever encounter. That’s what I loved about her. That’s what Maurice loved about her. May his soul rest in peace.”

“May it.”

“I loved that woman. But, my God. He loved that woman.”

“To his detriment,” I reminded him.

“Til his death.”

“Is that supposed to convince me to fall in love?” Scoffing, I stopped to grab the ball that was in the hole. “If love will be the death of me, then I don’t want any parts of it.”

“As if your love for your sisters or your brothers wouldn’t result in death.” He tittered with a shake of the head. My twenty-eight-year-old brain still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact Maurice’s love for my mother had been as beautiful as it was tragic.

“He loved her to death.”

“And that’s exactly how it was supposed to be. When you love someone, you don’t only love the pretty parts of them. You love the ugly, too.”

“Sounds more like a curse to me than a gift.”

“Your anger won’t let you see past your own feelings.”

“Anger?”

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