“Oh, I’m smitten to see my little Lukie Bear so happy.” Nonni moves toward me, grabs my cheeks, and pinches them—hard—while shaking my face.
“Lukie Bear?” Olivia smirks, and my best friend is back.
“Only my Nonni gets to call me that.” I point a finger at her before she playfully swats it away.
“Not a chance, Lukie Bear.”
I chuckle, shaking my head, before I turn to face my family.
“I’m going to skip out on the movie tonight, if that’s okay. I’m beat and ready for bed,” I announce before peering down at Olivia and asking, “Are you ready to call it a night?”
Her eyes scan each person in the kitchen before she looks back at me, lifting one shoulder in a shrug that makes the soft cashmere of her sweater slip over her collarbone. It takes everything in menotto look at the bare skin there.
“Don’t steal our girl away just yet. I have something for Olivia. Luke had mentioned you’re a baker?” Nonni asks.
I wait for her to let me know if she needs an escape, but she surprises me when she says, “It’s okay. I’ll stay for a bit.”
I take this as an opportunity to give her some space but not before I lean in and plant my lips to the top of her head. “Have fun,” I add softly, enjoying how she’s trying to hide her shock, before I back away and give my family a wave. “Goodnight.”
As I make my way down the hallway and into the bedroom, the weight that had been lifted hours ago returns. I turn to close the door behind me and lean my forehead against the cool surface. My emotions are giving me whiplash from today’s events. One minute, I’m stressed about being around my father, and the next, I’m having to fake a relationship with Olivia.
I let out a slow exhale, noticing a nagging pull within my heart, nudging me to walk over to the bed and pray. I listen to the feeling, getting onto my knees, bowing my head, my hands squeezing tightly together, as I gather my thoughts.
“Hey, God. It’s me. I mean, you know who it is, I’m sure. I just, uh…” I clear my throat, hating that it’s awkward talking to the one person who knows me better than anyone ever could. I know I can be my true authentic self with God, and yet I’m feeling my nerves build up as I continue. “I’ve been avoiding asking for your help for years now, and I understand that it’s all because of my pride, but clearly you want me to be here this weekend. I feel it in my core that I’m supposed to interact with my father and?—”
I clear my throat again, pausing to collect my thoughts, sucking in a breath and exhaling slowly.
“I don’t want to. I don’twantto forgive him, because forgiving him means that he gets away with all the pain he’s caused. But I know it’s not my place to hang on to this, that I’m supposed to find forgiveness in my heart. I can’t do this on my own.”
I hate the way my voice shakes and the fact that I’m having to ask for help. I know that sounds awful, but asking for help is something I’ve always struggled with—even if it’s God’s. However, if I’m going to make it through this weekend, I’ll need His help.
“So please, I’m asking you to help me. Help me do whatever is in your will. Take over my words, my actions, my feelings. Whatever you have to do to get me through this, please do it.”
I force myself to face the dark part of myself, the pieces of my soul that have scars. Scars that never healed but were only patched. The part of myself that’s still raw and trying not to feel or get too close to that pain again. I’m not ready to expose those ugly parts of myself, but I don’t have another option.
“If I can do this, God…if I can forgive my dad, I pray that Olivia will be able to forgive me.”
Chapter Twelve
Olivia
“Ican’t take this,” I say, handing the small box back to Luke’s grandmother.
“Yes, you can.”
We’ve been arguing for the last ten minutes. Once Luke left, his grandmother pulled out a box of recipes and has been insisting on sharing some of her secrets with me. It feels wrong to take anything from her, especially since Luke and I aren’t actually dating.
From the first five seconds that I met this woman, I lied to her, and now she wants to share her great-grandmother’s famous orange-ricotta cheesecake recipe with me. It’s taking all my restraint to not reach out and grab the piece of paper, because of course I’m dying to make it, but I don’t feel deserving of this.
She’s muttering something in Italian, and I peer over my shoulder at Luke’s Aunt Andy and Jerrica, who are both watching us, wide eyed, and sharing a bowl of popcorn. Jerrica shrugs her shoulders at me, as if telling me she has no idea whather grandmother’s saying, before shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“Olivia, please do this old dying woman a favor and take this.”
My mouth drops as I reach out and place a hand onto the soft skin of her arm. “You’re dying?”
“You’re not dying!” Aunt Andy shouts, smacking her mother on the shoulder.
“We’re all going to die eventually! So when you think about it, we’re dying a little every second.”
