Chapter 37
Andi
Ijust needed a day.
Twenty-four hours to myself and my thoughts, in my own space, without the threat of my foundational understanding of the world being shaken.
Don’t get me wrong, each and every one of the guys—including Cameron, to a certain degree, even though we had a rough start—has given me something and shown me something about myself that I’ll be eternally grateful for.
But I’m only human, and there’s only so much emotional processing you can do before your brain starts to feel like a snow globe being shaken by an overenthusiastic toddler.
Unfortunately for me, I’m not lucky enough to get that space.
The guys dropped me off at my apartment last night, but instead of getting to lay in bed watching reruns of a silly comfort show of mine all day, my phone buzzes with a text on the pillow by my head.
I should ignore it.
But then it buzzes again.
With a soft groan, I sit up and grab for it.
Mom
Hey Andromeda, come home and join me for lunch today. It’s long overdue
I stare at the text for a long moment.
Long overdue.
We are, aren’t we?
I haven’t been to the house in a while, and I even got to go on a trip with the guys this past weekend. It makes sense she’d be reaching out.
I grab Beck’s hoodie on my way out the door. It doesn’t smell like him anymore, but I still find myself seeking some sort of comfort.
The drive to my mom’s takes twenty-five minutes in light traffic, which means it takes a good forty-five during rush hour, which seems endless here in LA.
I park in the driveway and sit in the car for a minute longer than I need to.
It’s my mom. I shouldn’t feel like this. It’s just a normal lunch. She didn’t even give any indication in the texts that she was upset.
I can do this. I just need to keep things light, not bring up anything that could set her off, and answer the questions I know she’ll have.
I’ve been doing this my whole life, so why does it feel so different today?
Is it because I met my dad?
I shake my head. I can’t think about him right now. My mom will smell it on me, or something crazy like that.
I let myself in with the key.
“Mom?”
“Up here!”
Her voice comes from upstairs. I toe off my shoes by the door, drop my bag on the entry table, and make my way to the stairs.
Stuart’s coat is hung by the door, but I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe him being here is a good sign, though, because then maybe my mom will be less likely to spiral.
The thought sits heavy in my stomach as I climb.
She appears at the top landing, dressed in only a silk robe, her hair wild and chaotic, as if she hasn’t bothered to get ready this morning.
“Mom?” I ask, blinking up at her. “Hey, are you alright?”
I make it to the top of the landing with her. There are dark bruises under her eyes, and they’re red-rimmed and swollen.
“I know.” Her voice is flat, almost quiet. It’s so much scarier than if she were yelling or screaming, though I’m sure that’s coming soon.
A chill runs down my spine. We’ve done this dance before, for tons of things she’s deemed to be fuck-ups over the course of my teenage years.
“What?”
“I know, Andromeda.”
She takes a step towards me, and I hold my ground on instinct, even though my chest has gone tight.
“What are you talking about?”
“This all started when you started that fake relationship with that disgusting male omega.” Her voice is still quiet and breathy. “I should’ve known. He and his entire team have been filling your head with—”
“Mom, Beck has nothing to do with—”
“You went to his house!” she screams it. Right in my face, loud enough for my ears to ring.
I take a step back before I can stop myself, my back bumping up against one of the framed photos of her from a big magazine shoot over a decade ago.
“How could you? How could you?” she shrieks, her hands coming up to grip her hair. “That man, that—that monster—”
“Mom—” my voice cracks. She’s losing it. Her eyes are wide like a feral animal, and it’s all my fault.
She found out I saw my dad.
That’s the only explanation for this.
There’s nothing Beck or his team could’ve done to get her this upset. Well, other than bring me there. They’d be guilty by association.
She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her robe, her arm flailing wildly.
I don’t even register that she’s thrown it until it hits me in the face.
The sharp crack of the screen against my cheekbone lights up my whole skull with white static. I make a sound I don’t mean to make, my hand flying up to my face.
“His house.” The words tear out of her. “That house. Your father’s. That evil devil of a man. You walked into that house. After everything I’ve—after everything he did to us—how could you? How could you!”
My cheek is throbbing, and my eyes are burning with the threat of tears.
Her phone has clattered to the floor at my feet, and I see the tracking app she uses.
How could I be that stupid?
Being with the guys that weekend, away from LA, made me sloppy.
The thought of that weekend, surrounded by people who actually gave a shit about me, who thought I was funny and smart and talented and beautiful, makes something bubble up in my chest.
I lower my hand from my face.
“Mom,” I say.
“Don’t you dare—”
I think of Edison. My dad. The door that he kept all these years. The paint in my childhood bedroom. His reasonable explanation for everything that happened between him and my mom.
“Stop.” The word leaves my lips, making time slow.
She freezes and stares at me.
I don’t know who’s more surprised.
“I did go see him,” I say, my voice surprisingly even, despite the fact that it feels like my insides are trembling in the face of my mom’s unbridled emotions. “I don’t think that’s wrong.”
Something flares to life in her eyes, but I continue. I need to get this off my chest.
“I—I don’t know all of what happened between you two.
I know it must be complicated, and maybe you two had a bad relationship, but I’ve never been allowed to find out.
” I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
“I’ve spent my entire life being told who he was by you.
I’ve never gotten to decide for myself.”
I wipe my clammy hands on the back of my jeans.
“Why can’t I even see him? He’s my dad.” My voice finally breaks on the last word. “You’re not the only one who gets to decide what that means.”
She goes very still.
I don’t think she even breathes.
I watch her face cycle through something I can’t follow fast enough.
You know how sometimes, when shit goes down, people describe those moments as happening in slow motion?
That’s not what happens.
One second, my mom is standing at the top of the landing. The next, she’s gone.
She threw herself down the stairs.
There’s no other way to describe what happens. She topples, her frail body cracking against the hardwood with a sound that turns my stomach inside out, until she hits the bottom.
“Mom!”
I’m moving before I’ve decided to move. I take the stairs too fast, my socks nearly slipping on the second-to-last step, my hand barely catching the railing.
Stuart somehow materializes in the entryway to the living room. His expression is carefully neutral, which is insane because my mom just threw herself down the stairs.
Has he been waiting? He had to have been.
My mom is crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, and the sobs that pour out of her are enormous. They fill the whole house, echoing off the walls.
I drop to my knees beside her.
“Mom—” I reach out.
She smacks my hand away. Hard. Like it disgusts her.
“Stuart,” she says, lifting her tear-streaked face.
For the first time since I’ve gotten here, her eyes are clear.
“File the paperwork.”
Stuart nods once. He already has his phone out.
I sit back on my heels on the floor of my mother’s house—a house that has never felt like my own home—and I watch Stuart’s thumbs move across the screen. My mind reels, and somewhere in my chest, something pulls taut.
Maybe it’s the leash my mom has spent years cultivating. Whatever it is, in that moment, it snaps.