Chapter 190: Chapter 190

Kyra POV

I smile at him as I open the largest box.

"You did great, Dad. I made it to eighteen without ever smoking pot, getting drunk, or getting pregnant. And I'm pretty sure I've never told you to go screw yourself. So, job well done."

"When you put it that way, I feel like the best father on the planet."

"To me you are."

Pushing the white tissue paper aside, I pull out a charcoal sketch of Snuggles on canvas. My hand flies to my mouth as I choke back tears.

"Daddy... oh my God. It's my Snuggles. This means so much to me."

In the lower right corner is the signature of my uncle Lukas, and that just makes this even more special. Lukas is an amazing artist.

"I didn't have any pictures of her so Lukas had to draw her from his memory. I hope it's okay. He said he can fix anything that you'd like changed, or he can start over with a new one."

"No," I reply quickly, taking in all the details of the incredibly realistic drawing. Lukas captured her exactly and I wouldn't change a thing. "It's absolutely perfect. I'm going to have to call him and thank him."

"Actually he'll be here tomorrow night for your bonfire birthday get-together, so you can thank him in person."

"Even better."

Smiling, I pick up the next box and unwrap it as he takes a few pictures of me.

"I want your mom to see these someday," he says.

I must make an involuntary face because he quickly puts his cell phone back down on the table and holds his hands up like he's surrendering.

"Okay, I won't talk anymore and we won't talk about that. Just open your presents."

This box is filled with different types of stationery, a new leather planner, monogrammed note cards, and matching envelopes.

"Aw, Dad. You're feeding my new planner addiction. I love it."

"Chloe told me you wanted that one to go with the ten others you have," he teases.

"I did. I'm going to actually use this one, though." I have no idea what I'll be planning, but I feel like it will motivate me to do something every day if I have to write it down.

My dad slides the last, and smallest box across the table to me.

"I've been waiting to give you this one."

I put my hand on it and studied his face.

"Uh oh. That means it's going to be extra special. Is it going to make me cry?"

"It might."

I open the box slowly, and inside is a smaller, red velvet oval box. It has a tiny gold clasp that I lift with my fingernail. Inside is a white gold and diamond watch that belonged to my mother, gifted to her on her eighteenth birthday from her Grandmother. My mom absolutely loved this watch and only wore it on very special occasions like Christmas and her and Dad's wedding anniversary.

I carefully lift the watch from its white satin pillow and turn it in my hand, the light catching the sparkling diamonds. The glittering gems always fascinated me when I was younger; I used to call them tiny stars.

"Dad... are you sure?" I ask with uncertainty. I'm not sure I should accept this when Mom isn't here to give it to me herself. I can't bear the thought of doing anything that would upset her, or taking something that meant so much to her.

He nods, his eyes dark pools of emotion — love, sadness, and pride.

"I'm positive, Kyra. She always planned to give it to you on your eighteenth birthday. She wanted you to have it."

"Will you put it on for me?" I ask, handing it to him.

My eyes are misty as he takes it from me and gingerly clasps it around my wrist. It's delicate and beautiful, and a hundred memories of my mom wearing it flip through my mind.

"I promise I'll take care of it just like Mom did," I say, wiping at my eyes with my napkin.

"I know you will, baby. She knew that, too."

I try to re-imagine this night if my mom was still here, and not trapped in a wakeless sleep. Her hair would be long and loose, and she'd have on a flowy blouse and cut-off jean shorts, one of her favorite casual go-to outfits. She'd sit close to Dad and they'd hold hands and smile while they watched me opening my presents. I'd feel their love radiating from them like I always could, and I'd get that happy warm fuzzy feeling inside just being part of their little bubble. My mom would jump up in excitement after I opened the watch, and she'd put it on my wrist and kiss my cheeks and go on and on about all the things she had planned for us to do together. Mom was always so excited about me growing up and being her best friend.

"I heard you had lunch with Sailor while you were out in Maine," Dad suddenly says with a hint of rare displeasure.

"Yeah, he has family nearby. Kind of a small world. We had lunch and then drove around talking. I'm designing a tattoo for him."

He pushes his hair off his face and fixes a thoughtful expression at me. My father has shifted into thinking mode, which may or may not go well for me.

"Are you two dating, then?"

"I saw him once, Dad. Geez."

"Once is a start."

I quirk my eyebrows up at him. "We're not dating. It was purely on a friendship level. He's really sweet, though, and he was very polite. He didn't even kiss me or ogle at me or do any sort of thing that would make you want to kick his ass. Okay?"

"Good," my father says.

"I'm eighteen now, Dad. You can't get nervous every time a guy pays attention to me."

"I can't help it. And I like Sailor, he's a good kid. But I think he's too old for you. He's travelled, he's in a new band, probably has lots of experience..."

My stomach contracts with nerves as my father continues to go on about the perils of dating a young musician, and I can barely pay attention to what he's saying. Sailor is in his early twenties. A far cry from Toren's thirty-two years. If my dad thinks Sailor is too old for me to be dating, he'll go totally loco if he finds out I have feelings for Tor that go way beyond friendship.

After texting with Tor a few weeks ago, my dreamer mind had fabricated a scenario where Tor and I are happily dating and my father, all our friends, and family accepted us as a couple. This conversation is a major bitchslap back into the reality that the chances of that ever happening are nearly impossible, no matter how much we might be wishing for it.