Page 44 of Worth the Wait

“It feels like I’ve known him forever,” she sounded a little emotional. “In a good way.”

“I’m really glad you came back with me. Thank you.” I reached for her hand and pulled her off the bed, and we stood there, hugging.

“I kind of want to see this town you love so much,” she said as she pulled away and straightened her shoulders and posture.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Is there any shopping here?” she asked.

I let out an awkward laugh. “We have a few cute shops on Main Street. There’s so much I want to show you, but you’re not allowed to make fun of it,” I said, feeling defensive of my home.

Sugar Mountain was so incredibly small when you compared it to Manhattan, but that was exactly why I loved it so much. And even though Sarina didn’t seem much like our mother, what if she hated it the same way our mother had?

“I won’t make fun of it. I’m excited to see it.” She clapped her hands together, and instantly, my mind shot to little Clarabel, the way it always did.

I wanted to see Clara so bad, but knew that I couldn’t do that to her. She’d be so confused after I left again, and the thought of hurting her didn’t sit right with me. Seeing her would be selfish, for my own happiness and joy and nothing else.

“What are you thinking about?” Sarina interrupted my thoughts.

“Patrick’s niece,” I said softly.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” She shook her head, and it hit me that I’d probably never brought her up before now. “How old is she?”

I pursed my lips together and glanced upward as I did math in my head. “She’s got to be around eight by now.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met an eight-year-old,” Sarina said, and I barked out a laugh because she legitimately meant it.

“Not a lot of kids running around your upscale social events?” I asked, even though it wasn’t really a question.

“You know there isn’t.”

“Anyway, she’s great. Or at least, she was. I assume she still is.” I was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m going to grab a jacket from my room, and then let’s make sure Dad’s okay with us ditching him.”

“Sounds good.”

I walked back into my bedroom and glanced around at what felt like a time capsule of my and Patrick’s years together. There were so many roses hanging upside down on my walls, dried and shriveled up to a fraction of their original size. Leaning closer, I inhaled the fragrance, which still permeated from their petals.

Sliding my closet door open, I grabbed a black puffer jacket and slipped it on, realizing that it was Patrick’s. It still smelled like him, and I buried my nose in the material and breathed him in. I thought about hanging it back up and grabbing one of my own, but decided against it. I’d always loved wearing his clothes, and apparently, old habits died hard.

“Ready?” Sarina appeared, looking way too dressed up for Sugar Mountain in a short little skirt and tights that matched her skin color, but I knew she’d layered for warmth.

She wore them whenever it was cold in New York but still wanted to show off her legs, which was often. I remembered the first time I had seen her wearing a pair, and I completely freaked out, thinking she was going to freeze to death. But she just laughed and got me a pair of my own. Only once I’d worn them did I fully understand that they were as warm as wearing sweatpants, but without the bulk.

“You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb,” I said, wondering who the heck had made up that saying anyway.

“I wasn’t made to blend in.” She twirled, and I shook my head.

Sarina looked amazing, but then again, she always did.

We started bounding down the stairs, and I heard the television playing some sport or another. When we walked into the living room, our dad whistled.

“You girls heading out?” He cocked his head to the side as he studied us.

“I wanted to show Sarina around town.”

“And I want to get some new things for my room, if that’s okay?” she added quickly.

Our dad’s face lit up. “Of course it’s okay. It’s your room. Always will be.” He sounded so proud. “But I’ve got to warn you. You might give the guys in this town a heart attack, looking like that.”

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