Page 13 of Things I Wish I Said
Stupid things that can get me arrested, like hanging with Dustin while he deals drugs, watching while his friends vandalize private property.
Mom winces like it’s hard to hear.
“Besides, isn’t that, I don’t know, unethical?” I ask.
“It’s unconventional, I know—”
“No. It’s fucked up, Mom.”
“Enough with the language,” she snaps, but when she narrows her eyes at me, I don’t cower. She’s asking a whole hell of a lot, considering she was spot-on when she said I’m a ghost in this house, except she is, too. We pass each other in the hall without a second thought, barely acknowledging the other, her with her nose stuck in her work, and me fully devoted to drinking my life away with the same devotion a priest gives to the church.
“Do you realize what you’re asking? After watching Dad . . .” I swallow the lump in my throat, pushing back the image threatening to surface. “You can’t possibly expect me to do this. What if she’s terminal?”
I can’t go through that again. Just the thought has panic clawing at my throat.
“What would I even say to her? What would we do?” I continue. “Is she even well enough to leave the house? It’ll be like watching Dad all over again.” My voice cracks, and I fight for composure. “I can’t do it. I don’t want to.”
“She needs this.”
And I need the fuck out of this house and away from all the memories.
“No.” I shake my head. “She needs to be resting and focusing her energy on getting better. If that fails, then she should be spending her days with her family like Dad did.”
“You and I don’t get to decide what people want before they die.”
“Am I supposed to kiss her, too? Huh, Ma?”
“I mean, maybe if the mood strikes—”
“Holy shit.” I clasp my hands behind my head, my temperature rising. “You really have lost it. Am I supposed to fuck her while I’m at it? You know, so she doesn’t die a virgin?”
“Grayson Alejandro De Leon!”
A breath hisses through my teeth as I turn away from her.
Silence envelops us for a moment before my mother says, “I don’t expect you to understand this. I really don’t. But something about this girl . . . something about this letter . . .” She huffs out a breath. “It’s like your father was there looking over my shoulder, beckoning me to open it and grant this wish with your help. I’ve been praying for a way to get through to you, and it’s like I could feel him telling me this was the answer.”
My chest tightens as I remember the promise to my father. Somehow, I’m not sure this is what he intended, but guilt sinks its hooks into me all the same.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. He’s gone, and he’s not sending you subliminal messages.”
I return my gaze to hers, catching the tears swimming in her blue eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace when I read her email and decided we could give her this. Like, this whole thing, your father creating this foundation just before he died, had a singular purpose, and in that moment, it was to grant this one girl a wish.”
I swallow. Using my father as a form of coercion is a low blow, and Mom knows it.
Not only would granting this wish be awkward as fuck, I’m the worst possible candidate for the job.
It’s too much.
And I’m not enough.
But maybe if I do this, if I follow through and grant this wish, it’ll lift this fucking weight off my chest. The one I’ve been carrying around for the last thirteen months.
Maybe I can breathe again.
“I’ll think about it,” I say after a moment.
Mom nods, eyes bright as she swipes at her damp cheeks. “Meet with her. At least see what you think before you decide.”
