Straight To You

thirty-two

When I reach the front office to stop by and talk with her, I'm surprised to find that Elena isn't alone. I brush the realization to the side, assuming it's merely another student who needed a pass or help with a schedule or something. Entering the office, I'm almost stunned when it hits me that the person speaking to Elena isn't a student at all. In fact, I know the man she's talking to well, considering he raised me. I'm glad my presence hasn't yet been made known as I stare at my dad, who is leaning over the front desk as he talks to Elena with a faint smile. So far, everything looks normal, just two old friends catching up while they have the chance.

And yet something about the scene sets me on edge, this odd something's happening feeling rushing through my veins. I study the pair before me intently, paying attention to every last detail. My dad's blue eyes wrinkle around the corners as he smiles down at Elena, his grin the widest I've seen him smile since Mom passed. Dad laughs loudly at something Elena has said, broad shoulders shaking with the gesture. Elena's dark brown eyes gleam brightly as she offers my father a smug smile, as if knowing that she's funny without him having to tell her. Then she's laughing, too, dark hair tumbling down her shoulders in effortless waves, a few strands falling into her face. And then my dad is raising a hand to Elena's cheek, tucking her unruly hair back in place, hand lingering on her skin a few beats longer than necessary, their gazes meeting as the laughter in the room fades.

My eyes widen in horror at the sight before me, and suddenly it's hard to even think straight. Because I know this moment. I've had my own version of this moment with Jack. I'm much too familiar with the flirting and the laughing and the hair-brushing and cheek-touching. I've always known my father and Elena go way back and that they grew up and went to school together all their lives, but I never fathomed . . . This can't be happening. It just can't. I mean, that's my dad. And Elena. Dad would never . . . we only lost Mom a few years ago . . . and dad loved her, he wouldn't . . .

I think I'm going to be sick.

Unable to bear watching whatever it is going down between my father and Elena, I turn around on my heel sharply, storming out of the office as quickly as I can. I don't care that the rough way I push open the door makes my presence obvious, interrupting all of the staring my dad and Elena are doing with each other. I just tell myself that the faster I walk and the further away I run, the more I'll be able to erase the image of my dad's hand lingering on Elena's skin from my memory.

I have enough to worry about as it is, but this . . . this is the worst. I mean, Dad loved Mom. So much. There's no way he'd just move on an forget about her. He can't be ready for that yet. Not when her loss is still so fresh. Not after the pain of losing her nearly shattered us both. He can't be ready to push all of that to the side and start over with someone else. Right?

Maybe the truth is that I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready to see a new woman standing in our kitchen in the morning, sipping from Mom's favorite coffee mug. I'm not ready for my dad to hold another woman close and whisper his love for her, wrapping his arms around her the way he used to do with my mother. I'm not ready. Maybe I'll never be ready. And just the thought of my father moving on before I'm able to accept that is killing me.

I keep moving until I've walked right past my classroom. I walk by my locker without a second thought. I don't stop running until I've slipped out of one of the exits at the end of a hallway, rushing out to the parking lot and hurling myself into my car.

And then the tears take over.

I haven't done anything like this in a long time. The last time I ditched school because I couldn't hold myself together was when I still lived in Texas and Mom's death was still months fresh. That time, a memory of my mom had hit me so vividly I could have sworn it was really happening. I couldn't handle the overwhelming pain that consumed me when I realized Mom was gone and never coming back, so I locked myself in a bathroom stall and cried until I thought I would never be able to shed a tear again. But this time I'm not crying over the loss of my mother; instead, I'm crying over the loss of what once was. Because now that I've seen my father with a woman in what could be taken as a romantic kind of way, I can't help longing for the relationship he used to have with my mother. Knowing that my dad is missing having someone to love only makes me miss the woman he used to love more than I already do, and I can't handle the overbearing sadness that begins to wrap around me.