Page 100 of Dear Pink

“Oh, no. Sorry. Everything’s fine. I’m talking about Hannah.”

“Hannah?” My face must be a confusing mess because she squeezes my hand.

“Gabe, honey, did Hannah tell you about her parents? About Libby?”

“I know she lost her parents. It’s terrible.” I release Mom’s hand and drag my fingers through my hair. “I can’t imagine.”

“It’s heartbreaking,” she agrees.

“But who’s Libby? She’s never mentioned Libby.”

“I might be speaking out of turn here. Hannah didn’t specifically say it’s a secret, but I don’t enjoy telling someone else’s story.”

“What story?” Great. I’m clueless yet again.

Mom pats my shoulder. “Libby was Hannah’s best friend.”

“She never mentioned her.”

“Well, Gabe, Hannah lost Libby too. She died. Apparently, Libby left an email for Hannah to read after she passed. In it, she included a bucket list for her to complete.”

“Her best friend died?”

Mom nods. “By the sound of the list, Libby was quite the character. She has Hannah doing fun activities that put her out in the world and stave off loneliness, like dying her hair and getting a pet.”

“Homer.” I smile at the memory of the love connection she made with the shy turtle.

“I think Hannah got a bit lost.”

I scowl, remembering how angry Jack’s reappearance made Hannah. She had to deal with his crap on top of all the loss. What an asshole.

“But Hannah doesn’t seem lost,” I say.

“Grief leaves deep scars that exist on the inside where no one else sees them. But Hannah’s also full of strength. You must sense it too.”

I nod, and we sit silently for a few minutes.

“Thanks for telling me, Mom.”

“You know, sweetheart, if all that loss happened to me, I would be leery of letting people close.”

“So, you might want to keep relationships casual?” I finally understand what my mom means.

“Exactly.”

“How can I convince her I won’t disappear?”

“Gabe, you can’t make that kind of promise. No one can. Part of life means losing people. But what you can do is be available. Support her. Let her know where you stand.”

“I told her I wanted to have a relationship with her, a serious one. I scared her off.” I tug at my hair. “I might have ruined everything.”

“Her race is soon, correct? Didn’t I read that in the paper?”

“Yes, it’s next weekend.”

“Go. Be there for her.” Mom stands, and I follow.

“Be in the race?” I ask, then feel idiotic.

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