Page 37 of Inevitable Inheritance

Taylor finished bandaging him. “All set,” she said as she put on the final Band-Aid.

Derrick looked at his fixed-up hands and flexed his fingers. Then he met Taylor’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Taylor smiled a small smile at him, and the two stood looking at each other for probably twenty seconds, but it felt like a year. Taylor broke eye contact first, becoming uncomfortable with Derrick’s stare. “Do you want to go out with Marty?”

Derrick just shook his head.

“What do you want? Oooph,” Taylor made the noise as Derrick pulled her into him, squeezing her close. Taylor closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in Derrick’s smell. It was familiar, and it gave her back the butterflies she’d had for years when she saw him. But the memories made her sad, and she was just about to tell him to let her go when she felt wetness on her neck and realized Derrick was crying.

Taylor moved her arms around him and rubbed his back the way her mother did whenever she cried, “I’m sorry, Derrick,” she whispered to him. She was sorry for a lot: that his mom had died, that she hadn’t wanted to help him, and that she’d nearly pushed him away.

Derrick’s shoulders shook, and slowly his sobs became louder and louder. “I miss my mom,” he sobbed at one point, and Taylor silently cried as he let out his hurt. “I wasn’t here. She went, and I wasn’t here.”

“It’s okay, Derrick,” Taylor soothed.

“She didn’t know how much I love her. I didn’t tell her.” He sobbed, and Taylor was shocked at his words.

“Derrick, of course she knew,” Taylor assured him, but he just shook his head and sobbed.

Taylor pulled herself back from him. “Derrick, look at me,” she demanded, “look!”

Finally Derrick locked his bloodshot gaze with hers.

“Your mom knew how much you love her. She knew because you smiled at her whenever you saw her, because you never forgot her birthday, because you listen when she talked. Just because you didn’t tell her, just because you weren’t with her when she … uh, weren’t there when … um, didn’t get to see her at the end doesn’t mean she didn’t know.”

Tears ran down his cheeks. “Do you think she was mad at me?” he asked.

“No! Why would she be mad at you?”

“I haven’t been home a lot lately, and I haven’t been a good person to—”

“She wasn’t mad, Derrick. Your mom loved you, and she knew you loved her. End of story.”

Derrick searched Taylor’s face. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered as more tears fell, and he pulled her back into a hug.

Taylor bit her tongue, literally.Then why haven’t you called me?she thought.Why did you push me away?But now was not the time to ask. He was hurting, and asking him to give her answers now would only make it worse. And it probably wouldn’t make her feel better.

“Will you hang in here with me?” he asked her, leaning back from the hug.

“Sure.”

Derrick led her back out into his chaotic mess of a room and looked almost surprised at what he had done. “Uh, we can sit—”

“How about here,” Taylor said, pointing to the only clean spot on the floor, and Derrick nodded.

As they sat on the floor, Derrick pulled her to him and held her. “Thank you for being here, Taylor. I’ve missed you.”

Taylor’s head spun with confusion. There she sat between Derrick’s legs, her back to his chest, his arms around her on the floor of his bedroom. What did this mean? Were they friends again? What had happened all the years before? Taylor was almost at her breaking point on keeping quiet. Years—they had gone years without even seeing each other, and now he was hugging her and saying he missed her. It washisdecision to not see her in the first place. Taylor fumed.

Derrick tightened his hold on Taylor and started running his fingers through her hair. She felt his body relax as he slid his finger through her blond locks, and if she was being honest she felt herself relax too.

They were silent for a long time, and then Derrick spoke. “She was really sick,” he finally said.

Taylor nodded against his chest.

“I didn’t know she was going to get so sick,” he said. And slowly Derrick talked about it, about his mom’s cancer, about when he found out, about the treatments, and about when she came home with hospice. He slowly poured out what happened and how he felt. He talked until his voice got scratchy and hoarse. And Taylor just sat and listened and let him get it out.

When he was done speaking, Taylor looked around. “Want me to help you clean up?”

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