Page 29 of This Can't Be Goodbye

She drops her gaze, traces the stem of her glass. “I hate letting her down, and being an only child makes it worse. Like there’s this pressure to be perfect because they only have me. I don’t have a brother or sister to distract them while I mess up.”

“She’s only concerned because she cares.”

“And your grandmother only teases you because she loves you so much.”

I huff as I sip my wine. “I should’ve been a worse grandson.”

She laughs softly. “How did you two end up so close?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment,” I say, keeping things light.

Naomi squints at me, not speaking, just waiting. She wants the real me, like she did when she asked about my mental health in my bedroom.

Unsure how far I’m willing to let her in, I stick to familiar ground. “After E and his family left town suddenly, Gran forced me to take her for walks outside, made me sit and play cribbage with her.”

A smile gentles her face. “She’s a good woman.”

“The best…whenshe’s not blasting my worst moments around town.” Or nagging me to loosen up the controls on my ordered life. “Are you excited about the Spring Fair next week?” I ask, preferring to avoid that topic.

Naomi beams. “I have a funnel cake addiction.”

We talk about the obscene fair food and the fun rides. We reminisce about the terrible days Delilah went through after E disappeared and gossip about how annoying it is that Ricky and Aaron haven’t gone on a date yet. We drink wine and talk and open up to each other, while I try not to think about our limited future.

chaptertwelve

Avett

While I enjoy Windfall’s Scarecrow Scavenger Hunt and the Summer Art Festival, the town’s Spring Fair is my favorite Windfall event. The flower arrangement contest always makes Gran smile, and the tractor race is epic and outlandish, with groups turning tractors into themed floats, which they race across the field to the shouts and laughter of townsfolk.

As usual, a traveling amusement park is set up on the fairgrounds. Country music blasts from the rides. Bales of hay are stacked high, guiding shrieking kids through the various mazes. Horse jumping draws crowds to the arena, while vendors sell candy apples and cotton candy and every kind of homemade fudge you can imagine. During the year, I limit my sugar intake and don’t spend money on frivolous things.

Spring Fair is my cheat day.

Ricky is with Delilah and her best friend, Maggie Edelstein. Maggie has red hair, pale freckled skin, and is blunter than a hammer. They wave when they see me and beckon me toward the churros stand. I don’t need the encouragement. Not with the sweet smells of fried dough and cinnamon sugar.

Delilah seems a bit down and distracted, her attention on the ground.

Ricky smirks at my shirt. “Looks like you’ve already visited the caramel popcorn booth.”

Maggie follows his gaze and snorts. “Looks more like you need a lesson in hand-eye coordination.”

I glance down—and yep. A piece of caramel popcorn is stuck to my T-shirt. I pick it off and toss it into the nearby trash. “Gran insisted on a treat while we watched the flower arrangement contest, along with a bag of fresh-made licorice.” I rub my stomach, unsure if I can add churros to the mix just yet.

Ricky shakes his head. “Honestly, if you weren’t so staunch about your diet, you wouldn’t need to OD on sugar at events like this.”

“It’s easier cutting it out than having it in doses.”

“Did Mr. Bajwa win the flower contest?” Maggie asks as she takes a bite of her churro. Her eyes roll back. “Fuck, these are good.”

“They smell amazing,” Delilah says, no enthusiasm in her tone. She watches a few kids run by and frowns.

“They taste even better,” Maggie replies cheekily…and shoves a churro in Delilah’s face, covering her in cinnamon sugar.

I wait for Delilah to crack up like she would’ve when we were younger, but she just smiles quietly while dusting off the mess. I swallow a sigh.

While Delilah runs a great business and is usually upbeat and positive, I think festivals remind her too much of E. The two of them were inseparable as they’d cheer at the horse jumping and feed each other pieces of fudge. Maggie tries to make her laugh with antics like shoving food in her face, but there’s no denying the obvious—when Delilah lost E without explanation, she lost a piece of herself.

“Back to the flower arrangement contest,” I say, trying to keep the conversation flowing, “Mr. Bajwa didn’t win this year.”

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