Page 147 of Come Apart
"Uh-huh."
I tap her lightly. She smiles, playful, her face lighting up. There's such a warmth here.
I lean down and kiss her.
For a moment, I feel like I'm floating.
Her eyes flutter open when our lips separate. "Does it still hurt?"
"I don't usually think about it."
Alyssa's eyes bore into mine. She's listening with such rapt attention. She actually wants to hear this.
"Yes," I say. "It hurts whenever I think about it. She never had a chance. She lived her whole life hiding her passion. And she did it all for me, because she didn't want me to grow up in a broken home."
"It's not your fault."
"She was thinking about divorcing my father. I overheard her on the phone with a friend once. But she wouldn't do it. She knew he'd fight for custody, just because he could. After not working for years—at my father's insistence—she'd have no way to support herself. She felt like she had no choice but to stay married to that asshole."
I feel Alyssa's fingertips on my cheeks. Her eyes are back on mine, sympathy in them. "That's why you're a divorce lawyer, isn't it? So you can be the person your mom needed?"
I nod. "I could get her a very generous settlement today."
"Is that why you represent so many women?"
"Yeah. They need someone to look out for them for once. Someone to take care of them for once."
"Did you ever think that maybe you need someone to take care of you for once?"
"I didn't." I bring my hand to Alyssa's and press my fingertips into hers. "But I'm reconsidering."
She smiles briefly.
"What was it like when she died?"
I sigh, thinking back.
It feels like a long time ago. But it also feels like yesterday.
"It hit me... hard. I couldn't function for a long time. I drowned myself in schoolwork. I took every class I could, went to every club I could, tried making friends with every person in the school. I was obnoxious. And, when I finally finished my homework at midnight, I would fall asleep to one of her favorite movies. It hurt so much, thinking about her while the images flashed on screen, but it was a good kind of hurt. Like pressing on a bruise. It was like she was still around."
"I'm so sorry," she whispers.
And I know she means it.
"This is the one I watched the most," I say. "It was her favorite, and I must have fallen asleep to it a hundred nights."
She takes my hand.
"Let's add another watch to your tally."
We settle onto the couch and spend the next two hours wrapped in each other's arms, our attention on the screen.
And, once again, I swear I could float.
It's so fucking perfect.
