So Over It (25 page)

I shrugged.

Mom looked at me, then turned her attention back to the road. “I never thought we’d be back so soon.”

“Do you miss it at all?”

She chewed on her lip as she thought. I’d never noticed her doing that before. I did the same thing sometimes. Used to be I’d have been horrified to recognize myself in her, but now it made me smile.

“Sometimes. In the winter, I guess I do. I’ve never cared for the cold.” Mom frowned. “But I guess life’s like that.”

She left me to draw my own conclusions. “Cold?”

Mom smiled. “No. Like in the winter months—or in the times of trial and frustration—it’s easy to long for happier times. When you think back on how it used to be, you only recall the good stuff. Like pineapple and sunshine and the feel of the ocean. But then you go back, and you’re like, oh yeah, there’s lots of bugs. And the bread mildews on the grocery store shelves. And it costs a fortune to live here.” She sighed. “Sorry. I bet none of that made any sense. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“You’re making sense.” I thought of the spring, when I’d ached so badly from Connor’s betrayal. At the time, all I’d remembered from my old life was the carefree fun, and how I’d never been hurt like he’d hurt me. I’d fallen back into being the old Skylar, only to rediscover the morning-after headaches and regrets. The dissatisfaction of it all.

Reinvention hurt, but at least it was a satisfying kind of pain. Like when you exercise.

I looked out the window at the palm trees and azure expanse of water. Strange to think how if I’d stayed, I might have been here for Papa’s heart attack. My throat closed at the memory of him on the porch, wearing one of his ugly, old-man shirts, his fingers busy with his electronic poker game.

Something brushed against my leg. I turned to find Mom’s hand, smooth and soft, patting me. A rare display of affection, and one I needed.

“I’m really proud of you,” Mom said, her voice tight. “I know it’s been a rough year and we’ve had our fair share of disagreements, but I see a lot of changes in you.” She squeezed my leg, then withdrew her hand. “You’re inspiring.”

I closed my eyes, holding back tears. To hear her say that, I’d have redone this year a thousand times more.

“Grammy’s told me over and over that the doctors said it was quick, virtually pain free,” I said to Connor. “So that’s good.”

“It’s great. I mean, as great as him dying could be, you know.”

“I know.” I tucked my legs underneath me. Not so long ago—but also very long ago—Papa and I had had a very important talk on this bench.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s . . .” I glanced through the lit window. Mom sat at the so-old-it-was-back-in-again Formica table with a checkbook register and a box of something that looked like receipts. “She’s surprisingly strong. I’m used to seeing my dad take care of everything important and my mom just decorating. It’s strange to see her doing everyday stuff. Earlier she was scrubbing the toilet.”

“That thought just doesn’t compute.”

“I know. I guess . . .” I caught myself biting my lip and smiled. “I guess she’s why I’ve hesitated to go into design. I want to do something that matters, and I don’t know how fashion can do that.”

“But who says it’s gotta be your work that makes you matter?” Connor said. “Think about everyone you’ve influenced this year. I mean, look at Jodi.”

I ran my hands through my hair. “She’s the real deal, isn’t she?”

“All except the tan.”

I giggled. “Connor, that’s not nice.”

“I’d say it to her face too.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I know. That doesn’t mean you should.” Across the street, at the tiny house Justin and Chase shared, the door opened. Justin stepped out, his eyes on me and his feet moving my direction.

“Hey, I see Justin and need to talk to him, okay?”

“The guy across the street? Who your grandma wanted you engaged to by now?” I heard him frowning.

“You want me to put you on speaker or anything?” I teased.

“No, just call me back later. And don’t forget to mention me. And that I’ve been working out.”

I grinned. “Call you later.” I tucked my phone in my pocket and met Justin in the scabby yard. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He tugged at his shirt collar. “Sorry about your grandpa.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Justin cleared his throat. “I meant to call you after you left. I knew I should, but I couldn’t really think of what to say. And then more and more time went by and . . .”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not. I was really mean to you, Skylar—”

“Please don’t apologize.” I wrung my hands. “What you said to me, it was true. And it’s what I needed to hear. To force me to go back home and do what I needed to do.”

He frowned. “I’m glad it worked out okay. I think I’ve partially felt so bad because I was being really hypocritical. I accused you of using me to get over someone else, and I think I was using you too. To get over Janette. Remember the girl I told you about?”

Not by name. “Kinda.”

“Well, I think I was just brokenhearted and wanted to move on. Right away. Regardless of what God had planned, or . . .” His eyes searched mine. “Or what it could’ve done to you.”

“It’s okay,” I said as the door to Grammy and Papa’s—or just Grammy’s—house opened.

Light spilled onto the lawn, then darkened with Mom’s silhouette. “Skylar?”

“Yeah, Mom?”

She stepped onto the porch. “Oh, hi, Justin.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hoyt. Sorry about your dad.”

“Thank you.” She pulled the door closed behind her with a soft click. “Mom said you stayed with her until the medical examiner came and went. That was very nice of you.”

Justin shrugged. “She’s been really great to me since I moved in. Both of them were. It was the least I could do.”

One of those strange silences settled over us, where no one has anything else to say, yet no one knew how to leave.

“I should get back inside.” Mom glanced at me. “Take your time.”

I took a step toward the house. “I was getting ready to come in anyway.”

“See you at the funeral,” Justin said. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

As we headed our different directions, Mom said to me, “He’s a nice young man.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“You break his heart?”

I laughed a little. “He somehow survived.”

Mom touched my shoulder as I reached for the doorknob. “You mind if we sit outside for a couple minutes and talk? I convinced Grammy to go take a bath.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She settled onto the porch bench, and I followed her lead.

“I want to talk to you about your father and me.”

My heart seemed to pause, then raced. “Are you getting divorced?”

Her jaw clenched and she shook her head. “Never. I understand why you’d think that, though. Your father and I have had . . . well, not an easy go of it for the last couple years.”

Talk about an understatement.

“We both accept the blame for this, but I give your dad all the credit for us being back on track now. After Abbie had Owen . . .” Mom stared out into the night for a second, then continued. “After Abbie had Owen, your father and I decided to stay together. Mostly for Abbie—for all three of you, really. We went to counseling. We didn’t have any crazy blowups at each other. And I really thought that was enough.”

She turned to me, eyes shimmery with tears. “Even though we decided to stay together, in my heart I never made another commitment to
love
your father. To cherish him. In sickness and health, in good times and bad. I was just going through the motions of being married. I thought that was enough.”

Mom sighed. “When you wanted to come to Hawaii and we decided to take a family vacation, I was elated. Even though I’d decided to stay in Kansas City, I harbored regret for not getting to live where I wanted. But our time in Hawaii changed everything. We’d been here barely twenty-four hours when I realized I didn’t want to stay. This isn’t my home anymore. My home is with your dad, with you and Abbie, with Owen.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she caressed my hair, pushing it behind my ears. “And I’m so, so sorry for all the things I did that made you doubt I want you.”

We moved toward each other, hugging and crying.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said into her hair. “It’s done. It’s over.”

She cried harder, and I understood. Sometimes you’ve been gripping that pain, that shame, for so long it took a long time to cry it all out.

“Mom.”

She pulled back and looked at me.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know if now’s the best time. But there’s something I’ve been hiding from you and Dad. Something I need to tell you. See, about a year ago, I was at this party . . .”

27

I’d been to two funerals before, Grandma Hoyt’s and Grandpa Hoyt’s. For Grandma’s I was seven, for Grandpa’s seven and a half. I’d worn the same black velvet dress to both funerals, the same itchy wool tights, and the same shiny shoes that were a touch too small even at the first one. Almost the entire town had shown up at the First Baptist Church of Medicine Lodge, Kansas. They’d dressed in dark clothes, donned somber faces, and hugged me close as if they’d known me.

Papa’s funeral was different altogether. Grammy, Mom, and I wore matching flowing muumuus (which, thankfully, no one documented with pictures). We sat in the front row of the church, our necks decorated with leis of sweet-smelling plumeria. The other women present wore traditional Hawaiian dresses, and the men wore aloha shirts untucked over their slacks. Not a shade of black, or even gray, could be found in the whole church.

Others who’d known Papa much better than I had, and much better than Mom had, went to the stage to speak of him. They spoke of his service in rebuilding Kapaa after Iniki, of how he took time to talk to new people at church, and of how he loved his family, especially his girls. That sent Mom into hysterical sobs.

Even in June, she and Papa had barely spoken to each other. I knew from my conversation with him that he’d loved her, just didn’t know how to say it. So that morning, as we’d prepared food for the after-service feast, I’d told her all he’d said to me.

Tears had pricked her eyes, and she took several deep breaths before speaking. “I don’t want it to be like that with you and me. I want to say nice things when I can, when it matters.”

“Me too,” I said. “Your hair is pretty.”

Mom’s frown morphed into a smile. “I like your earrings.”

“You have very straight teeth.”

This made her giggle—she sounded like Abbie. She returned to chopping fresh fruit. “I know you’ve heard my parents, especially Grammy, indirectly say a lot of things about you. About how I screwed up my life by getting married so young, how I disappointed them.” She put down the knife and looked at me. “You’ve never been a disappointment.”

I hugged her, not wanting to risk her seeing my relief. I thought it’d hurt her feelings if she knew I’d been carrying around that fear with me since last winter, when we met in Starbucks and she told me about my conception. How I’d trapped her in a life she wasn’t sure she wanted.

And now, as we sat through Papa’s memorial service in our matching muumuus and leis, my mind replayed the words over and over.
You’ve never been a disappointment,
never been a disappointment.
I wished Papa had thought to tell my mom the same thing before it was too late.

Of course, maybe because he didn’t, my mom knew she should.

For five days, Mom sat with Grammy as she cried. She held Grammy’s hands, wrinkled and thin-skinned like tissue paper used over and over, and let her sob about what a wonderful man Kelani had been. About how much fun they’d always had together. About how her girlfriends were so jealous when she’d snagged him. She said more nice things about him in five minutes than I’d heard her say in our two weeks back in June.

When I rolled my suitcase out to the living room, Grammy burst into a fresh batch of tears. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me already.”

“Oh, Mom.” My mom sank onto the couch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to Kansas City with us? We can call and get you a ticket right now. It’s no problem.”