Chapter 30
THIRTY
It’s a new day, Cancer. Dab on a little eye cream and pack your brass knuckles. It’s an anything goes type of day.
Dakota and Ginny are in the living room when I force myself out of bed Saturday.
“’Morning,” I say.
“I think you mean afternoon.” Dakota smiles sadly and holds out her arms for me to go to her, which I do happily. I sink down on the couch beside her, and she wraps me in her arms. Ginny joins us and hugs me from the other side.
“Feeling any better?” Dakota asks, still hugging me tightly against her.
“A little.” I pat the bags under my eyes. The sensitive skin hurts to touch. After the game, Dakota came home and sat beside me while I blubbered for the better part of the night. Nonsensical ranting and crying.
“I brought you an iced coffee.” Ginny holds out the large cup to me.
“Thank you.” I set it on the coffee table.
“Has he called?” she asks.
“No.”
“I saw him last night after he got home from the bar. He was in rough shape.” She glances at Dakota.
I want to ask more about what that means, press her for anything he might have said. But I don’t deserve to know.
“Whatever happened, you two can get through this,” Ginny pleads. “I’ve never seen either of you so happy.”
“We can’t. We won’t. It’s over.” My heart breaks a little more, saying it out loud. “And it’s probably for the best.”
“I refuse to believe that,” Ginny says. “Kota?”
My roommate shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” I say. “You guys weren’t there. It was awful. We’re not coming back from that.”
“People fight. Adam’s crazy about you.” Ginny’s optimism makes my chest ache.
“I know that he’s your brother, but come on, we all know that Adam doesn’t do second chances. Trust me. We’re over.”
“What can we do? Do you want to go to the track and run it out?” Dakota asks. I find it amusing that her plan for getting over heartbreak is exercising it out of her system.
“Or we could go to the wineries. Wine and sunshine, a little fresh air.” Ah, sunny Ginny.
I love these two, but there’s nothing they can do to make me feel better, and I don’t feel like faking it for their benefit.
“Thanks, but I have to be at rehearsal in an hour.”
“Did you get your part back?” Dakota asks, a note of hope in her tone.
“No.”
“Wait, what?” Ginny asks.
I shake my head. “I screwed up.”
“Can’t you call in sick? You look sick.” Dakota smooths a hand over my hair.
“No. I need to do something. Get out of this apartment and try to function. Besides, the show is this week, and every rehearsal is crucial. Even if I’m no longer a crucial member.”
I still can’t believe I lost my part. There will be other shows, but it stings. I worked so hard, and I was excited about doing something different, proving I’m more than a pretty face that can recite a few lines.
“Shouldn’t you be at the game, anyway?” I ask Ginny, looking at the time.
“Eh, Heath can manage one game without me.”
I quirk a brow. She’s wearing his jersey and has blue and yellow ribbons tied to the end of her braids.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’m here for you.”
“Go. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” She uncrosses her legs to stand.
“Positive. Get out of here.” I smack her on the butt as she gets to her feet. I love how excited she is to go cheer on her man. It even makes me feel the tiniest bit better.
“Text me if you need anything.” She waves as she leaves the apartment.
“You’re not going?” I ask Dakota after Ginny’s gone.
“No. I’ve had enough hockey for one weekend. Do you want to order food before your rehearsal?”
“I’m not hungry. I’m going to take a long shower.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to grab lunch, and then I guess maybe I’ll stop by the game for a bit since you have rehearsal, but text me as soon as you’re done.”
“I will,” I promise.
Even though I really don’t want to be there, I get to rehearsal ten minutes early. I’m in the back helping pull props when Mila gets there.
“Hi,” she says tentatively. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You are doing a great job.”
“Still.” She offers me a small smile. “What if I forget all my lines and mess up the entire show?”
“You won’t. I’m not going to let you. Come on, let’s get you ready.”
After rehearsal, I borrow Dakota’s car and head out of town. The drive to my hometown feels like a dream. I don’t remember any of it, and I don’t think I even turn on the radio.
Sitting outside of my mom’s house, I take in the pots of flowers on the porch and the matching white rocking chairs. The house itself looks like it’s been painted recently, and the windows are open, no dark curtains pulled tight across every crack, blocking out the light and any prying eyes.
I’ve been sitting outside for the past ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to go inside.
Maybe Adam’s right, and I should talk to her.
I don’t know anymore. Not talking to her feels as awful as talking to her.
I should have asked Dakota to come with me, but I felt like I needed to do this on my own.
Besides, I can’t remember the last time I introduced someone to my mom on purpose. Not that she was around enough for that to have even been a consideration.
I don’t know what I’m walking into today.
Seeing her inside counting money on the kitchen table, rummaging through couch cushions, or rolling change would almost be an easier thing to see than her making home improvements or knitting.
Then I could get back in the car and leave without a second’s hesitation.
But if she’s really changed, that decision is harder.
Try as I might to push away the longing for her approval and love, I can’t.
I hate that about myself. I don’t need her.
I’ve proven that by basically raising myself and moving away, going to college, having as normal of a life as I can.
But deep down, I can’t remove that piece of me that’s connected to her.
If I could, I certainly already would have.
She appears at the front door, probably trying to figure out who’s creeping outside. She steps out and smiles. With a lump in my throat, I get out of the car and walk toward her.
“Reagan.” She smiles. “Do you want some iced tea? I just made a pitcher.”
I open my mouth to say no, maybe scream how ridiculous the thought of us sitting together sipping sweet iced tea is, but I came here with a purpose, and I need to keep my composure until I say my piece.
“Sure.”
I sit on the front step as she goes inside. I can’t bring myself to go in. This house holds too many memories, few of them happy. A sad, lonely girl lived here, and I don’t want to be reminded of her.
Lori comes back a minute later with two glasses of tea and takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs. “I’m glad you came. I was afraid I’d never see you again after the other night.”
“How long have you been back?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. I come out swinging. I need to know if this is another one of her month-long attempts at a normal life before she disappears again.
“Three months.”
Longer than I expected.
“Janine said you’re working at the elementary school.”
“I am, for now. The pay is crap.”
I take a sip of the tea and then put the glass down. I can’t sit here and pretend to be having a lazy Saturday afternoon with my mom on the front porch.
“You can’t just show up in my life like you did. It isn’t fair.”
“I didn’t know how else to see you.”
“That isn’t an accident. I did what was necessary to protect myself from you constantly coming in and out of my life.
Every time I think I’ve put it behind me, you pop up.
” I thought this time, the years and distance between us, it was really over, and in some ways, that was so much easier to handle. Not expecting or hoping for anything.
“I understand that.”
“Do you? Do you have any idea what it was like for me?”
Her brown eyes widen and glass over like she might cry.
“You let someone else raise me.”
“Marge did a much better job than I could. You were better off.”
“I wasn’t.” Hot, angry tears fall from my eyes.
I swipe at them. “She was a better mom than you, hands down. She made me breakfast in the mornings and remembered important dates, she never asked me to give her my birthday money so she could double it, but she wasn’t you.
I just wanted you to get your shit together. ”
She closes her eyes, and the tears slide down her cheeks. “I did the best I could.”
“Now you seem to be doing better, and that’s great for you, but it’s too late for me. I don’t need you anymore.”
She stands and walks over to sit beside me, pulling me into her arms. It’s a foreign feeling, but not altogether terrible. Once upon a time, curling up on the couch together was a regular thing. She smells just the same, like hairspray and her floral perfume.
My shoulders shake and I sob into her. I’m still pissed, but there’s something comforting that my body can’t deny. I let her hold me as I cry out my frustration and hurt. When I’m done, I pull back and wipe my face.
“I didn’t come here to make amends.”
“Why did you come?”
“Because I need to move on.” I twist my hands together in my lap. “And I guess I needed to see this place for myself to see that you were doing better. The old house looks better than I imagined.”
“Doesn’t it?” She beams. “I’m glad you think so. It’ll go for a pretty penny.”
“You’re selling it?”
Her mouth opens, and she sighs, then nods. She takes my hands in hers. “Think about what we could do with the money. You could pay for school or buy yourself a new car, have a nice little nest egg for when you graduate.”
“And you? Where would you live?”
Her eyes twinkle as her lips pull up into a smile. A rush of uneasiness floods my veins.
“I found a cute little apartment in Vegas.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you were back and working at the school.”
But I do understand. I understand all too well.
“This place was never for me. Or you.” She places a hand on my cheek. “You and I were made for bigger and better things.”
Closing my eyes, I focus on breathing and not the shattering of my heart. “What do you need from me?”
“Nothing. Well, the house is still in your name.”
“Got it. You need me to sell it for you.”
“For us.”
Laughter spills from my lips. For us. Right. “I should go.”
“Reagan,” she admonishes. “What about the house?”
“You want to sell it, fine by me.”
“Great. Let me call my realtor—”
“No. I think I’ll find my own. It is my house after all.”
The implication of that hits her, and she looks so shocked. “After everything I’ve done to the place? That’s rather selfish, don’t you think?”
“Selfish? Ha! Don’t get me started. If I’m selfish, it’s because I learned from the master herself.” I wave a hand at her.
“I did the best that I could. And look how great you turned out!”
“No thanks to you.” I take one last look at the house and at her.
I know it’s the last time. She’ll have no more use for me after this.
“I’ll make sure that you’re compensated for the renovations, but after that—you and I are done.
I have nothing left to say to you. Stop contacting me.
I don’t want to see you or read another email. You are not my family.”