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“I’m mostly sad because I know Mom wanted me to marry Zak.”
“Mom just wanted you to be happy.”
“Zak does make me happy.”
Did. Hedidmake me happy.
“If you say so.”
I don’t like my dad’s tone. It’s like Tessa and Brooke have gotten to him and turned him against Zak. There is a very real chance that Zak could change his mind and come back. But I’m not going to say that out loud to people. I don’t need to add to the reasons my sisters think I’m pathetic. It wouldn’t be the first time someone made a mistake and came crawling back.
I’m glad he changes the subject this time so I don’t have to. “How are your Etsy sales going?”
I sell things on Etsy—digital downloads of home decor quotes people can print out and hang on their walls. I also have a line of digital invitations that people can edit and print. It’s not a big deal—I’m literally one in a million—but it brings in a decent amount of money every month. Zak thought it was a waste of time. Apparently he didn’t appreciate the fact that I can design my own wedding invitation and decorate the halls of my house, saving my future family money. With this kind of hobby, I really can’t understand why every single man doesn’t get down on one knee and propose to me right now.
“The sales are going well.” I like how my dad is proud of my little side business. He’s the only one I talk to about it. “I put up some new fall and Halloween signs that have been selling.”
“I think that’s great.” His voice is muffled through bites of his breakfast.
“Well, I’m pulling into the school, so I guess I better go,” I say, turning the steering wheel into the parking lot of American Education Academy. “What’s on your agenda today?”
“I’ll probably stop by Mom’s grave before I head home.”
My heart breaks a little. I miss my mom so much. I’m constantly sad that she’s not here for me. And then there’s the sadness that comes because she’s not here for my dad either.
“Tell her hi for me,” I say, not letting my sadness invade my voice.
“I will. Have a good day at school.”
* * *
The morning recess bell rings,and I look up from my desk at my students who are writing theirAllAbout Mestories. “If you’re finished with your assignment, you can put it in the basket as you go out to recess.”
The quiet classroom becomes a flurry of noise as kids tuck in their chairs, bring their papers to the front, and grab soccer balls and jump ropes on their way out to the playground.
“Here, Mrs. Johnson.” My student, Krew, hands me his paper.
“Oh, you can put it in the basket with the rest of the class.”
“I want you to read it,” he says, shoving the paper into my hand.
“Now?”
He smiles his cute little smile, and I can’t tell him no.
“Okay.”
I look down at his paper and begin reading out loud.
My mom died.
Oh.
This was not what I was expecting.
I swallow, trying to keep it together.
We go to her grave. We bring her flowrs. The yellow are her favrite. My dad is sad. He sleeps on her side of the bed and smels her pillow. My grama works at the scool and lets me help her after scool when I wait for my dad.
