Leaning forward, I flipped the album cover open and gazed at the first picture: a family photo at the Grand Canyon when Vee was barely walking. I was miniature sized, already channeling my inner Britney both in looks and attitude. The memory of the vacation, in all its ups and downs, made my aching heart mend just a tiny bit. The next page held a photo of Titus and me in junior high. I was sitting on his shoulders, my hands raised in the air and a huge grin on my face. His hands were on my legs to make sure I didn’t fall, his gaze lifted up at me, not caring who was taking the photo.
The stinging in my eyes came back. I flipped the page despite the ache that intensified seeing how happy we used to be together. The next photo was the whole family in the backyard, having a funeral for Izzy’s goldfish who died because she forgot to feed it one too many times. Dad wore his dress uniform and Mom had bought a single long-stemmed rose to lay on the tiny mound of dirt. Titus stood next to me, his hand on my back, looking far more serious than my bratty little smirk at my sister.
And so it went from there. Titus appeared in almost every family picture, next to me, behind me, his hand on me or his arm slung over my shoulders. Usually his face was angled in my direction and not at the camera. I whimpered out loud at the realization. How could I have missed that all these years? How did I not know that I was his sole focus? That he’d do anything for me, stopping at nothing to make me smile?
Not able to stand the crushing weight that descended on my chest with each picture I studied, I flipped to the back of the album. One final picture at my high school graduation. My whole family clustered around Titus and me, his arm around my shoulders and a huge grin on both our faces. He’d been pissed that we had to sit according to our last names. Waldo wasn’t anywhere near Jackson. We’d just tossed our caps into the air when he’d raced over to my side, wanting to celebrate with me more than his own family. They’d eventually found us, but Titus hadn’t seemed to care.
He’d just wanted to be with me.
I slammed the album shut and curled up into the worn couch, letting the tears come. I was such an asshole. A real bitch for standing on Titus’s shoulders all these years and never acknowledging him in a way that was meaningful. I’d taken his support and friendship for granted. I’d taken his love for granted, like it was an offer of a free mimosa at a buffet line. Nice, but not special. He wasn’t a free drink. He was a complete feast that would last my entire lifetime.
Well, if I hadn’t gone and screwed things up.
“Fuck!” I said out loud, wishing I could punch something.
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” came my mother’s reprimand from the kitchen.
“Sorry, Mom.”
I kept swiping at my cheeks, but more tears raced down to coat them in moisture. My nose was running and I bet I looked an absolute mess, but none of that even mattered. All that mattered was finding Titus and making things right. Or at the very least, apologizing. Groveling if I had to.
I hopped off the couch, no plan in mind, but a desperate need to see him. I raced out of the room, only to come to a screeching halt when Mom blocked my path to the front door.
“Where are you going so fast?” She held a wooden spoon in one hand, chocolate dripping down her arm.
“Titus. Apologize.” Shit, I wasn’t even capable of full sentences.
Mom tilted her head and had that expression I’d learned to hate growing up. She was about to drop some common sense that would piss me off. I could just feel it.
“I know you want to apologize, but let’s think this through from his perspective. You apologizing now would just be to make yourself feel less guilty. And that’s not what that young man needs or deserves. He needs you to apologize to make him feel better. When you can do that, then you should go see him. Until then, stay and have some brownies when they’re out of the oven.”
She spun and headed back into the kitchen, humming under her breath like my life wasn’t falling apart at the seams. I blinked, the tears finally stopping. Probably too stunned by her correct assessment of the current situation to keep dripping.
I really hated when Mom was right.
I sighed, the desperation dialing down a notch into a simmering, slow boil that could last awhile. “I’m headed back to the hotel, Mom. I have some thinking to do.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll call you in the morning,” she said over her shoulder, giving me a wink.
I climbed in my car and thumbed out a text to my Hell Raisers before starting it up and heading to the hotel.
Amelia: I’ve fucked up royally and need my girls. Will you help me?
The phone screen lit up almost instantly on the seat next to me, but I didn’t read their responses until I parked in the rear lot of the hotel and worked up the nerve to read them. Amelia Waldo rarely sent out an SOS and I was more than a bit nervous they wouldn’t jump to help me. Which was stupid because I’d jump to help any of them. Logically, I knew they’d come to my rescue, and yet the worry was still there.
I’d missed so many things when it
