Page 93 of Dark Knight
“Take care of yourself,” she whispers. “Be good to yourself. Let other people be good to you. Can you do that for me?”
“I don’t know. You’re asking a lot.”
She doesn’t chuckle with me. “I mean it. Whatever you did and have done since then, you need to let it go. You have to move on. Remember, I know you – ten years doesn’t change who a person is inside. I know you carry things around. I know you punish yourself. You don’t deserve it. Let it go. Start fresh. Really, that’s all I want for you. Can you do that for me?”
“You’re asking a lot. No joke this time.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing about caring about somebody. You sort of want the best for them.” Her arms shoot out and wrap around me, and all I can do is hug her back. It’s awkward, but it’s not bad. “Be happy. Whatever it is you decide to do, try to be happy. Okay?”
Happy. When I think about happiness, a few things come to mind.
No big surprise, one person is at the center of them. Tatum and her sweet-smelling curls. Lying in my arms, snoring softly so I always knew when she was asleep. Smelling her hair, feeling her breath against my skin. Her warm, limp body. I knew she trusted me. That way she could make me laugh over the stupidest things. How proud she made me when she forced herself through the darkness and found herself again.
Even sitting down to dinner together. Looking forward to it throughout the day. I was happy and I didn’t even know it.
And she’s gone, and I know it’s for the best that she’s gone, but I’m also a selfish son of a bitch who always wants a thing he shouldn’t have.
And I shouldn’t have her.
Dammit, nothing else will do.
Instead of walking straight home, I wander the streets, too deep in thought to care about the cold.
CHAPTER32
TATUM
“I’m so glad to have you home, I can’t bring myself to shoo you out of the kitchen.” Sheryl pats my shoulder on her way past me, then peeks into the oven. “The turkey looks great so far.” Granted, she only put it in the oven twenty minutes ago, but I’ll take her word for it.
“I’m so glad you got an extra big one this year.” Beside me, Bianca peels potatoes the way I am. “I’m ravenous.”
Sheryl taps a finger to her chin. “You know, I’ve heard when a woman is pregnant with a baby boy, she needs more calories than if the baby was a girl. I don’t know if that’s true, though.”
“Oh, I can totally see that being true.” Bianca abandons her potato and reaches for a piece of cheese from the little platter Sheryl put together for us to snack on while we work. “I am hungry morning, noon, and night. I shudder to think how much weight I’m going to gain by the time this kid comes out.”
I’m only partly aware of their conversation. I’m too busy peeling and blocking out reality. Sheryl was shocked when I told her I wanted to help her with dinner today. Of course, she told me not to bother since she was thrilled I was home, so I didn’t need to do anything. I guess she figured I wasn’t kidding around – it didn’t take long for her to assign me a few different jobs. This is one of them. Once I’m finished, I’ll move on to chopping vegetables for the dressing and then prepping the sweet potato casserole. Out of everything she makes for Thanksgiving, that’s what I look forward to the most.
“Hello. Earth to Tatum.” Bianca is giggling when she nudges me. “You okay? You are, like, a hundred miles away.”
“Am I? I guess I’m too busy trying to work.” I stick my tongue out at her and she mimes me. And for one brief, necessary second, things feel normal again. Like nothing ever changed, like I never went away.
Whereas then my heart reminds me that I did, and that everything is different. It will never be the same.
“This year, we really have something to be thankful for.” Sheryl wedges herself between us, putting an arm around our shoulders. “First, Bianca came to stay, and now a baby is coming. And you, Tatum. The house was awfully empty without you.”
“That’s the truth.” Bianca lowers her peeler and sniffles. “These damn hormones!”
“Get it together, Preggo.” She bursts out laughing at my joke, but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing.
“I can’t get a handle on myself,” she groans. “I swear, I burst out crying at the stupidest things now.”
“Don’t feel like you have to apologize.” Without thinking about it, I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and pull a tissue from the stash I’ve been carrying around. “Here you go.”
She gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything beyond a muttered thank you. Dammit. That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe she’ll let it go without bothering to ask why I’m making a point to carry tissues around with me now. I really don’t feel like getting into it.
She thinks she’s been crying? Hilarious. I’m surprised I was able to make myself stop long enough to come out to the kitchen and help with meal prep.
And I hate myself for it. Who was I ever kidding, thinking I was brave and strong? All it took was getting sent back home to shatter me all over again. When the potato I’m working on blurs, I blink fast to push the tears back. I will not do this here or now. I need to stay busy.