“Don’t forget meatballs!” she hollers from the couch. “And cheese!”

“I won’t!” I shout back with a knowing smile. Ryan’s wife was Italian and from a very large family of amazing cooks. When they first started dating, he tried to win her parents over by cooking his infamous spaghetti and meatballs.

It ended up being a complete disaster, and they never let him live it down since, but it ended up being Natalia’s favorite. He continued to make it even though, compared to his wife’s cooking, he was awful. Tonight was the first night she’s requested it since he died.

I manage to make it exactly how she likes it, meatballs, and all. After cleaning up the kitchen, I grab a beer from the fridge and go check up on Natalia, who’s been reading in her room since dinner.

“Bed in fifteen,” I say, popping my head through the doorway.

She doesn’t move. Or speak.

“Nat? Did you hear me?” I ask louder.

Nothing.

I walk next to her and grab the book out of her hands. “Hey!” she screeches and leans up to reach for it, but I pull it up even higher.

“Have you gone mad?” She hisses.

“Have you gone deaf?” I arch a brow.

She makes a face and reaches for it again. “Fifteen minutes,” I say firmly, handing it back to her.

“I was reading that.” She scowls. I repeat my words again as I walk toward the door. “Yes, I heard you. Bed in fifty.”

“Fifteen!” I call over my shoulder with a smile and walk out.

Natalia has another therapy appointment this next week, and even though she’s been going for months, there’s not been much progress. I know she’s going through a lot, even more so at her age, but I just wish I could wrap my arms around her and promise that everything will get better someday.

But I won’t make that promise.

I can only promise that I’ll be here with her as we both work through it.

I walk down the hallway to my office and sit behind my desk as I focus on the boxes piled up in the corner. They aren’t mine, but they represent a part of my childhood. After Ryan’s funeral, Mom asked me to take them for her. She said she couldn’t go through them right now or even look at them. She held on to a few of his personal belongings, but his childhood memories were just too much to bear. Hell, I can barely look at them without feeling anger and resentment pile up inside me, but most likely, Natalia will want his things one day. So until then, they’ll continue to taunt me.

I can remember the day Ryan moved out of the family house fresh out of high school. Boxes and boxes of his childhood all packed up as we moved it into his own apartment. Excitement ran high for him that day, but I was one part sad he was leaving and one part ready to have the house to myself. I hadn’t even entered high school yet, so maybe another part of me was a little jealous.

Whenever he had friends over, they’d goof around and talk about all the parties they planned on going to. Although he was strict with his studies, he knew how to have a good time.

We piled his boxes into the back of a friend’s pick-up truck and hauled them to his tiny new apartment. It was kind of a dump—old, ragged carpet and dents on the walls with a bad paint job—but he was so excited. Mom and Dad didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble, so they shared in the excitement with him.

Once everything was unloaded into his new apartment, we set up his futon sofa-slash-bed where he told me he planned on having a lot of ‘sleepovers’ and needed the bed in the living room. I might’ve been thirteen, but I wasn’t a moron. I knew what he meant.

Then I helped him put together his new coffee table and TV stand that our parents bought him as a ‘housewarming’ gift. It was the only two pieces in the whole place that looked decent, but I gave him six months before parties and dancing girls broke those in.

The tattered boxes of old trophies and school art projects are all Natalia has left of him. He should’ve been the one to show all his memories to her. Be the one to tell her all about how he won the basketball championships, about his disastrous date to prom his freshmen year, and the picture that perfectly captured the moment his date puked down his tux during Senior Homecoming. So many memories that were his to share.

I was surprised when my mom didn’t want to take these back, but even though I hate the thought of them, I’m glad Nat will have them close by for when she’s ready.

I check my watch and head back to Natalia’s room.

“All right, Shorty. Lights out.”

“Just one more chapter,” she whines.

“How many pages is that?”

“Only like…twenty.”

“No. Put it down.”

She flattens it on her chest and glares at me. “You’re a real buzz kill, you know that?”

“And you’re a real pain in my ass, but it’s still time for bed. So c’mon. Get ready.”

“You sure swear a lot.”

Shit. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s not like I’ve never heard my dad swear before.”

“Well, adults sometimes swear. But I’ll try to remember not to when you’re around, okay?”

She shrugs. “Whatever.” She places her book on the nightstand and gets up. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

She begins to walk toward the bathroom and I notice the sadness in her eyes.

“We can talk about it if you want.” I know there’s a reason she brought up her favorite meal tonight after everything that happened this morning with my mother.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He’s dead.”

I quickly grab her wrist and pull her back toward me. “I know, Nat. I know. But we can talk about him sometimes. It might help ease some of the pain.” She just stares at me, her eyes unreadable. “I feel it, too,” I explain. “I miss him every day.”

“Then why weren’t you ever around? Why didn’t you visit?”

I’m such a fucking asshole. “I should have.” I sigh. “But I was dealing with my own shi-crap and avoided it by staying away from here.”

“What kind of shi-crap?” The corners of her lips curl up a little, and I know she’s mocking me.

“Personal crap. When I left, I was in a bad place. I never wanted to come back.”

“But you did come back,” she counters.

“I did.” I press my lips in a firm line. “I had to.”

“For me?”

I nod. “Yeah. But for me, too. It was time.”

She nods, and the corner of her lips curls up a little more. “Night.”

“Good night.”

I finish another beer before heading to bed. Before Ryan died, I would spend my evenings painting, but nothing about painting appeals to me right now. In fact, the very idea of painting makes me feel even guiltier. Ryan encouraged me to follow my dream once I discovered it, even after Mom and Dad vocalized their disapproval about it as an actual career. He was always supportive and encouraging, not that it surprised me. He was always selflessly helping others. If anyone deserved more from this life, it was Ryan. And now he can’t even watch his daughter grow up.

Life doesn’t play fair.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ASPEN

Not hearing from Morgan is killing me.

And I hate that I’m acting like that girl. The one that pines over a guy who never calls them after a date. The one who gets all emotional and stupid because that guy looks at them with perfect eyes and dimples and then wants to cry because they haven’t talked to you since you gave them the best kiss they’ve ever had.

Yeah, I’m that girl all right. And I hate it.

Being on the other side of the fence is a real drag. Feeling used and worthless is a new low for me, but I’m determined not to let him know he’s lowered me to that level. After he left me high and dry Saturday night, and not hearing from him since, he can kiss my ass. He owes me one hell of an explanation, especially about this Natalia girl, but I’m not going to go begging for one.