Practice Makes Perfect (When in Rome, #2)(83)

“I’m not sure there’s only one reason.”

“Give me your top five then.”

We’re sitting in the dim dining room of the assisted-living center. Dinner ended about two hours ago, so Mabel and I are the only ones in here. The room is decorated in deep burgundy and gold and navy, and every time I bring my grandma out here she remarks on how tacky the place is. I have to agree. It’s a very nice facility, but something about it feels like a funeral home, which is unacceptable.

I make a mental note to bring in a fresh bright and colorful bouquet to put on each table tomorrow and talk to the facility manager about painting the room in a cheerier color.

“I’m not sure who I am anymore, Mabel—and I’d really like my mom to help me sort it out, but she can’t because she’s dead. And I never got to know her like my siblings did, and sometimes I resent them for that. And I don’t know why I’m crying over my dead parents when I’m almost thirty years old, when I don’t think I cried about them even in childhood.” I suck in a breath. “Oh, and I’ve fallen in love with a bodyguard who doesn’t believe in love and is leaving for good. Was that five? I don’t know.”

Mabel sighs. “Well shit, darlin’. You’re running a whole race in that brain of yours.” She squeezes my hand, urging me to look up into her kind eyes. “What do you need from me, sweetie? Advice? Or for me to listen?”

“Advice. I really need advice.”

“Good, cause you were gonna get it either way.” Her grin pulls one from me in return. “Truth be told, I’ve been waiting for this day. You’ve been overdue a good grieving for your parents.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what this is. I’m not grieving.” I pause and Mabel just watches me. “I’m not. They died decades ago, Mabel. I’ve lived a whole life without them. I barely know anything about the people who gave me life aside from the crumbs that my siblings tell me. And the rest of their memories are bottled up in a woman who can’t find them, and I’m this close to losing her for good,” I say, holding up my thumb and forefinger to show the most depressingly small measurement.

I don’t realize I’m crying during all of this until Mabel hands me a paper napkin across the table. I blot my eyes and thank my lucky stars that I didn’t wear mascara today.

“That’s grief, Annie. And it’s okay. Grief—that mean son of a bitch—doesn’t have a timeline or rules. It hits when it wants. Even with me—sometimes I feel all healed up, and then randomly I’ll catch a scent that smells like my husband’s cologne, and I’ll lose it in an aisle at the market. It doesn’t make sense, grief. And I’ve known you through it all, and I’ve never seen you grieve over your parents. Why?”

My lips quiver and I aim my gaze down at my lap. “I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

“But, honey, why would you think that?” Her tender voice rips my heart from my chest, and I feel like I’m bleeding out in the form of tears.

“Because I didn’t know them enough to grieve them. But Noah and Emily and even Madison did. They have specific memories that I don’t. I just have a hole in my heart that I can’t seem to fully fill, and I’m not really sure why it’s there.”

Wait.

Suddenly, like a strike of lightning, I realize that I’ve been chasing the wrong things. I haven’t needed a husband. Or even to find myself. I think this emptiness has been a result of constantly isolating myself from my feelings. I know who I am and what I want out of life—I’ve just been ignoring those needs.

“Don’t your siblings talk about your parents much?”

Again, I shake my head. “No. And asking questions about Mom and Dad has always made everyone shut down. It seemed too painful for them to talk to me about their memories. So I quit trying—I didn’t want to add more grief to their pain. I just stopped acknowledging my own sadness and focused on everyone else’s instead. It’s worked. It made them feel better and in return, it made me feel good.”

“Until it didn’t.”

I sigh and nod. “Until it didn’t. And now I’ve lived so much of my life without sharing who I am with them, that I don’t know how to start. I don’t know how to tell them that this version of me they’ve seen for so long is not necessarily true to me anymore.”

“You say that. Exactly that.”

“They’ll be hurt, Mabel. My family loves me so much that to find out I’ve been lying to them all these years—”

“Exactly, honey. They love you so much. Honesty is a gift, Annie. And if you really love them, too, you’ll be honest with them about who you are. And as for William…” Hearing his name mentioned suddenly in this conversation has me nearly jumping in my seat. “Don’t give up on him.”

“But Mabel…”

“Don’t ‘but Mabel’ me…if you love that boy, don’t give up on him, Annie. He needs someone to fight for him, like you’ve needed someone to fight for you. And I’m not saying it’s going to look conventional, or anything like you’ve always pictured, or even anything like what your parents had…” She smiles and it’s a smile full of memories. “But maybe it’ll be something even better.”