Page 90 of What We Broke

She flips me off as she retreats to her car. “Fuck off. I love you.”

* * *

“Rain-e,”I push her bedroom door open and she glances up at me from the book she’s reading.

“Stop trying to make Rain-e happen, Dad. I told you only Papa calls me that.”

“Sorry.” I put my hands up in surrender and take a seat on the edge of her bed. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She puts her book down. “Is everything okay?”

“You know how Papa and I see Dr. Sosa?” She nods. “Recently, we discussed Lola’s nursery.”

Raine’s throat bobs and I know she, too, is remembering the day Zara was rushed to the hospital.

One moment we were setting up the nursery, and the next we were literally closing the door on a part of our lives that was too hard to handle.

The door has stayed closed.

It’s still closed.

“Dr. Sosa suggested having people who didn’t have the same emotional attachment to Lola to help us repaint the room.”

She anxiously bites at her bottom lip. “So, they’ll paint Lola’s room?”

“Yes. And you’re more than welcome to help them if you feel up to it,” I explain. “But for Papa and me, it’s something we don’t think we can do.”

She tugs at the skin on her lip, thinking about the offer. “Are they doing it tonight?”

“We didn’t plan on it because I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I want to help them,” she blurts out. “Does Mom know?”

“She does,” I assure her. “But she doesn’t want to be here when they’re painting.”

“When will they do it?”

Apparently, I’m talking too slowly, because Raine pulls off her blankets and makes a beeline for Deacon and Julian.

“Can we paint the room tonight?”

“Raine,” I warn, but she ignores me.

“Walmart is open; we can go and buy paint.”

“Raine,” I repeat, but Deacon shakes his head at me.

“We can do it tonight. We’ll go pick out whatever colors you want and we’ll stop at our place to pick up some clothes we can paint in and we’ll be all set.”

“Deac, I…”

The words don’t come. The gratitude. The grief. The love. It’s all just so much.

Acknowledging my loss for words, Deacon offers me a sympathetic smile. “We told you we wanted to do this for you and your family.” He looks at his husband. “Julian can stay and start packing up the room. And if you’re okay with it, Raine and I will go get paint.”

I nod, more than okay with it. I shift my gaze to Leo, who’s looking at Raine in awe.

I know the feeling. Our daughter is a force to be reckoned with, and her resilience is inspiring.

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