Page 54 of Second Chance Vacation

Oh,oh.

Suddenly, so much of Gen makes sense. Don’t get me wrong, she’ll always be an anomaly to me, but this—this part of her finally clicks into place. Why she always refused to go on our trips to the coast as a kid, no matter how many times we asked. Why the trip to Lake Lanier was met with so much discomfort for her. Why, no matter how many times she and Hannah went back and forth about it, she refused to come with us to the Parks’ beach house. She lost her mom that way—in the water.

I say nothing. I just stare at her, giving her the floor to say what she needs to say because, based on her expression, it’s clear she’s not done. Instinctively, I push another strand of hair behind her ear, desperate to provide her with comfort.

“When I was little…my dad traveled a lot for work, so it was me and my mom a lot. We’d go on outings most days, but the day she died, we went to the lake—”

Tears begin to well in her eyes, and I want nothing more than to be able to take away her pain. Watching a single tear break free from her, I reach up and brush it away. Gen doesn’t even flinch at the contact.

I can’t imagine losing either of my parents, let alone so young. Her mom died before she met Hannah, so it wasn’t something that got talked about, at least not around me. As much as I want to know this part of her, I hate knowing that reliving it causes her so much pain.

“We rented a boat…much like the one we rented today.” She clears her throat, trying to quell herself. I reach over, rubbing her back lightly, encouraging her to continue. “We had done it before, rented a boat, and we often would swim off the side of it. But that day, something was different…the water was different.”

Gen’s obvious tension building up her spine pushed me to pull her to me once again, relishing in her touch. She doesn’t resist this change as she rests her head against my chest once more. The lack of eye contact seems to give her solid ground to speak her mind.

“The wind had picked up while we were in the water, causing the water to become unsteady. It was a small lake, but not man-made, so there were a lot of plants under the surface. Large ones. Like seaweed, but not—I don’t know how to explain it. Um—well, the water shifted them, at least that’s what I was told. Her foot was caught, and it pulled her under. She managed to get me back onto the boat, but she couldn’t wiggle herself free.”

She was there when her mom died. She saw it happen.

Gen watched as her mom was pulled underwater, and at four years old, she couldn’t do anything about it. I want nothing more than to be able to hug that poor four-year-old version of her, but I can’t. In lieu of my desires, I wrap my arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

“If it wasn’t for me, maybe she could have had time to get herself back on the boat.”

I feel tears hit my shirt and a sob break free of Gen. The sound of her pain causes a tear to prick the side of my eye, but I wipe it away in an instant.

She doesn’t really think that, does she? Does she really think that her mom would be here if not for her? That’s absurd.

“Viv—It isn’t your fault.”

Gen doesn’t respond immediately. She just lays there, tears streaming down her face. Despite my instincts, I don’t reach to wipe them away.

“It’s not your fault,” I mumble as I press my lips to the top of her head, desperate to provide her comfort.

“I know.”

I’m not entirely sure she believes that, but I don’t want to push her more than today already has. She looks up at me, and my heart skips a beat. Gen’s face is red, her eyes slightly swollen, her lips chapped, and yet she manages to still look like a dream.

It’s unnerving.

“My dad doesn’t talk about it—never has. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you the last time he expressed an ounce of emotion toward me.” Her mind trails off, drawing circles with her pointer finger on my shirt. I’ve only met her dad a hand full of times, typically when he was dropping her off at our house when we were little, but now that I think of it…once Gen was old enough to drive, I never saw him.

For most of our childhood, Gen was at our house. I always assumed it was because she just liked it there, but now I wonder if there was more to it. Looking at your childhood through an adult lens is always weird, but being reminded how blind I was to her struggles hurts.

I know I’m fortunate, coming from such a loving home. So much of who she was when we were young is falling into place, and I desperately wish it didn’t have to. This girl deserves all the love in the world, and for her dad to be so distant hurts. Despite that, I’m not sure I could handle what he went through, losing the love of my life, then having to raise our child alone.

I can’t imagine losing her like that at all.

The sun peeks through the blinds as faint streams of pink and purple paint the room in lines.

Creeping downstairs, I grab a glass of water and some ibuprofen for her. I’m sure between her panic attack and the crying, she is bound to get a headache. As I reenter the bedroom, I see her, finally, after what has felt like the longest day possible, asleep—calm.

Slipping in next to her, I pull her to me once more, squeezing her just enough to comfort me but not enough to stir her awake. Her skin smells of lavender mixed with the salt air from the Mediterranean. I can’t think of a better scent in this world.

I thought I was over it, but I’m not.

As I lay here with Gen in my arms, I am forced to come to terms with what I already know. I convinced myself that distance and time could dislodge her from my heart, but it hasn’t.

I am so insanely in love with this woman, and I’m not sure I can handle her leaving me again. Despite this, I don’t know if I have it in me to stop this. Even if it breaks me later, I will be damned if I don’t soak up every ounce of affection she is willing to give me, even if it ends in chaos.

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