Chapter 39
Reed
Aconstant zip of tension traveled from my jumbled mind down to my toes as I tapped my foot, waiting for my order at the coffee shop.
I was elated and nervous. So satisfied and so unsettled.
Cici did a mind-blowing job of keeping me preoccupied last night, and waking next to her was perfect.
I woke a few times before she rose, her nose crinkled as she stirred, and it was fucking adorable.
I couldn’t wait to get home to make pancakes and enjoy my last bit of time alone with her. And now, out in the light of day, all of that felt dreamlike and was overshadowed by my worries.
How was Abigail’s overnight? Did she wake and wonder where she was? Did she have any of the nightmares that occasionally caught up to her? Did she hug Cheeto tighter? Did she miss me?
The whir of a blender pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked down at my fingers thrumming the table. These poor baristas probably thought I was jonesing for my morning caffeine, but I just wanted to get home to my girl, and then, later today, enjoy both of my girls, safe and happy under one roof.
The urge to see their two smiles overcame me, and I reached in my back pocket, finding it empty, then checked the other side.
Well, shit. I left my phone at home. Thankfully, I was only down the street, but my nerves sang anyway.
I ran my hand through my hair with a sigh, and both baristas looked up, one mildly concerned—maybe for the lives of those waiting near me—and the other annoyed. I gave them a weak smile.
When my drinks were done, I grabbed them so quickly that I nearly cussed when they splashed on my hand. They splattered on my car’s cup holders as I zipped away. Then sloshed again as I halted, pulling into my driveway. Something was off. Cienna’s car was gone.
Did it become too much? I practically confessed my undying love for her through coffee talk. Fuck, I pretty much asked her to move in when I suggested buying a Keurig. Step one: have amazing sex. Step two: pick out kitchen appliances together. You fucking idiot.
Half the coffee was puddled in the lids, some running down the cups and onto my hands as I jerked from my car and up the driveway. At the front step, the frog statuette that we used to hide our spare key was turned on its side, and the front door was slightly ajar. My stomach dipped.
I eased myself through the door. No sign of anyone. No pancake smell. No clinking of dishes. And why would the door be open? I nearly called out for Cici when a giggle made me freeze in my tracks. Abi.
Her indistinguishable chatter came from a distance, along with another muffled voice. I followed the sounds down the hallway and paused at the door to Abigail’s room. The voices became clear, and I shuddered, recognizing who she was happily jabbering to. My mother.
“This is me and Mommy when we went to see the snow.” There was a pause and then a hint of a laugh, and Abi giggled along.
“Mommy made a snowman, but its nose wouldn’t stay on, so she put it on his head instead.
” Abi’s laughter vibrated in my veins. I didn’t realize you could miss a sound.
My mother’s laugh joined hers, and that same feeling pulsed harder.
This time, it wasn’t the feeling of missing a sound. It was the feeling of longing for one.
I peeked through the crack at the door hinges. My mother was sitting on Abigail’s bed, and Abi was cross-legged, facing her, with a pile of photos on her lap. A familiar box sat on the bed next to them. A shoe box, my sister’s perfect handwriting over the top in Sharpie. “Abigail’s Photos.”
Abi flipped a photo up from her lap and brought it up to my mother’s face as she beamed. “This was when I was a baby and Mommy made me a baby cake, and I ate it.” Her giggle returned. “I look so messy because I used my hands.”
My mother held the picture, looking down at it, her lips turned down.
She closed her eyes briefly, then gave Abi a small smile.
“You were so, so cute, Abigail. You look just like your mom did when she was a baby eating a baby cake.” Her voice was so small, nearly cracking.
And fuck if it didn’t weigh in my chest. “I’ll have to dig up a picture of her on her first birthday so you can see it. ”
That did something to me. Those simple words drew forth a mix of nausea and aching. I stood back and leaned against the wall, sucking in a breath before trying to release it slowly.
I wanted to stomp in there and snag those photos away. All of those memories that woman didn’t deserve to see. She lost her chance to even peek at them when she abandoned her daughter and never looked back. But she had something that I would never have. Her own memories to share in return.
My fists clenched, nearly squeezing the warm liquid from the cups I was still holding.
The thought of there being any remote benefit to Abi having a relationship with her grandparents was something I’d have to process and squelch later.
For now, I had to get this intrusion out of my house. Out of our space.
I set the coffees down on the first surface I could find and swallowed hard, searching for grounding, and stepped into the doorframe.
My mother’s gaze immediately shot up to mine.
“Reed.” It wasn’t a question or a greeting.
Her eyes were wide in a way that reminded me of when Abi begged for ice cream, but her lips were a straight line, likely a mirror of my scowl.
Before I could speak, probably a good thing, Abi shot from her spot on the bed and latched on to me, squeezing with a cute little grunt.
How did one simple touch, or actually a tourniquet-level grip, melt all the nasty words at the tip of my tongue?
I gave her head a pat, glancing down briefly, then met my mother’s stare again. “Mother.”
My jaw jutted in silent question. Why the hell are you here? Before she forced me to speak the words, she stood, brushing down at her pant legs. “I had hoped you’d receive my text before we arrived, but Abigail found your phone as soon as we walked in, so I saw you hadn’t, and I apologize.”
“Uncle Reed!” Abigail was about to squeeze the blood out of my limb. What the fuck did they feed her for breakfast, Muscle Milk? I leaned to the side and hoisted her up on my hip. She was going to be too ridiculously big for this eventually, but cool uncle strong-arming was still a thing for now.
She grasped my cheeks with her sticky hands.
“Listen to me.” Her eyes were large twinkling saucers, solidifying my Muscle Milk theory.
My niece was one step away from baby-roid rage.
I let her control my stare and listened intently as her voice turned to an eerie whisper-shout.
“I blew bubbles under the water and kicked my legs and got a dolphin ribbon.”
I glanced at my mother, and, undeniably, her face glimmered with pride.
“Great job, Abbers.” After smattering Abi’s face with kisses, causing her to kick and giggle, I turned to my mother, certain the begrudge was evident in my voice.
“Looks like swim classes were a success. Thanks for dropping her off and waiting for me.” I raised a brow, hoping she was catching on to my dismissal.
“I would have been home if I’d realized our time had changed to earlier. ”
She reached down for her purse on the bed. “I did text you, but I apologize for the late notice.”
Ignoring the guilt that was creeping in on me, I lifted my head. “I stepped out for coffee quickly and accidentally left my phone at home.”
She nodded. “You like coffee now? You used to hate it.”
My lips pursed. “A lot can change in six years, Mother.”
She flinched. She’d always hated being called that, preferring Mom.
“Oh, Uncle Reed! Grandma got me a music box! And it looks just like one Mommy had when she was little.” Abi wiggled her way down my side and shot out of the room.
Expecting her to pop right back in, I leaned against the doorframe, avoiding eye contact with the woman who so easily shut her own daughter out, yet was standing in her granddaughter’s room, playing the doting grandma.
My jaw clenched tighter and tighter as I waited for Abi to return. “Grandma, Uncle Reed, come see,” Abi shouted from somewhere else in the house. Almost certain I knew where, I gulped back the thousands of emotions threatening to surface.
My mother took a few steps, then paused, looking at me.
Her eyes were hopeful, questioning. Fucking hell.
I shrugged, indicating I didn’t care if she went seeking Abigail, while I stood there like I was suffocating.
Losing air from grief over my sister, for her lost relationship with our mother, the woman who now sidestepped me, giving me a squeeze on the arm and whispering “Thank you” over her shoulder.
Becoming a bystander in an invasion, more and more powerless the longer she stayed in our home.
As I rubbed up and down my face, I tried to stir some vigor back into my system before stepping out into the hallway toward the room I knew I’d find them in. Caroline’s.
The bell tinkling timbre guided me to where Abigail was sprawled across her mom’s bed, the music box in front of her.
She watched the ballerina spin as she jabbered on.
Time seemed to freeze as her words bounced around the room, springing energy from the walls.
The wonder in her eyes reminded me so much of her mother’s, and watching her be in her mother’s room with so much ease and comfort reminded me of what a brave and tenacious girl she was.
Grief always overshadowed my ability to look around the room, but I let my eyes linger, trying to see it as Abigail did.