Page 128 of Wanted You More

It’s ugly.

But it feels…freeing.

Dr. Cavanaugh doesn’t ask how I feel.

She just has to see me.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

It’s ten degrees,with snow crunching under my fur-lined boots and little flakes floating from the cloudy sky. I’m bundled up with my gloved hands tucked into the pockets of my jacket as I weave past the lines of gravestones.

The familiar ball of nerves sits in my chest as I near the name I haven’t come to see since the day she was buried. Whenever Dad and Wolfe would check on Mom’s stone to clean it or bring flowers, I’d wait in the car and watch them from a distance.

After three months of therapy, and weaning off the pills I’ve used to cope over the past eleven years, it’s come to this moment. Do I want to be here? No. I love my mother and always will. I’ve cried over her more during the past few months than in the years since her passing.

The cemetery brings back a somberness to the crevices my medication used to fill. It creeps into my soul as I near the stone somebody has been to clean the snow and ice from. Probably Dad. Maybe one of Mom’s distant relatives that barely talk to us since her death.

A hand rests on my lower back, pressing just enough for me to feel it there. “I’ll wait here,” Noah tells me, giving me the space we both know I need.

Even his father has been to the grave, which I found out last night when I had dinner at the Kingsley house. Elizabeth asked how therapy was going, and I told her it was a work in progress. We didn’t talk about what I discussed, but I told them I was stopping by the cemetery.

Taking a deep breath and counting to five on the exhale like I learned, I feel my lungs ease enough for me to walk up to the stone.

The shiny black marble has a chip in the corner that I’m assuming is from a stone that was kicked up by a lawnmower but is otherwise unmarked. Her name is in pristine shape. So is the message underneath the dates listed.

Josephine ElenaCole.

Loving wife, mother, andsister.

It seems so generic. My mother was a lot of things, and sure, those were three of the big ones. But I remember her funeral. The reception afterward had so many people that the venue couldn’t hold all the attendees. She made an impact on a lot of people, so how could you summarize that in one sentence?

Simple. You can’t.

“Hi, Mom,” I greet, shifting my weight from one foot to another. My fingers wrap around a pin I found at the small bookstore on Main Street. It reminded me of her. Pulling it out, I hold it toward her stone as if she can see it. “I saw this Jane Austen pin and thought about how much you loved Darcy. I’m grateful you didn’t name me that.”

She and Dad had apparently debated back and forth on naming me Jane, Darcy, or Austen. I guess they always knew I’d be one of a kind when they finally settled on it.

I squat down and set the pin on her stone, tucked in so the wind doesn’t blow it away.

Burying my hands back in my pockets, I stare a little harder at her name. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit. But I’m here now, and I miss you, and I love you. That’s…that’s all I have to say. I wish you were here.”

My tone turns watery, and I have to blink back tears before they fall. It’s too bitter cold to cry right now, so I fight it with every ounce of my energy.

I don’t know how long I stand there, but suddenly something is being pulled over my head to cover my frozen ears. Looking over my shoulder, I see Noah standing behind me. The beanie he was wearing is gone. He flattens out his messy hair and then adjusts the hat on me.

One of those strong arms hooks around my waist and pulls me back into him. His lips press against my cheek before he rests his chin on my head. “I’m proud of you,” he tells me softly.

I can’t look away from Mom’s grave.

But I say, “I’m proud of me too.”

I’ve got a long way to go.

I think I’m ready for it though.

SPRING 2025

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

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