Page 65 of Just Like This
“Of course, I want that! What daughter doesn’t want a mother? But what mother leaves her daughters behind for selfish pursuits? You don’t just abandon your family like that.”
“I understand exactly what you’re saying, but maybe you should at least let her talk? Give her the chance to explain first before you decide that forgiveness isn’t an option.”
I gritted my teeth and groaned in frustration. “Stop it, Palmer. Just stop being so damned reasonable! Fine, I’ll give her a chance … when Garrett comes home.”
“Cami,” he admonished me.
“Okay. I’ll consider doing it sooner.”
When Palmer dropped me off, I retreated to the guest house and to my laptop. Sending Garrett daily emails was my thing now. It made me feel connected to him even though his responses weren’t always quick.
* * *
To:[emailprotected]
From:[emailprotected]
Subject: One Week
If I only get to hear from you once a week, then that day will be my favorite. I’ll try to not stuff your inbox now that I know how often we can communicate. Can we Skype or FaceTime at all? I’d give anything to not only hear your voice but also see your face.
Palmer and I met with a real estate agent today. Her name is Miranda, and she’s absolutely perfect. I totally trust her to help sell the condo, and I’m planning to meet with her at the end of the week to list it. Maybe I should ask her about buying a winery?
My mom also kind of cornered me today. She wants to talk, and she wants forgiveness. I just don’t know if I’m ready to listen and to grant it. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to forgive her. Palmer was being unreasonably logical and told me that I should at least listen to what she has to say before I decide that forgiveness isn’t an option. He’s completely right, but the hurt she caused is so deep that … I just don’t know, Garrett. I just don’t know if it’s possible. And then I think about getting married and a wedding without either my dad or my mom, and it makes the hurt worse. Could I really get married without her?
I’m grateful for all of Palmer’s help and advice, but I can’t help but wish it was you. I don’t want to burden you with all of this; I’m sorry. I’m trying to stay strong.
Stay safe,
Your Cami
* * *
His response came a day later,quicker than I expected. My heart pounded in my chest when my phone pinged, and I saw his email waiting in my inbox. Eagerly, I swiped my phone and let his message fill the tiny screen. His words and response and opinions meant more to me than I wanted to say, and I hated that I was almost dependent upon him to make such a monumental decision.
* * *
To:[emailprotected]
From:[emailprotected]
Subject: RE: One Week
I’m sorry I can’t be there with you. I wish that more than anything. This is the worst moment of your life, and you’re dealing with so much. I’m grateful that Palmer is there to help you through it all, but I’m a little jealous too. I hope his shoulders aren’t too comfortable. Please don’t ever think that you’re a burden to me. I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling because it helps me feel connected to you while we’re so far apart.
I know you don’t want to hear this, but Palmer is right. You should listen to what your mother has to say. If you make a decision now without listening to her side, you might regret it for the rest of your life.
I want nothing more than to see your face and hear your voice. I’ll try to arrange something, but I can’t guarantee anything will happen. Patrols have started, and it’s not exactly paradise around here. I’m waiting for my orders to come any day. When they come, it might be more than a week before you hear from me again. I don’t want you to worry. Until then …
Stay strong.
Yours, G.
* * *
His advice wasthe same as Palmer’s—listen to her, talk with her, and then decide.Fine. I didn’t have to like it, but I could still do it. Luckily, Garrett left half a case of Hammond Wine in the guest house. Clutching a bottle of red wine, I walked across the driveway and into the main house. Valerie was still at work, but my mother was in the kitchen cooking. It bothered me because she was part of the reason I loved baking. Suddenly, I pictured all of the Christmases we’d spent together baking and elaborately decorating cookies.
“This is your time to explain,” I said coolly, walking into the kitchen. I set the bottle of wine on the table and went in search of a corkscrew. Once I managed to open the bottle, I poured myself a glass and sat at the kitchen island.
