Page 88 of Lose You to Find Me

“Christ,” I grumble, swiping at my face. I never liked crying, especially in front of him. If he can be strong, I need to be too. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t…” My voice cracks.

He’s slow, but he manages to reach over and touch my hand. Inching closer to him, I soak in the warmth of his palm. “I’m real proud of you. Need you to know that. You’ve gone through hell and have come out of it. That’s all I could ever ask of you.”

Sniffing back tears, I suck in a deep breath and let it out. Dad is proud of me despite all the ways I’ve struggled these past few months, and that’s more than enough. “I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know. And…”

I’m going to miss this, I say silently.

He doesn’t need me to tell him that.

He knows.

And the longer we sit there like that, simply holding on to each other for dear life, I process his words.

No more anger.

Chapter Thirty

RAINE

Leon finishes readingthe final draft of my paper that I printed for him before putting it down and setting his glasses on top of it. “It’s good, kid. You sound like you know what you’re talking about, so I’m sure you’ll ace it. Hell of a lot smarter than I am, that’s for damn sure.”

I roll my eyes as I grip the cup of coffee he poured for me. “Trust me, I’m not that smart. I think it’s a solid B, but we’ll see. We get our final grades sometime next week.”

It took me a few sleepless nights to finish writing this because I kept procrastinating. Writing Leon’s interview was easy, but delving into what I put down for Mom…

Leon’s eyes roam downward. “Has your mother read this yet?” The flinch he’s met by has him sighing. “Does she know you wrote her into this? Last you said, she didn’t want to help.”

Imayhave forged her signature on the initial proposal I submitted to Professor Wild. I was running out of time to find somebody, and she was saying things about her divorce that contributed to a well-rounded project. It would have been silly to pass it up. Plus I’ve done it plenty of times growing up when she’d forget to sign things for school. I know her signature by heart. “She hasn’t read any of my homework since I was in elementary school. And even then, she hated doing it. It isn’t as if she’ll know.”

He eyes me in disapproval. “Don’t know if I condone that, but it’s your life. How are the two of you doing?”

I told him about our argument and said we made up, but there’s still tension in the house. If I don’t censor topics, like Dad or Caleb, then everything gets murky. I’ve learned it’s better not to talk about it than deal with the repercussions of the fallout.

Maybe that’s why I added our conversation to the paper, posing it as one between her and Dad to fit the paper’s topic guidelines. Did I feel a tiny bit bad when I was doing my final readthrough? A little. But I keep telling myself there are worse things I could have done.

Right?

“We’re okay,” I say, staring into my coffee and watching the steam billow from the top. “She’s taking me for a procedure in a couple of weeks. It’s minor, nothing to worry about.”

That doesn’t seem to relax his arched brows as he stares at me. “You feeling all right?”

Wetting my lips, I raise the cup to take a sip when I remember what my gyno told me during our visit last week. Coffee can trigger endometriosis flares. So can half the things I love eating, which I’ve tried cutting back on despite Mom telling me I’m being overdramatic.

But Mom doesn’t know the extent of my diagnosis because I’ve always played it off like it’s nothing. When I told her about the laparoscopic procedure I’m being put under for, her tune changed. After she gave me crap for keeping all my problems from her. Gone are the “it’s just a period, eat some chocolate and toughen up” pep talks she used to give me whenever I’d tell her I was in excruciating pain during my cycle, and in their place is someone who seems to actually care.

I know she isn’t happy with me keeping things under wraps instead of telling Dad and my friends, but it’s easier this way. The fewer people who worry, the better it is to handle.

Putting my coffee down, I lean back in my chair and debate just asking Leon what I’ve been wanting to know since he said his wife struggled to have kids. I know if I ask for information, it’s only fair to offer it.

Out of anybody I could tell, wouldn’t Leon be the safest because he’s the most removed?

Weighing my options, I make my decision and ask, “Is there a reason Annemarie couldn’t have children? Was she sick? I only ask becauseI’msick with something that’s probably going to ruin my chances of ever having kids. I’m not telling you that for pity or anything. I just don’t want to pry unjustly.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. We were never given a reason, unfortunately. Once upon a time, we would have liked one. At least then we had a reason for it. But no. It’s a mystery to this day.”

Would it be better that way? Or am I the lucky one for at least understanding why I am the way I am?

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Leon speaks up, “is that the reason you and the Anders boy split up? Was he unhappy with that possibility?”

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