I Can't Love You✔

Ambiguous {29}

"Morning."

Dad drops his phone into his lap and rubs the sleep from his eyes before focusing on me. "What are you doing up so early? I thought winter break was for sleeping in until noon and whatever else the hell you do on winter break."

"Couldn't sleep." It's hard to sleep through your phone, chiming away about every half hour. I nuzzle in closer like I used to when I was little. Dad felt like a protective giant then. Now that I'm grown, the giant has gone, but his protective touch is still there. "Dad?" I tilt my head up to look at him. "What was it about my mom that made you realize she was the one?"

I never ask about my mom. I've never really been too curious about her. She died when I was really little, and I don't remember her. The question takes my dad off guard as well. He goes perfectly still before his head slowly turns and looks at me.

"Why are you asking?" A deep crease forms on his forehead.

I shrug and pull away slightly. "Just curious. I know she died in a train wreck. I remember Honey Grams saying so once."

Dad slowly raises a brow. "Your mom didn't die in a train wreck."

My brows furrow in confusion as I try to recall when I overheard Honey Gram talking about my mom. Since she was never brought up, the mention of her caught my attention. I was small, maybe eight, sitting on Uncle Colt's floor playing while Honey Grams, Uncle Colt, and Dad talked. I'm almost certain that she said mom was in a train wreck.

"Well, then, how did she die?"

Dad leans forward and rubs his hands across his face as a heavy sigh groans out from his lips. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, making me feel like maybe it's a question I don't want the answers to.

His cool blue eyes turn to me, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. "Your momma was a different kind of person, baby. She was one of those types of people that lived life to its fullest. But because of that, she had a lot of problems."

"What type of problem?" My brows knit closer together.

"Drug problems, baby." Dad turns to face me better. "When I found out your momma was pregnant with you I was able to convince her to sober up, but it only lasted until she had you. Unfortunately, one night I came home from working at the bar to find you still asleep in your crib, and your momma in our bed. She had overdosed. I have a feeling you heard Grams say your momma was a train wreck."

I'm stunned, trying to process everything dad has told me. I never felt lacking growing up. Dad's been there for me every time I need him. He was the one that bought cookies for the bake sale and tossed them on a paper plate to look like they were homemade. He'd show up for the classroom Halloween and Christmas parties to help, even though the homeroom mom's flirting with him made him uncomfortable. He filled the mom and dad role perfectly, and I never needed more, but the information still hurts. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe I hurt for dad and partially for myself. For the fact that we weren't good enough for her to stop.

"I cared for your momma, baby, but she wasn't 'the one.' I only stuck around because I was afraid of losing you." Dad reaches up, and lightly pulls on one of my curls, stretching it out before letting it go and spring back into place.

"Is Tamarah the one then?" I want answers, and this isn't it. This is far from the advice I was hoping for.

When my dad shrugs his shoulders, my stomach drops. "I don't know, baby. I love Tamarah, but I don't think there is such thing as true love, or soulmates, or any of that marshmallow Valentine crap."

I roll my eyes at the typical guy's answer.

"Why are you asking anyway?" His brows pinch together.