Chapter 11
Liam
“You just missed your girl.” I barely make it through the front door before being bombarded.
“Hi mom, nice to see you, too.” I laugh, because of course she’ll care more about Britain than anything else in the world right now.
“Just so you know, I got the full rundown of her life story and saved your ass in the process.” She points an accusatory finger at me, “So you’re welcome, bubba.” She crosses over from behind the counter and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“How’d you save my ass?” I’m so confused.
“She heard miss Tori hollering at you this morning about how you ‘fucked her and dumped her.’” She uses air quotes for emphasis. “And I had to convince her you’re not a prick, and a bastard, and a liar, like she thought you were.”
I blanche, shit. That’s what the fuck Tori was about this morning. How’d she know? “She said all that about me?”
“Yup, try not to fuck it up with that one, I like her.”
“Sounds like I already did?” I say, dropping my head.
“Nope, she likes you. You should’ve seen her blush when I asked if you kissed her.”
“Fuck, mom. You can’t ask people stuff like that.”
“Technically she brought it up first, I just confirmed it.” Sandy looks at me with complete nonchalance, like that’s run of the mill, morning coffee conversation, but I can’t help how my heart jumps at the thought of Britain talking about me like that.
“She did?”
“Oh, bubba. You like her?” Yeah, I fucking like her. Like I like air and breathing. It’s innate.
“Yeah, I do, she’s different.” Different from the last 20 girls I’ve dated, which got me exactly nowhere.
“An oh-rig-in-al. She reminds me of Georgia, even though they’re night and day.” My mom’s somewhere else right now, probably thinking about her.
“Did you tell Britain about how close you were to Georgia in the end?”
“No, poor thing seems like she's got enough going on. The ex?” She’s arching one eyebrow in dislike and waving her hands around in the air in exasperation. “Whooo, boy, if you wrong her, I might just have to adopt her in your place. Just be careful, though. What happens when everyone else finds out, you understand?
“Mom, I got it.”
“Oh! And her girls? They’re gorgeous. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.” She spells it out for me.
“What are you stalking her on Facebook now?”
“No, she showed me.” I don’t know why I’m jealous of my own mother knowing more about Britain than me, but I am.
I sigh, “Can I please just have a coffee, I’m dying here.”
“Sure thing sugar, that’ll be $3.25.” Of course.
Britain
I’m doing it. I’m driving to my mom’s house and I’m going to open the box that’s still in the back seat from yesterday. I wasn’t really planning on doing this today. I mean, I’ve got plenty of time, but I wanted to put some space between Liam and myself. I’m still processing everything that happened this morning, and last night for that matter. I don’t want him thinking I’m just going to be hanging around at the rental all day, everyday either. I have a life. Okay, maybe I don’t. I’m not working, I don’t have any friends here. I’m not managing some rich social calendar. Ugh. This is good, though. I can go see my mom’s house, I can open the box, and I can do a big grocery haul before heading back to Spearhead.
The weather is perfect, just like I remember it normally was in late April. 75 degrees and breezy with sunshine for days. God I missed this weather, and I hate to admit, this place. Even something as simple as driving is so much more enjoyable here. The drive down the mountain was fast, maybe a bit reckless. I make a mental note to cool it next time. Your kids still need a mother, Britain.
I’m coming around the final bend in the road before the house comes into view, and I’m feeling a mixed bag of nerves and anxiety. Will it look the same? Is Georgia’s stuff all going to be in the exact same place as she left it? I have no idea what to expect. It’s not like Alexander gave me anything to go on.
When it comes into sight, I’m relieved to see it looks exactly the same, with one big exception, the yard. All the plants and flowers that should be blooming and beautiful right now have mostly shriveled and died. The grasses and drought-tolerant bits are still doing okay, but it makes the house look like someone sucked the joy out of it, which is exactly what happened, isn’t it?
Pulling down the gravel drive for the thousandth time in my life is like being reintegrated with my past. I put so much work into forgetting this part of my life and blocking memories, that when I park in the drive, the sadness of that fact weighs on me. I can’t believe I just turned my back on all of this, on Georgia. Over some boy and my own shame over being a fool.
I sigh as I step out of the car, the weight of my sadness joining me as I walk to the front door. The same grasses and eucalyptus trees that have been here for centuries are moving in the breeze, whispering. But all I hear now is, how could you? A chill runs down my spine.
I enter the code on the lockbox, grabbing the key from inside it. I insert the key, stopping just a moment before pushing the door open. It’s just a house, I can do this.
It looks almost exactly the same as the day I left. The only difference is the moving boxes stacked against one wall in the living room. I know they’re Alexander’s and not my mom’s because they’re labeled in foreign languages. There’s what looks like Arabic on some, and German on others. He must be using this as home base even though it’s clear he’s probably never spent a night here since. Everything is coated in a thick layer of dust, including the picture frames on the side tables. I pick one up, instantly recognizing the girls’ chubby, baby cheeks.
I keep making my way through the house. It doesn’t smell in here, so someone must have come through and cleaned up after Georgia. No dishes in the sink. I open the fridge to find nothing but a box of baking soda. Even the freezer is empty, no chocolate ice cream. I keep going, down the hall, to my old bedroom. I grab the handle to turn it open, but my hands are all clammy and I don’t want to. I open it anyways, just peering in at the baby blue walls and my Ikea bed. I wasn’t really a “boy band poster” girl. My posters are all vintage travel advertisements. God, I was so weird.
There’s nothing in there for me, so I close it and move to Alexander’s room. I open it and see it looks like he may have stayed here not so long ago. The bed is unmade and there’s large duffel bags stacked in front of the closet. He probably stayed here for the funeral and then to take care of the estate business. I close the door, which leaves me with one room left, Georgia’s.
I open the door and am greeted with dust motes swirling in the air from my disruption, lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows. If I didn’t know she was gone, I’d expect her to show up any minute now based on how the room is. The bed is perfectly made with her grandmother’s antique quilt. Her robe is hanging on the edge of the closet door. Her worn slippers are sitting half out from underneath her bed. Her jewelry box is missing off her dresser, but that’s the only thing amiss.
It’s undeniably Georgia, but oddly devoid of personality. Maybe she took it all with her when she left. I close the door and head back down the hall and out to my car. I grab the box. It’s time. I lug it into the kitchen and set it down on a chair. It’s just a basic cardboard box from Uhaul. It’s heavy, but not overweight. Whatever's inside moves when you carry it, but it’s packed tight enough so nothing jostles.
“Please don’t be garden tools,” I whisper to no one as I open the lid, sliding one of the corners out from a flap. I’m surprised to see what looks like hundreds of steno pads, neatly stacked on one side, filling the box all the way to the brim. On the other side is her jewelry box and some legal style envelopes labeled “Pictures.” There’s also stacks of birthday cards and Mother’s Day cards, and every other holiday “under the sun” cards, too. I pick up one of the pads and flip through it. It’s a journal, and there’s hundreds of them in this box. I’m stunned.
It’s her life…in a box. Her memories. And she wanted me to have them all? I instantly burst into tears. It was so easy to forget she was a woman, with a life, and a past, and a family. I always just saw her as my indifferent parent, but she was layered and nuanced and I’m the biggest fool for not seeing her that way when she was still alive. I’ve been such a fool.
I crumble into a kitchen chair, the guilt overwhelming me. I drop my head into my hands and let the tears fall freely as my body heaves with sobs. I just left her, all alone. Even more alone, and I never looked back.
Eventually the heavy weight of my shame starts to feel less suffocating, my breathing evens out, my tears begin to slow, and I’m left staring at the stacks of steno pads. After some indeterminate amount of time, I finally flip one open and read,
December 6, 1994
Britain lost her first tooth today. She cried and cried. Poor thing is going to be in for a surprise when I tell her how many more she has to go. The only thing that settled her was the promise of a dollar from the tooth fairy.
I flip to another page on the same pad.
December 19, 1994
Britain got cast as a sugar plum fairy in the winter recital. It’s not a speaking part or a singing part, thank heavens, but our girl was so excited. She hasn’t stopped talking about it since I picked her up from daycare. Wish you could come see it with me. I’ll take pictures.
It almost sounds like she was writing her entries to a person. Maybe she was, maybe she picked Grandma to write to. Of course, Grandma died before I was born, but I can see how writing to her like she’s still here could ease your grief. I open my phone to the mile-long grocery list and add a notebook to the bottom. Perhaps I could do the same? Maybe it would help me with Georgia, to connect with who she used to be and ease my grief.
I’m beginning to form a clear plan for the next six weeks. I’m going to read these journals and I’m going to write to Georgia. Well, try to. I hate writing so much, I actually failed English in college, but I’m going to try. I plop the steno pad back in the box and haul it out to my car. You’re coming with me.
It’s late afternoon when I pull back up to Liam’s house. The Porsche is overflowing with food and wine after a successful grocery run. I was able to catch up with the girls on the drive home, which reminds me I should probably check in with Jess, too. We have the type of relationship where we could talk every day or not talk for a month, but still pick right back up on a previous conversation like it was yesterday. She’s going to want to know the contents of the box, though, so I’ll call her once I get everything unloaded.
I pop the trunk and grab a few bags. As I turn around to head for the stairs. I’m stopped by a 6’2” silver fox. Shit.
“Agh, you startled me.”
He laughs, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to, promise. I, uh, texted you earlier.” He did, but it may have been shortly after my tear-fueled breakdown about me being the worst daughter in the world and I didn’t want to deal with it.
“I saw, sorry I haven’t responded. I just needed to take care of some things,” I say as I hold up the bags as proof.
“Right, okay. Just wanted to make sure you got it.” He pauses. His hand is cupping the back of his neck, he almost looks uncomfortable. “Need help unloading?” I don’t know why this is suddenly so awkward. Yesterday felt like we just clicked, but now there’s weirdness.
I’m just about to decline his help when he blurts out, “Tori isn’t, or ever was, my girlfriend. And I didn’t sleep with her last night, or this morning. I will admit I hooked up with her in the past, but that was a while ago and I regret it, deeply.” He pauses, and I’m just staring at him, flummoxed. “We let her go from Broken Ridge yesterday, and she’s not taking it very well. She broke into my house, and made a scene in an attempt to get back at me. I’m sorry you had to hear that, or see that, but I’m hoping it won’t be an issue ever again.”
“You don’t need to explain your life to me, Liam.”
“I don’t need to, but I want to. I’m hoping you won’t still think of me as a liar…and a bastard…and a prick.”
I laugh. “You talked to your mom?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she was your mom last night?”
He shrugs, “I didn’t want to make it weird. Like hey, I know this is our first date and all, but that’s my mom over there.”
“That was a date?” I ask, hoping it stings a bit, payback for the Tori incident.
“Yes.” That’s his entire answer, and his face looks grim. Affirmative hit.
“You’re right, totally would’ve killed the vibe.” I shoot him a small smile, and he takes a deep inhale, easing his stern look. “If you want to help, can you just take the cooler up to the top of the stairs for me?”
“Can do.” He says as he reaches around me, lifting it with ease.
Of course, he couldn’t help with just the cooler, so now we’ve been passing each other on the stairs wordlessly for the last ten minutes. I figured it would be weirder if I demanded he stop helping me than just accepting it. I do appreciate that he gave me the lowdown on what I heard and saw this morning, but I’m still wary of him.
Knowing he hooked up with Tori makes me feel some sort of way. First, she’s fucking bombshell hot. And while I may be attractive, even beautiful when I do my hair and makeup, no one, NO ONE, would ever accuse me of being a bombshell. I wore sweats and drank beer on our date last night, which felt fine at the time, but now I’m feeling super self conscious after seeing Tori in her silk blouse and leather skirt this morning.
Second, you’d have to be blind or daft not to see that she’s….a bit terrifying. Is that his type? Like why was he hooking up with her? Which brings me to three — I’m jealous. Ugh.
I grab the last of the bags from the passenger seat, and close the trunk. I decide to just wait at the bottom of the stairs for him to come back, so there’s no chance of him helping me unpack. He jogs down the stairs and goes to reach for the bags in my hand, but I stop him.
“Thanks, but I’ll get them. This is the last of it.” I give him a smile, hoping to not let this be any more weird than it needs to.
“Oh, okay. Are you sure you don’t want help unpacking all that stuff?” Yes, I’m sure I don’t want your help unpacking my tampons.
“No, thank you. I got it.”
He's put his hand at the back of his neck again, avoiding eye contact. I think he might actually be nervous, which makes zero sense to me. “Listen, Britain, I want to ask you out again, but I’m worried that if I do you’ll say no.” Yes, there’s usually a chance when you ask someone a yes or no question that they’ll say no. I’d say a 50% chance. “I’m definitely getting the hint to leave you alone. And I will, just know that I’m just a text or doorbell ring away, okay?”
I’m just standing there staring at him. I’m baffled because I do like him, and he made me feel good last night. Not just with his kiss, but with his company, and I don’t know what to say right now. So I don’t say anything at all. He eventually just turns around and walks back to his house, and I hurry up the stairs. This is for the best. I was out of my mind thinking there could be something between us. He’s on a different level than me. Dating supermodels who wear 6-inch heels. And, I just got jealous over a previous hookup, so clearly I’m not capable of casual. And that’s all this could ever be, casual.
Liam
What the fuck was I thinking? The smell of my own desperation is making me nauseated. I just bombarded her in the driveway because she didn’t respond to my one text. I’m a fucking idiot thinking there was something there. She’s probably just the first nice and normal woman I’ve been around in a while and my brain and body overreacted. She’s clearly not on the same wavelength as me, and I can be man enough to accept that and leave her alone.
Just the thought of doing that makes me sad, though. Why, Liam? Why the fuck are you sad? Because one woman didn’t fall at your feet like you’re used to? Guess I’m really getting old. At 49, I’ve officially hit the age where women don’t want to be with me for me. They want the houses, the money, the lifestyle. Britain doesn’t need any of that stuff, so why would she choose me? Want me?
Once I’m back inside, I put the charcuterie board back in the fridge. I’ll pick at it while I watch SportsCenter later or something. I’m such an idiot I had my chef, Carly, come over today and cook up meals for two for the week and weekend. For two. I also asked if she’d make a cheese board, since I’d planned to ask Britain over for a drink later. But I won’t be needing that either.
I’m still nursing the sting from our interactions, “That was a date?” Yeah, the best date I’ve probably ever had. My phone rings, pulling me out of my self deprecation. I pull it out anxiously, hopefully. It’s just Matt, fuck. I answer it while I put the wine glasses and wine away. Just the stuff I’d pulled out before I realized how big of an idiot I was.
“Hey, man,” I answer
“Hey, are you avoiding me?” I’m not anymore.
“No, sorry. Just dealing with Tori’s shit, and then I’ve got a new tenant who just got in yesterday.”
“Yeah, Niko called. Said you had a bunny boiler incident.” I laugh at his comment.
“Yeah, something like that. She’s from a different fucking planet.”
“I told you not to date her.”
“I know, I know.” Apparently that’s my toxic trait, being attracted to people I shouldn’t be.
“How’s the new tenant? London, right? Sounds cute.” My blood goes cold, and I don’t say a word. He probably saw the contract I forwarded to the office. Matt starts laughing,
“That hot?” he asks.
“No, uh, not like that. I’m thinking it’s probably time for me to come up to Sonoma. How’s the site coming along?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
“Yeah, it’s definitely getting to the point I need another set of eyes and ears. We’ve got most of the grading done, and are just waiting on some inspections. But the goal is to pour the foundation for the sales center in like two weeks. Can you be out here by then?” I don’t see why not. I don’t have anything else going on in my life, except work, as usual.
“Yeah, I don’t see why not. It’s probably time to move on from this place. Two weeks, so like May 10th?”
“That’s the goal.”
“Sounds great. I’ll have Gina start getting an apartment set up.”
“Thank god, man. I was wondering if I was ever gonna get to come home and see my family.” He’s joking, but I feel a bit guilty. Then I experience another feeling entirely.
“You’re going to stick around and get me up to speed though, right?”
“Of course. What, am I gonna go home and see Julie?” He laughs and I’m flooded with relief. He needs to stay in Sonoma for the next six weeks.