Chapter 29 #2
“It’s got a hint of buttery flavor,” she points out, filling a jug with milk to foam it up. “Don’t judge my taste, and I won’t judge yours.”
“I hate to tell you, but you just did when you almost spit out my coffee,” I point out, and her lips purse in a pout. She turns around to foam up her milk.
It’s so loud that continuing our conversation is impossible, but when she’s done, she taps the jug on the counter, then fills up her mug. She tosses the jug into her sink, pumps two shots of gingerbread syrup into it, and stirs her coffee creation with a small spoon.
“So,” she says, turning to me and taking a sip.
“So,” I echo and set down my mug. This is it. The part where we talk about our fight.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she says softly.
“You have no reason to apologize. I was—” I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words, my hands clutching the counter at my sides.
“My emotions got the best of me. I was scared you wouldn’t come back.
Then I was elated you did. Then I saw how upset you were, and my mind translated it to mean you’d rather be elsewhere.
” Her eyes soften, and she reaches for my hand. “It won’t happen again.”
“I know.” She nods softly and gives my hand a little squeeze. Silence stretches for a few moments before she explains. “I promise I wasn’t upset about being back here.”
“Snickerdoodle?” I whisper, searching her face. Not because I think she’s lying to me, but because I need to make sure.
Thankfully, a grin tugs at her lips.
“Snickerdoodle. It’s the truth.” She nods, staring at my hand as she’s playing with my fingers. “And I’m sorry too. I was overwhelmed. When I was in L.A.—”
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me,” I say, but she shakes her head, meeting my eyes.
“The more I think about what I said, the more I realize it was bullshit.” She lets out a deep sigh.
“We might not know each other’s reactions inside out yet, but that doesn’t even matter.
What matters is that I trust you. And I trust you to tell me if I’m treading a thin line between wanting to vent about my own issues and poking yours. ”
She holds my gaze, searching for the answer to her unspoken question in my eyes.
“You haven’t given me any reason to think differently so far.
” She winks at me, and I lace her fingers with mine.
“And ultimately, I want to tell you what’s going on.
I want to hear your opinion on this, and I want you to stick with me as I work through it. If that’s okay.”
“That’s more than okay.” I lift our hands to my face and press a kiss to the back of hers.
“My parents are getting a divorce,” she says rather nonchalantly, taking another sip of her coffee. “And that’s not even what bothers me most about it. It bothers me more that their divorce bothers me at all.” I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at her, confused.
“Sorry. I’m lost. Talk me through it from the beginning?”
“My parents and I haven’t been close for years,” she explains as I pull her towards the sofa.
“My mom always pestering me about settling down wasn’t exactly an incentive to keep in touch.
They never initiated contact, either. Aside from demanding I spend holidays with them and attend birthday celebrations, but that was almost more a case of ‘what would the others say if we didn’t invite her? ’”
She sits down next to me, pulling her legs onto the couch.
“And I thought I had made peace with that. I can sit through occasional family gatherings; pretend I’m having a good time and keep an emotional distance.
But this divorce…” She shakes her head. “My father asked me to help manage my mother, because she’s apparently contesting their prenup.
After all those years of ‘keeping out of it,’ now he wants me to mediate?
” I humorless chuckle leaves her, and she shakes her head.
“What did you tell him?”
“To fuck off. Admittedly, in a little more, but not necessarily nicer words.” She shrugs. “But the more I think about it, the angrier it makes me.”
Jenna jumps off the cat tree and trudges over to us, climbing up Lauren’s jeans-clad leg. Once she reaches her thighs, Lauren scoops her up to kiss her little head, then sets her back down in her lap and lets her cuddle into her shirt.
“All those years, he never picked a side because it would have been ‘unfair’—” she lifts her hand for air quotes “—and now’s the time to throw his own words back into his face.
I’m not going to lie, that felt good.” She lets out a deep breath.
“But yeah. I wish I didn’t care, but it’s bringing up all kinds of emotions. ”
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze her hand.
She pulls her hand from my grasp, lifts my arm and melts against my side instead. “Maybe it’s time to take a page out of Nic’s book and make a hard cut. Just block them and move on with my life. But I feel dumb about it, because it’s not like they were as cruel as Nic’s parents or—”
“Yeah, stop right there,” I interrupt her. “If there’s one thing therapy has taught me, it’s that you make these kinds of decisions for yourself, not depending on anyone else.”
She lifts her chin and glances up at me.
“Yes, Nic’s parents are a special kind of cruel,” I say, thinking back to the fall fair.
They not only condoned Nic's sister embarrassing her in front of the whole town, they also knew about Nic's ex-fiancé's affair with said sister. They even supported those two when they tried to extort Nic. “That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be justified in cutting off your parents solely because they’re not quite as bad as Nic’s.
You’re trying to compare every single experience that shaped you and Nic into the women you are today.
That’s impossible. You have to draw your own boundaries and defend them. ”
“You’re so wise.”
“My therapist is,” I point out. She slowly shakes her head.
“Say ‘thank you’ and take the compliment, Caleb.”
“Well, in that case, thank you.” I grin and press a kiss to the side of her head.
“You’re right.” She lets out a deep sigh. “What is it this Marie Kondo chick says? If it doesn’t spark joy, it needs to go. I never thought it would apply to people, too.”
“I have no idea what or who you’re talking about.”
“That’s okay.” She pats my arm. “Thank you, Caleb.” She tilts her head back, finally more relaxed. “That helped a lot.”
“Always a pleasure.” I grin and close my eyes when she presses her lips to mine.
“And you’re okay?” I nod.
“Believe it or not, I can talk about other people’s parents without getting a panic attack,” I assure her, surprising myself. Truthfully, I wondered myself how I would feel. Turns out therapy did help after all.
“Thank God.” She grins and cuddles back into my side. “Look at us working through our first fight.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Is it weird that I find that oddly reassuring?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, it’s not weird. It’s part of life, and I’d rather be sure we can talk out conflicts like adults than tiptoe around them.”
“I couldn’t have said it better.”
“In the spirit of honesty, do you want to talk about your… parent?” Lauren asks in a whisper and glances up at me, taking a sip of her coffee.
“’Want’ would be an overstatement,” I try to joke, but she keeps watching me with a concerned gaze. I let out a deep sigh. “I read that book about postpartum depression.”
“Did it help?”
“In some way. In others, it didn’t.” My arm around her tenses, my whole back is tighter than a coiled spring.
“It helped me understand why she left. In my brain, it makes sense. My heart is not that easily convinced, though.” She sets down her coffee mug to slide both arms around me.
“My brain wants to forgive her, because we’re humans, and humans are, by design, flawed.
Obviously, I also make mistakes.” I quirk my eyebrow at her, making a soft smile tug at her lips.
“But my heart is not that rational. It’s stuck between wanting to have a mom again and protecting itself by pretending she never showed up here. ”
“What about your sister?” She furrows her eyebrows, making an adorable crease appear between them. I lift my hand to smooth it out with my fingertip.
“Yeah.” I let out a deep sigh. “That’s what makes this even harder. She’s not at fault for what our mother did before she was even born. I’m just not sure if it matters.”
“I’m sorry,” Lauren whispers, but I shake my head. It’s not as if any of this is her fault. If anything, she’s the reason I’m confronting it head-on instead of burying my head in the sand. Or snow.
Silence stretches as we both trail after our own thoughts, holding each other.
And slowly but surely the tension in my back lessens and breathing finally comes easier.