Page 102 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Do you really think he’d want that for you?” Tess asks.

My fork clatters on the glass plate as I drop it. My heart stills, bracing for the pain that line of questioning brings.

Tess sets her fork down too, with more grace than I did. “As someone who lost her parents, I spend a lot of time thinking about what they’d want for me. What kind of life, what kinds of choices.” Her gaze is distant, glossy. “Especially lately. Consider that, and be really honest with yourself. Would your dad want the same life for you that he had? Would he want you to make the same choices?”

“I—” I start, but she holds up a hand.

“No need to tell me,” Tess interjects. “Just think about it, okay? Promise?”

“I promise,” I say, working to breathe around the knot my throat has become. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” Tess punctuates the word with a smile, her confidence shifting back into place. “Now, which mimosa do you ladies hate the most, and why is it the lavender one?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Delilah

Truett

Delilah Jean Ridgefield, we’re going on a date tonight.

Me

Who are you to middle name me, my mother?

Truett

Not your mother. But you can call me Daddy if that’s something you’re into?

Me

That is especially gross when I’m sitting right next to my ACTUAL father.

Truett

…so that’s a no on Daddy. *crosses off list*

Me

What else is on the list?

Truett

You’ll see ;) Pick you up at 6. Already paid Roberta to stay late!

I feel like I’m seventeen again.

Nerves bubble in my chest. Clog up my throat. I’m hyper-analyzing myself in the mirror, checking for flaws in makeup that took me too long to make this little a difference. I scan my hazel eyes and mousy hair, trying to understand what it is Truett claims is there. But I don’t. And right now I’d much rather strip the too-tight jeans and slim-fitting crop top I’m wearing off and meet him outside in cutoffs and a loose tee.

I’m highly considering it when Dad raps twice on my cracked-open door and pushes inside. He finds me at my vanity and smiles. “You look beautiful, sweet pea.”

Those nerves unfurl, leaving something glimmering and soft in their wake.

“Thank you.” I tilt my head, scanning him. He looks good. Vibrant. He had a music lesson earlier, and that always makes him feel better. I hate the idea of missing even a few hours with him when he’s like this, so fully himself. It’s getting rarer and rarer lately. Especially since the graveyard incident. “You sure you’re okay hanging with Roberta tonight?”

“Absolutely! You need to go out and have some fun. Hanging with your old man all the time isn’t good for you.” He glances around the room. When he notices the pile of discarded clothes in the corner, he chuckles. “Is that the ‘no’ pile?”

“Ugh, yes.” I purse my lips, eyeing the black cowl-neck tank on top of the stack that my crop top just barely edged out. “Should I have picked that black one instead?”

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