Meant To Be by Karen Stivali Page B

it made her even madder at me.”
    “Did he ever confront your mum?”
    “Once in a while he’d say something to her about trying not to be so hard on me, but she would argue and he’d drop it. He was a peacemaker.” Marienne looked off to the side, seemingly unable to look in his eyes.
    “That must have hurt.”
    “My father was my hero when I was little, but when I got older I felt let down. It took me a long time to realize I was worthy of being treated better than my mother treated me. When I did, I got mad at my Dad for not defending me. I know it sounds childish, but it was crushing. He never protected me.”
    Daniel was speechless. Her pain was palpable. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to comfort her in some way. But he was frozen, afraid to move toward her, not knowing how either of them would respond to physical contact in such a heightened emotional state.
    “Did you and your dad eventually work things out?”
    “Sort of.” She sounded, if possible, even more miserable. “We had a big falling out, right after my wedding. I was feeling independent, and I wound up not speaking to either of my parents for six months. It was so uncharacteristic for me to take a stand. I tend to be ridiculously loyal, but it felt good to stick up for myself. My dad and I were just starting to talk again when he got sick. Really sick. Really fast. By the time they found the cancer it had spread throughout his body.”
    Nausea swept over Daniel as memories of his mother’s similar fate flooded his mind.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure this is way more than you wanted to know.”
    “No, it’s not.” He kept his eyes focused on hers. “Please tell me.” He’d never talked to anyone about the loss of a parent before, and suddenly he felt desperate to do so. She seemed to sense his distress, because after a moment’s hesitation she gave in.
    “As soon as I found out he was sick I broke the silence with my mom. I’d have done anything to help. I called cancer centers and researched experimental treatments, but none of it did any good.”
    The tears were visible in her eyes, glistening but refusing to overflow. Daniel’s gut twisted as he kept himself in check.
    Marienne’s hair swept over her eyes as she lowered her head, her voice softer. “I’d have conversations with him, in my head. I’d rehearse exactly what I wanted to tell him. Then I’d sit with him and wouldn’t be able to say a word of it.”
    She swallowed hard. Daniel fought the impulse to take her hand. The lump in his throat made it difficult to breathe.
    “When he died I was relieved he wasn’t suffering anymore. I was almost happy. Then it sank in that he was actually gone.”
    Although the situations were different, Daniel related to every word. As she spoke he felt as though his heart had stopped beating. No one had ever shared anything like this with him before. The closeness he felt to her defied definition.
    Marienne exhaled a slow shaky breath. “Anyway,” she said. “That’s why I’m upset. Tomorrow is the first anniversary of his death, which is hard enough in and of itself, but then this afternoon my sister called and she was trying to convince me to call our mom, and I can’t. I just can’t. And it’s making me feel worse. I know it’s the right choice. I just need to get past these next few days.”
    They sat in silence.
    Daniel spoke first. “Tell me one of the similar quirks.”
    “What?”
    “You said you and your father shared the same sense of humor and the same quirks. Tell me one.”
    “Well.” She paused. “We both loved watching and quoting from bad movies. We both kept our books organized by how much we liked them, rather than by author or genre. And we both believed that cookies contain some magical power that cures stress.” She smiled.
    Daniel was happy he’d been able to get her to remember something positive about her dad. “Well I, for one, am very glad that you took after your father,