I press the green button to answer my phone, but press it to my chest and give Kiera a wink and smile. “Love you, baby girl.”
She rolls her eyes and glues her gaze to the phone already in her hands, but grins and mumbles, “Love you, too, Dad.”
I step into the bedroom and close the door behind me.
“Avery, hey.”
The silence on the other end swells, and I wonder if I caught the call in time or if she hung up.
“Av–”
“I’m here,” she cuts in. “I just wasn’t sure . . . I’m here.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh . . . Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
The line goes quiet again. If she’s unsure of where this conversation should go, I have suggestions. Number one being that we meet halfway between our coasts and screw all her doubts away. If she agrees to suggestion number one, the rest of the list becomes irrelevant. But I’m not suggesting shit. She wanted space, which I completely understand. As hard as it’s been, I’ve afforded her that time. Ball’s in her court. I remain silent, signaling that the next move is hers.
“I, um . . . I saw Will’s mother today,” she offers stiltedly.
There’s a note of sadness, a familiar tremor in her voice. I can only imagine how hard that must have been. She has a lot to work out, but the fact that she’s calling me after what had to be a difficult conversation encourages me.
“How was that?” I ask.
“It was . . .” In the pause that follows, I envision her shrugging and biting her bottom lip, dark hair spilling around her shoulders. I wish she was standing in front of me now so I could see if I’m right. “It was tough, but good for us both, I think.”
Her chuckle comes across the line and warms me. “She was home alone and that just wasn’t right. Will would have wanted . . .”
I’m waiting for her next words, but she lets out a frustrated sigh first.
“I’m sorry. The last thing you want to hear about is Will or his mom or—”
“I want to hear anything you want to tell me, Ave.”
She pauses again, her sigh this time one of resignation.
“I didn’t tell her about breaking up with Will or how things were between us at the end,” she says. “My mother thought that might only make things awkward with the one person Mrs. H feels understands what she’s going through.”
“Your mother sounds like a wise woman,” I tell her, keeping my voice even and free of anything that might shut her down. “So you told your mom? How do you feel?”
“Lighter. Between telling you and my mom, I feel lighter.” Her laugh is a stunted breath of uncertainty. “Just seeing Mrs. H and crying and us both remembering Will the way we loved him, made me feel better. Does that make sense?”
“Of course, it does. You both probably needed some closure.”
“You’re right. Closure. I think I got some,” she says and then goes quiet for a few seconds. “Oh, Deck, I’m just playing that back in my head and hearing myself. When I said I loved Will, I meant—”
“Whatever you meant is okay.” I’m not that much of a selfish, jealous jerk to hold her feelings for Will against her. “Whatever you feel, or felt, is okay.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, so low I barely catch it. “I’ve been sorting it all out. I know we had something good once, Will and I, but you were right when you said I couldn’t have stayed in that relationship. I think I’m finally starting to forgive myself.”
She sniffs and clears her throat.
“And to forgive him. I’ve been so angry with Will, with myself. I’m getting there, but I’m still not . . . I’m not ready, Deck.”
“For me, you mean?” I ask, my heart taking a nosedive.
“For us. I’m not ready for anything except tomorrow.” Her voice wobbles a little. “And then the next day. And then the next. I need to take it one day at a time for a little longer. I still feel raw in so many places, but I’m getting there. I just think I’d be a hot mess if we . . .”