Page 82 of Sweet Escape
She continues. “But that wouldn’t have done anybody any good. I still had you and your daddy. I couldn’t perpetuate the cycle of grief by taking from you what was taken from me. And whatever happens after this life, I believe I would’ve been left grieving you instead. It’s like being stuck in limbo with part of my heart here and part of my heart wherever Ben is. I imagine Wilder feels much the same way.”
I drop to my knees and crawl across the floorboards to lay my head in my mother’s lap, tears soaking her overalls. “Mom. I’m so sorry.”
She plays with my hair the way she did when I was a kid, and it still soothes me after all this time. “It’s okay, Liv. I’ve had thirty years to wonder about Ben, to picture what he’d be like now. I think a part of me grieved for him all over again when you told us about your pregnancy, and it was unfair of me to put that on you.” She releases a deep sigh. “How are you, sweet girl? Are you ready for this next big adventure?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I could really use my mom, though.”
“I’m here,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
I pull her into a hug and inhale her familiar vanilla perfume, the same one I used to borrow in middle school. I wanted so badly to be just like her when I grew up, and I am a lot like my mom in many ways. It’s why we butt heads so often. “It’s okay, Mom. I understand. The important thing is you’re here now.”
“Your daddy just needs a little more time, I think. His reasons are different from mine. He’ll have to come to terms with the past and move on from what he sees as a betrayal. I’ll help him get there. I promise. He loves you.”
“I know. I never doubted that.”
I tug open Wilder’s dresser, searching for one of his ratty ranch tees I love to wear around the house. The conversation with my mom is still heavy on my mind, and I need the comfort of familiarity. Maybe it has a little to do with Wilder, too.
Near the bottom of the pile, I find my favorite brown shirt with the holes near the neckline and the faded Whispering Oaks logo. When I pull it out, a photograph cascades to the floor, landing face down on the plush cream rug. I toss the shirt over my head, then bend to pick it up.
It’s well-loved, with various dents and folds along the back of the print, like someone’s taken it out to look at it often. I flip it over, and the air whooshes from my lungs as I look into those piercing blue eyes, identical to Emmy’s.
Jess was stunning, with long auburn hair braided over her shoulder, and a beautiful smile that leaps off the page, no doubt brightening every room she ever entered. She’s wearing blue scrubs with an ID tag clipped to her chest, her baby bump straining against the fabric. The way Wilder looks at her has me swallowing hard as the reality of our situation comes surging back. Love is radiating off him, as if she’s his sun and he exists to revolve around her. It’s a harsh reminder of what we’ll never be.
I tuck the photo back in the drawer, sliding it closed seconds before Wilder steps into the room. “Liv? What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing. You’re crying.” Sure enough, a tear I hadn’t noticed lands on my chest, leaving a wet spot on Wilder’s shirt. He steps into my space, cradling my face between his palms. The tender gesture that would normally soothe me now feels inherently wrong. “Talk to me,” he murmurs.
I can’t, so I lie. “Pregnancy hormones.” Seeking some kind of connection, however fleeting, I close the distance, leaning my forehead against his chest. His arms come around my back, holding me there, one hand cradling my head.
I find the courage to ask, “Why don’t you have any photos of Jess around the house?”
He inhales a prolonged breath, ruffling my hair on the exhale before he speaks. “At first it was the guilt,” he says, his voice low and rich, filled with so much pent-up emotion. “Then it was Emmy. I’ve never really talked about her mom much. She’s so little, I wouldn’t even know what to say. I know she’ll ask about Jess someday, but I’m not—I haven’t—been ready.”
He releases his hold on me, then strides into the closet, returning with a large brown leather-bound photo album. “This was hers. You can look through it if you want. I’m not trying to keep that part of my life a secret. It’s just hard for me.”
He tries to pass it over, but I place my palm on top of his and shake my head. It’s not my place to go looking into his past, and truthfully, I’m not ready to face it either. The glimpse I got earlier was more than enough to remind me of my place in his life; I’m the mother of his child and nothing more. I’d do well to remember that. “It’s okay. I have to get to work. The cupcakes won’t bake themselves.”
Wilder
Liv leaves me behind in the quiet of my darkened bedroom, a sliver of light shining through the curtains as I hold the remnants of my past in my hands. I haven’t looked at this album since the funeral. Jess’s mom had asked if I had photographs for the memorial video, and I spent hours in that Colorado house with a bottle of bourbon and the ghost of my past.
The truth is, it’s not just the memories that haunt me, but the uncertainty of the future. Losing Jess forced me to consider my mortality for the first time, and now it’s morethan just a fleeting thought. What if something happens to me, leaving Emmy with little more than some hazy memories and a leather-bound book to remember me by?
Those fears have eased since returning home, and I’d be lying if I said having Liv in my life hasn’t changed my perspective. I find comfort in the knowledge that if something tragic were to happen, Emmy will always have my family to lean on, and there's no doubt in my mind that Liv will be there for her, too. She’s everything Jess would’ve wanted for our daughter, a far better woman than I deserve.
Their bond is beyond anything I could’ve imagined. I find myself standing in the shadows just to watch them do the most ordinary things. They laugh with abandon when they’re together, unburdened by fear and regret. I envy them in that way. Emmy looks at Liv like she hung the moon, and I’m not entirely convinced she didn’t.
I tuck the album back in its place. There’s no use reliving the past when the future is standing in my kitchen, smelling like cupcakes and looking like a goddamn wet dream in my ratty T-shirt. One thing’s for damn sure, I haven’t done a single thing in this life to deserve her, but fuck if I’m not the greedy bastard who’s gonna hold onto her anyway.
A short while later, I find Olivia in the kitchen, humming along to one of my sister’s songs while she pipes chocolate frosting on top of a dozen yellow cupcakes. The island is covered in various flavors of cupcakes, some ready to be boxed up and delivered, while others are waiting to be baked. She smiles softly when she sees me, then licks a dollop of frosting off her thumb.She’s never more beautiful than when she’s in her element.
“Have you given any thought to opening a bakery in town?”I ask.
She lets out a huff of air. “You sound like Grammy.”
“She’s a smart businesswoman. If that’s something you still want, it might be worth looking into.”
