“You two…you were just like a part of each other, you know? Alex, sweetheart…I’m not stupid, alright? I know…I know there was something more there, wasn’t there?” I didn’t respond but merely looked away, at the floor, and waited for her to go on. “And I waited and waited for you to tell me, but you never did. I wanted you to know it was okay…But I wanted you to be the one to come to me, not me to you. On your own terms, when you were ready. Only when you were ready. But you never did. And then I come home one day to learn the two of you aren’t speaking anymore—Christ, Alex. I was terrified. I didn’t—kiddo. I’ve never been one for praying but I prayed for you, then. I prayed it’d get figured out and she’d be back again, stomping around this place like she owned it with you trailing after her. I knew you were upset but it wasn’t my place to pry, much as I wanted to let you know it was gonna be okay.

“Now…look. We’ve never been the closest of families, okay? Your dad, and my job, and everything else…But I know when I look at you, listen to you, that you couldn’t have grown up better. You’re smart, Alex. You’re good-hearted and level-headed and Alex, kid—there’s nothing you could do, nobody you could be, that would ever change the way I feel about you. You’re my daughter. You’re always gonna be my daughter, and I love you unconditionally, okay? To think that you might have been scared or worried or anxious because you didn’t know what I’d say…Unconditional, alright? I know who you are and I love you for that. Everything about you. And this girl, whoever she is—if she makes you happy, then that’s good enough for me.” Claire sucked in a deep breath of air. “That’s always been enough.”

For a long moment, I simply sat there, aware that my chin was wobbling and that my nose was twitching as I vigorously blinked back the drizzle of tears threatening to break free. There was a lump caught somewhere in the back of my throat and try as I might I knew better than to speak—to speak would only be to unleash the water welling up in my eyes, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow myself to cry. I could barely remember the last time I cried, I told myself, but I knew that to be a lie. I allowed myself the privilege of crying every night in the sanctuary of my room over summer, letting silent sobs tear through my chest where no one else might see. It wasn’t necessarily that I was embarrassed. If I cried, then I cried. But something told me that if I started, I might find it damn near impossible to stop, and that was the last thing either of us could want. Yet there was still a tremor buried deep in my chest bursting to be set free, almost as if to cry, to finally exhale and just let it all come spilling out, might do more to repair the divisions of my heart than anything I had tried thus far.