27. Addie
Chapter twenty-seven
Addie
The night ended poorly. But I’m not sure what I expected. He didn’t, and I wouldn’t have liked it if he had rushed over to our daughter and made some kind of declaratory statement about being her dad.
With similar thoughts in my mind, I tuck Luna into bed and then go into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine in my quiet, giant home.
The question is still ringing loud in my head: “Although, you’ve never fully acknowledged her as such, have you?”
Understandably, he was speechless, and he didn’t say much for the rest of our time together.
Seriously, Addie. What did you want the man to do? It’s your fault he hasn’t had a relationship with her until now.
My anger and guilt are a swirling mess inside my head. If I’m not concentrating on one emotion, the other creeps up and takes over. It’s completely exhausting.
Then, there’s also the outrage I felt at myself for allowing him back into her life. After all, one of the first nights he had the chance to be an ass to her, he was. She says it didn’t hurt her, but I know it did. No kid likes being hollered at like that. Especially not by a man she reveres like him.
I head outside onto the balcony, take a sip, and then bend over and rest on the wooden railing.
But before I can start dwelling some more, the phone in my robe’s fluffy pocket goes off.
Please be him, I pray. Oddly enough, I’m dying to talk to him. However, it isn’t his name on my screen. Instead, it reads “Mother Dearest.”
So, I throw my head back and roll my eyes. She’s one of the last people I have the energy for right now. But I know she’ll just keep calling until I pick up.
She doesn’t like being ignored.
“Hello?”
“Adriana?”
“Yeah.” My teeth grit. It’s annoying that she used my first name, and that she sounds confused about who she called.
“Oh. Hello. It’s your mother.”
I’m aware.
Without hesitating, she says, “I want to meet. Just the two of us. I can reserve a table down at Benito’s.”
I bite my tongue. Of course, you don’t understand that I have a small daughter at home who is asleep. When I was seven, she’d just leave me home alone for hours on end.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, Mom. I can’t meet you anywhere. Luna is asleep.”
“ Pfft. ” I can practically hear her flicking her wrist on the other line. “You can leave her for a bit.”
“No. No, I can’t. That’s incredibly dangerous.” And you should know. I almost burned down our house when I tried making spaghetti one night when she was out late with coworkers.
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll come to you.”
“No—” I check my watch and see that it’s already 10:30 p.m.
“See you soon.” After that, the call drops.
Dammit!
Then, I’m left to rush inside and do my best to tidy up. The place is already clean, but her judgment knows no bounds.
Shit! I know she’ll have comments about how I “let myself go” if I’m still in my comfy robe. So I scurry out of it and make the rash decision to put a suit jacket over my old Ramone’s shirt. I also slick my hair back into a bun.
“Good enough,” I say, scanning myself in the long mirror hanging from my closet door.
A few minutes later, I’m about to call her back and ask her not to ring the doorbell, but she does before I can help it.
Ugh. There’s yet another maternal thing you thought she would’ve caught onto, having a child herself.
“Mommy?” Luna calls out.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s just grandma. Go back to sleep.”
I’ve never said bad things about my mother to her. But she has, nevertheless, resolved on her own that Grandma Rosalinda isn’t someone to play with. So, I know Luna won’t come out of her room while she’s still here.
Alas, she rings the bell one more time, and I run over to answer the door.
“Mother,” I say emotionlessly.
Her nose is held up in the air, and she’s looking me up and down. “Hello.”
I step aside and hold my arm out. “Please, come in. Won’t you?”
As predicted, she shutters as she walks through the door and glances around. “Hmph.” She runs her fingers along a table in the foyer and then looks at it.
Oh, shut up. I know for certain there isn’t any dust there.
Next, she notices my glass of wine sitting on the island in the kitchen. “Drinking? On a weeknight?”
At least I’m at home and not out at some fancy bar while my child is sleeping.
“Well? Aren’t you going to offer your dear old mommy some juice?”
Yuck. The goons who refer to wine as “mommy juice” give me the creeps.
“Adriana?”
“Right, sorry.” Her shrill voice makes me jump back out of my head. Then, I go over to the cupboard and get her a clean glass.
“Ah.” That’s all she utters when I hand it to her. No “thank you”. Nothing.
After taking a sip, she doesn’t even try to hide her distaste for it.
“What are you doing here, Mother?”
“What?” She feigns confusion. “A mother can’t visit her daughter?”
A mother can. You can’t.
She holds this fa?ade a little longer before giving in. “Alright, fine. I’m ready to make you an offer. And one I think you’ll find highly enticing.”
“Okay?” My eyebrow is lifted high on my forehead. This should be good. I also chug more of my “inadequate” wine, praying for it to magically make her tolerable to be around.
She sits, leans down, and fingers the rim of the glass. “I’ll agree to drop the lawsuit if you go back to Phoenix and renounce any claim to Sal’s fortune.”
I almost spit out the alcohol in my mouth. To stop it, I have to raise my hand to cover my mouth.
“In return, I will reinstate the trust fund I took away from you when you,” she gulps, “were with a child and threatened to ruin our family’s esteemed reputation.”
My fists ball up. “You mean when I got pregnant. With your grandchild.” Anytime she talks about my daughter in terms of being a blemish on our family name, I want to pounce on her.
She waves her hands about. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, that’ll be more than enough money for you to start your life over. So, what do you say?”
The rage is only growing from deep inside of me. Ever since I was a kid, she’s tried to offer “band-aids” like this to fix any harm she thought I did to her and her beloved character.
“Why on Earth would you ever think I’d take that deal?” Clearly, she thinks I’m even dumber than I thought.
Blinking rapidly, she explains, “Well, because it would make your life so much easier.”
“My life, Mom? Or yours?”
She stutters, trying to find more words.
Now, I’m not sure if it’s the wine, my pure will, or a combination of both, but I’m feeling a confidence I haven’t had before.
“You know what? Just save it. I don’t care.”
When she opens her mouth, I stick up my finger.
“No. It’s my turn to talk now.” If tonight has proved anything, it’s that she only cares for her bank account and well-being over her own flesh and blood. “Mother, you’ve done this my entire life.”
“What? Provided for you in ways some children only wish to be?”
Ugh. That’s another one of her common ploys. She loves to bring up the children in orphanages who don’t have parents.
But that brings up a great point. “ You never provided for me, Mother. You never cared about me. Abuelo did. And thank God he was around. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had parents at all.”
Her face is starting to get red, and it satisfies me beyond words that I’m getting under her skin.
“And actually, I have to thank you. Thank you so much for showing me how not to treat my daughter. I’ve done the exact opposite as you, and Luna has turned out great. So, in a way—you showed me how to be a better mother than you could’ve ever hoped to be.”
Both of our chests are heaving at that point.
“Do you want to know why I never cared for you?” she asks with her jaw clenched tightly.
“Please.” I’d love to finally hear it out of the horse’s mouth.
“Because you threatened my position. Ever since you were born, you stole your father’s heart and then your grandfather’s. Before you, I was the star in their skies.”
Oh, God. It’s even more despicable than I thought.
“All those two men did was dote on you. They thought every little move and face you made was the cutest thing on Earth. It was infuriating. I completely disappeared. Like I said, your father went first, and then your grandpa after he died. You were Sal’s whole world.”
“Okay?” Coming from a mother myself, most women appreciated when others, and especially close family members, cared for their children and saw the same special qualities that they saw in them.
“Sal liked you better. He held you close, spent more time with you, and thought you were better suited to take over his company. It was all bullshit.” Her words seem almost like venom now. “All you ever did was undermine me.”
Shaking my head, all I can say is, “You’re pathetic, Mom. Absolutely pathetic. Please just leave!” I’m beyond sick of her.
“Make me,” she growls.
Oh, I’d love that. My fingers twitch at the mere thought of being wrapped around her turkey neck.
“I said, make me!”
As much as I wish I could resort to violence, I know that will only prove her point about me being unfit to run Flores Holdings. So, I calm my hands against my thighs and try to catch my breath.
“Just go,” I say with authority. “I honestly never want to talk to you again.” The distance would be a welcomed blessing.
But instead of leaving, she rests her chin on the back of her hand and says, “That’s it, huh?”
I don’t want to give in, but I have to know. So, I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to refuse my generous offer just to protect that Cohen bastard again?” She laughs evilly. “Just like you did when you refused to name who got you pregnant all those years ago. But I knew. Everyone knew, Adriana.”
“Leave!” I’m fully yelling now. “Right now. I want you to leave!”
“Fine.” She finally gets up, intentionally spilling her wine on the table.
“Out.” I point.
But even after she exits, I hear her car screech down the driveway, And I’m still left shaking.
If everyone knew, why did Hayden refuse to see it until now?