Page 207 of Snap Shot

A sigh blows from my flared nostrils. “I don't want to get married.”

“So don't.” Mom shrugs. “What's the big deal?”

“He doesn't want to get marriedatall.” Laney's arms fly up, exasperated. “Fucking idiot.”

Narrow eyes study my guilty expression. “Never? Why?”

My sister widens and rolls her eyes. “I'll give you two guesses, Mom.”

She purses her lips and furrows her brows in response. Pensive until realization strikes. “Because of me and your Dad?”

I shrug. “I don't want to mess things up.”

“Too late,” Delaney mutters, eliciting a back-handed smack to the thigh from her couch neighbor.

“Honey.” Mom shakes her head. “That's completely different. Leon and I…it's too bad you two got caught in the middle. Your dad didn't choose to be gay. But we chose to be a family.”

“I don't know. I love Dad—”

“But?”

“It's not fair! He found Steve. You never got a second chance—”

“For what? Love? Sweetie…” she intones. “I promise, I had plenty of opportunities. I didn't want to date around. I had other priorities. I love being a nurse. I love my friends and family. I have so much love in my life. I never felt I needed more.” A soft pat on my hands confirms her words. “Love is out there for whoever wants it. I'm too blessed to be greedy about it. There are so many ways to have happiness.”

“Sure, of course.” Why didn't I think of that?Here I was, thinking my mom had been left jilted and heartbroken when it couldn't have been further from the truth.

“Leon and I love each other. Your dad's my best friend, you know that. But we were never meant to be.”

I lift my head from where it hangs. “And how do you know if it's ‘meant to be?’”

Delaney and Mom share glances. “Nothing in life is for sure. But let me show you something.”

She leads us to my old bedroom, since repainted a sage green and filled with desks to craft on. A sewing machine in one corner, a Cricut in the other. Some scrapbook paper and stickers that look like Sadie and Gunn have gotten into them.

“I was doing some cleaning and consolidating after New Year's.” Mom drags a cardboard box out from the closet floor. “When Indi gave you that sketchpad and pencils for Christmas, Laney and I figured out why we recognized her.”

After flipping open the lid, she removes a tangle of various hockey medals. “From playing puck, I know.”

Delaney pokes through some items. “You're about to feel really stupid.”

“No, not hockey.”

A pile of folders stack against Mom's arms and before reaching the craft table, they slip from her grasp. Loose papers in all different sizes fly out like confetti. We bend down to gather them and I turn one over. And another. Then another, until a mosaic of sketched faces in various stages of completion stares up at me from the floor. My eyes grow, jaw going lax at the sight.

“It's Indi.” My sister lets out a muted squeal of delight into her sweater. “They're all her.”

“They're all her,” Mom affirms. She points to various dates. “You've had her on your mind for years.”

Unbelievable. Eyes poring, I scan through all the spread sketches. It's a slightly younger version, as if I'd imagined what she'd look like grown-up. Rounded eyes, strong brow, the curves of her cheekbones and pretty lips and chin, the angles of her nose and jaw. Some sketches smile with perfectly pitted dimples, pricking saltwater from my eyes. Scooping the drawings up and hugging them to my chest sets off a teary catharsis. The image of her has been my respite and solace from anxiety since we met.

“Landy.” Delaney kneels next to me and stretches her arm across my shoulder. “I can't make fun of you when you're like this.”

“God, I fucked up.”

“Totally.”

Mom clicks her tongue at my sister. “Have you tried talking to her?”

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