30. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
CHARLOTTE
I t’s nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when I carry the huge bouquet of white flowers to the kitchen and plunk it down on the island, admiring the stunning combination of garden roses, mums, carnations, and peonies mixed with deep waxy greens. Since I’m at my mother’s, I have no idea who might be sending her flowers, but when I find the little card tucked inside the blooms, I pluck it out to see my name scrawled on the back.
With a smile, I open it and read.
Missing you already.
-x
Chris
I dip my nose into the flowers, inhaling deeply while my heart skips inside my chest. I’ve only been gone ten hours, and only just saw him this morning before he left for practice. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be back on campus by morning.
Mom’s first physical therapy consultation is today at four o’clock, and since Chris’s aunt April is doing us a favor by coming to the house, I figured it’s best if I’m here to ensure everything goes smoothly. Though my mom has been cooperating the last couple of weeks by taking her meds and going to her biweekly appointments with Dr. Sherri, she has a long way to go, and I know just how quickly things can take a turn for the worst. Keeping a close eye on her is for the best, even if I’m now wishing I wouldn’t have promised her I’d spend the night.
“Oh, my word!”
I jerk at the sound of my mother’s startled voice, lifting my gaze to find her leaning on her crutches and staring at the vase of flowers in awe.
She creeps closer, one hand over her mouth. “Those are beautiful,” she breathes. “Are they for me?” She beams as she comes closer to inspect them, a smile splitting her face in two. Despite her progress, it’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a while, even happier than when Chris had been here the morning after she fell. “I can’t believe it,” she says, softly touching the delicate petals of a rose. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten flowers?” Her eyes glisten like a watery espresso. “Who sent them? Your father?”
I swallow, moving the hand holding the card behind my back. “Uh, no. They’re from Chris, actually.”
The flicker of disappointment lasts only a moment before it’s replaced with joy. “What a thoughtful young man, sending his girlfriend’s mother flowers. He’s a keeper, that one. Knows just how to brighten this old woman’s day.”
The image I had of taking the bouquet back to my dorm room vanishes.
She needs them more than me.
They’re just flowers; let her be happy.
A seed of bitterness roots inside my chest, but if I don’t water it, it won’t grow. Instead, I tamp it down, grateful when the doorbell rings because I need a distraction. “I’ll get it,” I choke out, needing to get away from the kitchen and the flowers I don’t have the courage to claim.
I wrench the door open without forethought, a gasp leaving the back of my throat when I see the man standing there. “Chris!” A warm flush runs through my body as I throw myself into his arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Coach canceled our two o’clock, so I decided to see my girl before heading back for evening practice.” He pulls back, checking his watch. “That means I have exactly an hour and a half before I need to head back.”
With a laugh, I stretch onto my toes and brush my lips over his, whispering against his mouth, “You’re crazy, you know that?”
Behind us a throat clears, and I sigh.
Dropping back down to my feet, I tear myself from him as his gaze lifts. “Hi, Mrs. Baker. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Hush.” Mom waves him away with a flap of the hand. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.” Coming toward us, she balances on one crutch, gingerly placing weight on her bad knee before she loops one arm through Chris’s and tugs him inside. “I got your flowers and they’re absolutely stunning, Christopher.”
Christopher? What the fuck.
“Uh . . .” Chris glances over his shoulder to where I’m following them into the kitchen, and I shrug. Just go with it , I mouth.
My mother prattles on, using Chris to support her weight as she shows him the vase of flowers, talking a mile a minute without taking a breath. Once she’s finished fussing, she beams up at him like he’s the answer to all her problems. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asks. “I was just about to make a pot.”
“Sure, that would be great, actually.”
My mother smiles, then turns to me with puppy dog eyes. “Actually, would you make him some, honey? I’d like to freshen up before that appointment.”
Funny how she didn’t seem to care about freshening up five minutes ago.
“Sure.” I force a smile as she tells Chris to make himself at home, then hobbles out of the room on a single crutch.
With a sigh, I head toward the cupboard with the coffee grounds and begin scooping them into the machine when Chris comes up behind me, snaking a hand around my waist and dragging me to him. “Do you remember what we did on this island?”
I hum under my breath. How could I forget?
“Best fucking night of my life.”
A quiet laugh shakes my chest as I lean into his touch, pressing my body into the familiar hard planes of his own and wishing we were back at school. Really, I’d like to be anywhere but here.
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?” I ask.
“Make me coffee.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Seriously. All I want is time with you.”
I ignore him, adding water to the reservoir before flicking the pot on and turning to face him. “You know, if you were going to show up here anyway, you could’ve just hand delivered the flowers.”
His hands fall to my hips, a grin curving the corners of his mouth. “Now what’s the fun in that when I can give you two surprises instead.” He lifts his gaze as if to check for my mother. “Although I am wondering why she thinks they’re hers.”
“Sorry about that,” I whisper. “She came in just after I got them, and when she saw them, she just assumed . . .”
He nods. “I guess that makes sense since it’s her house.”
“Not only that, but for a minute, she thought they were from my father.” I pull a face and drift toward the bouquet. “I guess that means I have to leave them here with her,” I say, my tone mournful as I admire the delicate blooms. “At least, I’ll have them tonight and in the morning.”
“I’m sorry.” A crease forms between his brows. “Maybe I should’ve waited.”
“No. They’re perfect, and the gesture was incredibly sweet.” A devious grin curves the corner of my mouth as I tip my head up to his. “Looks like I’ll have to thank you for them later.”
“Now that I can get behind.”
My stomach flips, and I release a soft contented sigh when he slants his mouth against mine. He tastes like peppermint and smells like sunshine, but it’s his touch that unravels me.
His hands slide down my back into the pockets of my jeans, pulling me into him while the sound of our breathing mingles among the sputtering of the coffee pot, when the sharp trill of a ringtone joins the symphony. It cuts through my thoughts, a reminder that we’re standing inside my mother’s kitchen.
Brushing my lips over his one last time, I sink back onto my heels as he groans and slides the phone from his pocket. “It’s my mom,” he tells me, eyes trained on the screen.
I nod and lean against the island as he answers. “Hello?”
The muffled sound of Barb’s voice trickles toward me. I’m not trying to listen, but she’s talking fast and loud, and though I can’t make out anything she’s saying, if Chris’s growing frown is any indication, she’s upset.
“I’m coming over,” he says.
Yep. Something’s wrong.
My stomach clenches in anticipation as the sound of more garbled speech spills from his cell before he cuts her off. “No, Mom. I’m in Lockport right now, so it won’t take long. I only have an hour to spare, but I wanna come.” With that, he hangs up and rakes a hand through his hair, his forehead wrinkled with worry. “Shit, Lettie, I have to go.”
“What’s going on?”
“I guess she and your father had a pretty big fight, and she’s really upset, crying and talking about calling off the wedding.”
I suck in a breath while my thoughts race, rewinding to dinner the other night. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mean to cause trouble for my father, but I didn’t want this. “That’s awful,” I say, slightly numb. “Did she say what they fought about?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t understand her. Something about your father keeping things from her.” He shakes his head with a frustrated growl. “Do you know what she could be talking about?”
The blood drains from my face, because I know exactly what she’s talking about. And I’m the reason they’re fighting.
Wringing my hands out in front of me, I scrunch my nose, trying to think of a way to tell him that doesn’t make me look like a total bitch. “Um, so, yeah. I do think I know what she’s talking about, because I might’ve had something to do with it.”
“What?” Chris scoffs. “How could you have anything to do with it?”
“The other night at dinner,” I say, dropping my gaze, “I was so pissed at my father for accusing me of seeing you as some kind of revenge scheme that I might have . . .” I wince. “Said something to her.”
“What did you say?” His tone is even, his eyes on mine.
“A few weeks back, after my mother lost her job and started spiraling, I made a deal with my father. I’d support the wedding if he supported my mother financially until he got married. So, he wrote her a check. Just like he wrote her another one just this week.”
“Damn. Okay, but I don’t see how?”
“I knew he hadn’t told your mother.” I swallow, a frog in my throat. I know I need to tell him everything. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. “So, I might’ve made it seem worse than it is. I made it seem as though this arrangement is indefinite, and that he’d still be supporting her after they’re married. I also pretended that I thought she knew, like she’d been included in the arrangement, so she felt even more blindsided by the fact she wasn’t.”
Chris flinches, then takes a step back, clasping his hands behind his head as he begins to pace. “Shit, Lettie, why the hell would you do that?”
“Because I was mad!” I shout, desperate to erase the disappointment on his face. “First, he came here with a check and reminded my mother it was temporary because he was getting a new family. Then he acted all righteous at dinner, like the only reason I could possibly hold down a relationship with someone like you is if it were some kind of ruse.” I shove my hands into my hair. “I’m sorry, but I’m so damn tired of him making everything about himself.”
Chris stops and throws his hands up. “But now my mother doesn’t trust him, Lettie. She thinks he lied to her.”
“He did,” I point out, unwilling to back down.
“Yeah but not like you’re making it seem.”
“He should’ve told her.”
“And you should’ve let him, insisted he tell her instead of meddling in it yourself.”
My mouth parts as shock and hurt ripple through me. “Are you really pinning this on me?”
“She’s talking about calling off the wedding,” he says slowly, like I’m having trouble understanding him. “And since you’re the one who told her and made it out to be worse than it is, then yeah, I’d say that’s your fault. Your father accused you of trying to get even with him, and so what do you do the first chance you get? Get even.”
I flinch, his words hitting me where it hurts. My mind races as I try and search for something to say, something to make this better when Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenching. “From the moment they announced their engagement, you were pissed about it, even though they had every reason to get married and none not to. They’re in love, Lettie. But you act like as long as your mother is unhappy, no one else can be. Not your father or my mother or even you .”
The truth in his words knocks the air from my lungs. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He places his hands on his hips, his face a lesson in pain. “Tell me right now that if your mother goes on another spiral worse than the last time, that if she never recovers, you can see yourself with me in a year, two years. Tell me you can see yourself happy and in love while she’s here struggling.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t find the words, but he’s wrong, isn’t he? He has to be.
I realize a moment too late that I haven’t answered because he nods, his expression solemn as his gaze drops to the ground. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Chris . . .” I reach out for him, but shrugs me off, which hurts more than any words ever could.
“Don’t. I can’t right now. Unlike you, the world could burn with everyone and everything in it, and I’d still want us,” he says, unable to even look at me. “I need to go talk to my mom and work this shit out, because I’m happy they’re in love. I want this for her.” The muscle in his jaw flickers one last time before he turns and heads for the living room.
I rush to follow, tripping over my feet as I do.
Say something, my head screams. Do something, anything!
His long stride eats up the floor as he reaches the front door and flings it open while I stand there with my heart stuttering in my chest. This is it. He’s leaving, and if I don’t stop him, he’ll be done with me for good. He’ll walk out and never come back, because he’ll realize I’m not worth the effort.
“Wait!” I yell, at his back.
He pauses, the muscles bunching in his shoulders as if waiting for a fist to land.
“You can’t leave,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I don’t want you to go.” My mind conjures an image of me standing in the kitchen alone. I’m broken and crying, my heart cleaved in two. Panic clutches at my throat with icy fingers at the thought this might be over—we might be over.
I reach out to him when the sound of footsteps down the hall perks my ears—my mother. What will she think when she finds out I’m the reason he’s gone, that he’s Barb’s son?
The thought pierces through every other emotion like a dagger, including my own pain, as I imagine all the ways in which this could make my mother’s depression worse. Because for my entire life, my mother’s wellbeing has trumped my own. Keeping her steady is all I know.
“What will I tell my mother?” I cry. “If she finds out you’re gone, it’ll upset her. She’ll ask questions, and she has her therapy today. She can’t?”
A sad smile curls the corners of his mouth, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and my heart sinks at my feet. I want to shove the words back in, because I know that look. That look means I lost, that we’re over. It’s the same look my father wore the day he walked out.
“You know, I went into this knowing I felt stronger for you . . .” His blue eyes turn misty like a waterfall as he slowly shakes his head. The muscle in his jaw jumps while his throat works. “I want you to be my priority, Lettie. So damn bad. My family comes first, then football and school, but I’d put you above it all, if you’d just let me. But it’ll never be enough, will it? You’ll always put her first. I’ll never be a priority when you can’t even make yourself one.”
“Chris . . .” I stumble forward, the words stuck in my throat, and when I say nothing, he turns and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. Stunned, I stare at it while my heart and mind race.
The sound of my breath fills the hallway, joining the engine rumbling outside as I try to come to terms with everything that’s just happened.
Chris is gone, and I can still see the heavy look in his eyes, the one who told me I’d lost him. How did everything go so wrong, so fast?
“What in the world is going on out here? Lettie . . .?”
I close my eyes against the sound of my mother’s voice, willing her to go away, but when I turn around, she’s standing there, her gaze bouncing like a ping-pong ball from me to the kitchen and the closed door. “Did Chris leave? I thought I heard yelling.”
I say nothing, finding it hard to breathe let alone speak through the knife lancing my chest.
Without a word, I brush past her. My limbs are numb, and my legs move on their own accord as I find my escape. If I can just make it to the bathroom and lock the door, then I can fall apart. Then I’ll be okay.
“What did you do?” Mom barks out. “You upset that poor boy, didn’t you? He’s the best thing to come into this house in years, and you just let him leave? How could you?”
I whirl around, poking a finger in her chest so fast she releases a startled cry. “This is all your fault.”
“Mine?” Mom blinks, stumbling back.
“Yes, yours.” I stab another finger at her. “I’m so damn busy coming to your rescue all the time, I don’t even know how to have a normal relationship.”
Mom’s mouth gapes, the apples of her cheeks flushing with anger. “Don’t you dare blame this on me. You’re just mad because that boy is one of a kind, and you blew it.”
A bitter laugh ricochets from my lips. “You don’t even know him,” I say, even though that’s not entirely true, because the Chris who carried my mother up the stairs when she hurt her knee is the same sweet man I fell in love with.
“I know enough.”
“Really? Well, did you know those flowers weren’t even for you?”
“But you didn’t . . . you said?”
“I never said anything. I just let you think they were yours when they were really mine.”
Mom’s cheeks pinken, her mouth an angry line as she asks, “Why?”
“Because it made you happy!” I scream. “It’s the reason for nearly everything I do.”
Mom scoffs like it’s not true, and it hurts more than any words ever could. “Well, if you wanted me happy, then you wouldn’t have fought with that boy and chased him out,” she says.
Bitterness settles in the pit of my stomach, a viper ready to strike. “Do you wanna know who that boy is, Mom?” I wait, but when she says nothing, because I have nothing left to lose. “He’s Barbie Collins’s son,” I spit out.
Mom’s eyes widen, the darks of her eyes melting into the liquid chocolate.
“Yeah, that’s right. Chris Collins is Dad’s fiancée’s son.” I lift my chin, watching as this information sinks in. “Bet you think differently about him now, huh?”
Mom says nothing and only shakes her head, taking a step back as Chris’s parting words ring in my head. “But guess what? You’re right about one thing,” I say. “He is fucking amazing, and I just pushed the best thing that’s ever happened to me away because I’m so wrapped up in your happiness, I forgot to prioritize my own.”
“I never asked you for anything.” She shakes, finding her voice. “You’re trying to place the blame on me, but I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You know what? You’re right.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m the problem. Because after Dad left, it was just you and me, and every time you went into a depressive episode, I set everything aside to try and pull you out of it. I got good grades. I cleaned the house and did the laundry. I never lied to you and always followed the rules, even the ones you never thought to give me. I even gave you my car for fuck’s sake. Yet, for years, I’ve blamed myself, thinking I wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough, gifted enough, funny enough, or dedicated enough to make you happy. Just like I wasn’t enough for Dad to stay, either.”
“Charlotte . . . I . . .” My mother brings a hand to her throat, and her voice is a strangled cry. Reaching out, she takes a step toward me while I take one back.
“I’ve worried myself sick for years over how to help heal you. When I went to school last year, and you were okay, I was thrilled, but too afraid to hope it might last. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop so that when it did, I was ready. And here we are.” I motion around us. “I’ve run myself ragged these last few weeks trying to accommodate you and help you out, dropping everything to come to your aid. And just for once, I want to be first.” I choke on a sob, my words garbled as they spill from my lips like sand.
The floodgates have opened, and there’s no stopping what comes out.
“I want to be the priority.” I point to myself. “ Me . I want to be the one who’s cared for, instead of always fucking giving and getting nothing back.”
My shoulders slump, and my emotions feel drained. My back hits the wall and I crumple, sliding to the floor like a doll.
“And I had a chance at that with Chris . . .” I mumble, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “But then I went and ruined it.” My eyes lock with hers, and I release a gut-wrenching sob. “All because I don’t know how to let you go.”