Chapter 39
Soren
S cowling, I slam the fridge closed, annoyed that most things in there remind me of Gail. She’s everywhere; in the flowery and clean scent clinging to the bed she slept in, in the sugary snacks and food, in the fucking absence we came home to four days ago.
She seemed fine with learning that we’d played her, that she didn’t really need to stay with us. Okay, maybe ‘okay’ is a bit of a stretch, but she didn’t let it get in the way of a night of celebratory sex. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for that. What I don’t fucking appreciate was returning to her letter, or the silence that’s followed.
“So what now?” Mickey asks, stretching. His white hair is sticking all over the place and he’s squinting as though keeping his eyes completely open is a task too great for him this morning. When I shrug, he rolls his eyes and pours himself another cup of coffee, draining the pot. What a dick. “You know she’s going to find something soon, right? What if she decides there’s no room for us in her life?”
“Oh, that ‘what now’,” I mutter sarcastically.
From Sawyer, we know that Gail’s staying with her brother, and that she’s given up the apartment she used to share with Lucia. He’s also mentioned something about the women looking for a house for Gail.
“What do you want me to do? Chase her down and chain her to the bed again?” I’m not morally opposed to doing that, especially not if it means keeping Gail with us.
Fuck!
When did things get so out of control? Yeah, I know, I know. Right around the time she announced she was pregnant, we tore the mask off her face and discovered the mysterious Abby was Gail. That was just the beginning of our bad decisions, though. From there, it was like one of those situations where you remove a pebble and the entire mountain collapses.
Double fuck!
Looking at Mick, I know he’s feeling the same way I am. Ironically, it took her moving out for me to realize I don’t want her to go. Ever. I want her with me—with us. I might not know exactly what that means, or what it’ll look like, but I want it. I want her and Fet with us.
“I’m not letting her go,” I growl, angered by the thought I’ve let it come to this.
Most of my life, I’ve tried to live by the mantra that family comes first. How ironic is it that I might be the one who has pushed her the furthest? Yeah, I don’t even want an answer to that. I want a solution.
“Me either,” Mickey rumbles. “Look, I have no excuse for my bullshit except for admitting that I let what happened with Simone… I fucking saw it happening again, man.”
I nod because I get it, and unlike me, he has a reasonable excuse. Or is it more of a reason? Fuck if I know. “So what do we do?” I ask, even more desperate for a solution.
Mickey stares at me like I’m dumber than dirt. “We man the fuck up and tell her. Maybe we even apologize for our shit.”
Yeah, that sounds like a good way to go about it… so why is something inside me balking at the thought of doing that? And just what the hell am I feeling? It’s not guilty, definitely not that. As much as I regret certain things, if I’m being honest, it’s the consequences more than the acts that are the cause of that.
It’s not until Mickey suddenly shouts, “Dude, get your head out of your ass and say something!” that I realize I’m just sitting here, lost in my thoughts without saying anything.
Exhaling slowly, I stretch and interlace my fingers behind my head. “What the hell do you want me to say, Mick? We fucked up. That’s all there is to it.”
Anger clouds his features, his gray eyes darkening like a stormy sky. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re the one who preached about family—”
“I know!”
“And now you’re, what? Just giving up? Tell me, Soren, what will that look like? Going back to Cupid’s Court and just existing? We both have a chance at something real here.”
My mouth becomes dry, and it feels like my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth as I say, “Being with her will be a constant reminder of our mistakes, Mick. I don’t want to—”
“Fuck right off!” he booms, slamming his fist into the kitchen counter so hard the surrounding items rattle. “Stop being such a little pussy, Soren. Admit why you’re afraid or stop talking.”
The. Fuck!
“What are you talking about?” I shout back, pushing off the wall I was leaning against, clenching my fists at my sides.
Mickey sighs like I’m being annoyingly obtuse. “You’re scared to let her in because you then risk losing her.”
“Come again?”
The fact that he doesn’t turn my words into an innuendo is all the proof I need to know he’s being completely serious. “Everyone thinks I’m the only one with skeletons in my closet, Soren. Sometimes I even think you’re one of them. But you’re just as fucked up as I am. Ryan died and your parents practically disowned you. You, my fucked up friend, are a commitment phobe. You’re scared she’ll leave or reject you.”
I’m so floored by his outburst and how true it is, that I’m surprised I’m not knocked on my ass. Instead, I stagger to the side and throw myself down onto the nearest stool. My thoughts are racing so fast it’s hard to keep up, but through the maze of memories and fears, it’s more than clear that Mickey is onto something.
Dick!
“So what the fuck do I do?” I barely recognize my own voice as I ask the question.
“Admitting a problem is generally the first step,” Mick retorts, winking at me. “But beyond that, you might need to explain this to her and maybe even share something with her. You know, open up. Chicks dig that.”
Scoffing, I take the cup from his hand, drinking the last of the coffee. It’s fifty percent to have something to do with my hands to stop them from shaking, and fifty percent because he really is on a dick roll today.
“What about you?” I ask once I’ve drained his cup.
“Don’t worry about me,” he grins. “I got my shit under control. After our last game, I’m going to take her out on a date and apologize. Then I’ll woo her with my irresistible charm and amazing wit.”
He’s got to be fucking shitting me. He really thought all this through.
“You know, back before Simone destroyed everything good in my life, I was the king of relationships. It’s you I’m worried about because orgasms aren’t going to be enough for Gail.”
For some reason, my mind flicks back to when she refused to let me call her ‘baby’, claiming she was just my whore. Wait, is that what she meant? Did she want me to tell her differently? Fuck, of course she did. Fuck me, Mickey’s right—not that I’ll ever tell him. But I really am being stupid.
“Do you love her?” My tone is strained and my breath ragged.
Mickey shrugs. “I don’t know… maybe. A little, but not in the stupidly blinding way I thought I loved Simone. This feels more like… the kind that’ll last a lifetime.”
“How do you know?”
“Man, what the fuck? I’m not Dr. Phil. I don’t know how I know. For me, it wasn’t really about knowing. It was more like… I had to admit it to myself. But I think I fell in love with her when she was Abby.”
Nodding, I pull my phone out and tap away on it, which Mickey takes as his cue to leave the kitchen, mumbling something about needing more sleep.
I call Nana, wanting to make sure she’s around this afternoon, and that she’s up for visitors, which she is.
Love… do I love Gail? How the fuck can I know that when the people who were supposed to love me didn’t? Shit, I never realized how much my parents betraying me has fucked me up. I mean, I knew it was a sore spot. But that’s as far as I thought it went.
Looking down at my phone, I scroll through the contacts, finding my mom’s. Without giving myself time to second guess my decision, I press the call icon with my thumb and listen as it rings.
“Hello Soren.” My mom’s tone is pleasant, one of those you use when you greet anyone, but definitely not someone who’s special to you.
“Hi Mom,” I say. “How are—”
“Did you want something? Is your grandmother okay?”
What the hell?
“She’s fine.” My tone is clipped and I’m working overtime not to snap at the woman on the other end. “I wanted to—”
“Soren,” Mom sighs, and I can just imagine her removing her glasses, squeezing her eyes shut, and either rubbing her temple or pinching the bridge of her nose. “What do you want? It’s not my birthday, so there’s really no reason for this call.”
This was such a bad idea.
“How’s Dad?” I ask, ignoring her obvious attempt at getting me off the phone as quickly as possible.
She makes a clucking sound. “He’s fine. He’s really liking his new home—”
“Home?” I echo, confused.
“Yes, Soren. Your dad suffered a few strokes, and he’s been in and out of homes for the past few years. But this new one—”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I thunder, the news hitting me hard. “Do you really hate me so much you don’t think I deserve to know my dad had strokes and isn’t living with you anymore?”
She sighs again. “I knew you would make it all about you. That’s what you do, and I just can’t deal with your tantrums right now, Soren.”
As I listen to her go on and on and on about how inconvenient it is for her to have to talk to me, I realize something I’ve had people tell me for years, but that I never really believed; I’m not the fucking problem here.
“You know,” I say, interrupting whatever she was saying. “I’m going to be a dad.”
She inhales sharply. “Soren, I’m happy for you. But what does that have to do with me?”
The laugh I let out isn’t happy, it’s as broken as I am. “Nothing, actually. Nothing at fucking all. I’m telling you because this is the last time I’ll call you. If you haven’t already, I want you to update your will to exclude my name.”
“We did that years ago.”
I nod, guess I already knew that. Or at least suspected. “That also means that when you’re too old to wipe the drool from your chin and the shit from your ass, don’t call me. Don’t have anyone else call me. I’m done.”
“Here we go again. You have this pathological need to make everything about yourself—”
“Maybe,” I concede, not caring enough to argue with her. “But this decision is for my family, one you’ll never be part of. So kindly fuck off.”