Free What She Wanted by Julie Anne Lindsey

Hugs usually fix everything.
     
    Tears streamed stupidly over my hot face, dotting Mom’s handwriting and making it impossible to see. I yanked a handful of tissues from the box and mopped the page then turned them on my face. Hug Mark? A giggle-snort burst free. I grabbed another round of tissues for my nose. Yes, Mom. A hug would totally fix everything. Another laugh wiggled loose.
    She was perky and delusional.
    Guilt squashed the moment of humor. That was mean. Why would I joke about her like that? I pushed the jolt of shame down deep and turned my eyes back to the book in my lap.
     
    I’m running with the notion I don’t get to raise you. I know I said to hope, but it’s important to plan, too. Your grandma went through something like I’m going through, and it was ugly. I hope you won’t see me that way. I don’t want those memories for you. I want all good things for you. You’re my heart. I didn’t know I wanted you until I found out you existed and now all I think about is what you’ll look like and who you’ll be. I bet you’ll change the world. I know you will. You should make the most of every second you have because the seconds are numbered. Even if we don’t know the exact number. It’s there.
     
    She’d drawn a line of hearts and squiggly lines between paragraphs. Without proper dates, I couldn’t tell if the day had changed or just the subject. I checked again for peeping nurses or movement from Mark. Nothing.
     
    Okay, so this journal will probably be all pregnancy hormones and nonsense, but I want to keep a log to share with you. I want to share everything with you. If I’m strong enough, I’ll meet you in a few months, and my life will be complete. It’s all I want. I just want to meet you and know you’re okay.
    Just in case I get too sick to tell you later, I’m going to start this journal with a list of the most important things. It’ll be sloppy because Mom’s going to call me to dinner soon. (If I so much as smell fish again tonight, I will barf)…
    My name is Amy Reese. I’m seventeen years old. I’m six months pregnant with the most perfect daughter in the entire history of the world and this is what I want for you:
    1. Love your grandparents. Hug them often and tell them you love them. Remind them how much I do, too. Especially if I can’t.
    2. Chase your dreams. Whatever they are, grab on with both hands and don’t let go.
    3. Laugh. Enjoy your life, even the troubles. Not everyone is lucky enough to have them.
    4. Give. Do random acts of kindness. You never know how far those can reach. And, forgive whenever you can. Forgiveness is a gift that blesses both people.
    5. Make friends. Smile at people. Smiles are contagious. Try it. You’ll see.
    6. Fall in love.
    7. Let the world know you. Don’t be afraid of who you are, and don’t apologize for it. You are beautiful and perfect. Embrace it.
    8. Go fishing with your grandpa. He loves the lake. I bet you’ll be a great fisherwoman. I hope I get to go with you.
    9. Know I loved you.
    10. Live.
     
    If you do these things, I’ll know I was a good mom, and I’ll know you’re going to be okay.
     
    I leaned over the journal and rested my forehead against Mark’s bed until the tears stopped coming. My eyelids were swollen when I finally righted myself and looked at him for any sign of the man Mom had described. I didn’t see it, but that didn’t matter. He’d wake up for her.
    I turned back to page one, lifted my gravelly voice and read.
     
     

Chapter 8
     
    While I’d devoured page after page of Mom’s journal, the hot summer sun had climbed into the sky and burned off the early morning haze. I’d read to Mark until two little words had changed my day: Katy Lowe.
    My feet beat a steady rhythm over patches of uneven sidewalk. The temperature was up by fifteen degrees and climbing as I ran the nearly two miles home. A lifetime of walking everywhere had made the trip short and swift. Despite the run’s ease,