Free Tracing Hearts by Kate Squires Page B

intervene.” He laughs. “Moms are good for that.”
    “Yeah. Our families are alike in that way. My mom was always my biggest defender and cheerleader.” The thought makes me think of her, which always leads to tears. I look away from Sebastian to try to compose myself.
    “You know, you don’t have to do that.”
    “Do what?” I ask.
    “Turn from me every time you feel like crying.”
    “I’m not crying.”
    “I know, but you want to. I can see it in your mannerisms.”
    I look up at him.
    “Like what?”
    “Well, your face gets flushed, then your eyes start to sparkle. Then, you always quickly find an excuse to turn your head away from me. I can tell the things we talk about upset you because you’re thinking about your mom.”
    My eyes well up again. He’s right.
    “You might be right about that, but I don’t want to cry in front of you.”
    He touches my elbow, halting my steps. I look at him.
    “Why not?” His expression is puzzled.
    I sigh heavily and look down.
    “I want to have fun with you and not think about how sad my life is right now. But, every conversation seems to lead straight to her.”
    His fingers find their way to my chin, lifting it so I’m looking at his face again. The contact makes me whole body feel flushed.
    “I want to have fun too, but you have to grieve. It’s not healthy not to cry about your mom’s death. It just happened. You should be locked in your bedroom crying nonstop, but because I’m here, that process has been put on hold. I’m worried that I might be doing more damage to you by being here.”
    The tears in my eyes are becoming too much to contain, so I break free from his grasp and look away just in time for them to roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away swiftly.
    “I’m fine. I’ll get through this. I don’t want to ruin your week here. After you leave, I can lock myself away. Until then…” I stop, and he tenderly touches my cheek.
    “Hey. I won’t be the catalyst to make this harder for you to cope with. I’d rather leave tomorrow than make this harder on you.”
    Something about his kind words open up a floodgate, and I can no longer contain my tears. Was it his insistence that I grieve my loss or the idea of him leaving soon that causes my sorrow to finally emerge? I’m not sure, but before I can pull them back, my tears spill out uninvited and very unwelcomed. I’m a blubbering mess of emotions. I feel his arms engulf me in a strong embrace, and he holds me as I purge my feelings of sorrow. I grasp his t-shirt, fisting it in my hands, as I cry uncontrollably into it, soaking it in the process. He says nothing, just lets me sob into his chest. He slides a hand into my hair and kisses the top of my head as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. We stand like this for some time. Then, finally, I stop. I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe away any remnants of moisture on my face. I don’t want him to see the aftermath of my fit, so I keep my head down.
    “Sorry about that,” I say as I look at his tear-stained shirt.
    He looks down too.
    “My first souvenir of Ohio,” he chuckles, trying, and succeeding, to make light of the situation. I laugh and it’s cathartic. “That’s better,” he says softly.
    I sniffle and bravely look up at him.
    “Thank you,” I say softly.
    “For what?”
    “Making me cry.”
    He snorts. “Just don’t let your dad know what I did.”
    We both laugh and continue walking.
     
    ***
     
    In the car, on the way back, I remember something.
    “My mom’s viewing and funeral is tomorrow.”
    “I know.”
    “Will you come?”
    “Julia, I don’t know—”
    “Please? It would be easier on me if you were there.” He exhales; indecision lays heavily on that sound. “We could have a secret signal. You know, in case I get too sad and decide to wail in the middle of the service.”
    He chuckles.
    “What kind of secret signal?”
    I think for a moment.
    “How about if you stick out your tongue out