17. Reese
Reese
“You know, honey, if you keep mixing like that, you’re going to break the whisk.”
“Huh?” I look down at the bowl of brownie batter in my hand. “Come on,” I mutter, frustration mixing with every other emotion currently rolling around inside of me. Batter is splattered all over the sides of the bowl, my hands, and the counter.
My eyes fill, and I push the bowl aside to wash my hands.
“Honey, what’s going on?” My mom comes forward and offers me a towel.
“I’m just tired.”
“Reese Lillian Faye, you know better than to think I’m going to buy that story. Come here.” She pulls me over toward a stool at the counter, then pulls down two mugs I haven’t seen in a long, long time.
I smile through the tears still threatening to fall. When I was a kid, my mom designated two specific mugs as our “talking mugs.” They’re super simple, white mugs with faded hearts on the side, but she said they signified us opening our hearts.
Communication may not have been the greatest in my house, but whenever we had these mugs in our hands, that changed.
She starts the kettle, then puts some loose chamomile into two tea bags before turning to face me. “What’s going on, Sugar?”
How do I tell her?
“I’ve been keeping something from you, and I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, I’m not thirty-seven anymore. I’m a little girl, terrified to tell her mother the truth.
“Sugar, you don’t need to be sorry about anything.” She comes around and takes a seat on a stool, then turns to face me.
“I—” Shutting my eyes tightly, I focus on the words that need to come out. If I can’t have closure with Weston, maybe talking to my mom will help me take a step in that direction. “Weston and I slept together. Back before. When we were dating.”
She arches a brow. “Okay.”
“It wasn’t his idea. I actually pushed him into it, and afterward, we decided that we wanted to do things right, so we planned on getting married before we took that step again.” She’s quiet as she listens, then reaches forward and takes my hands. “I got pregnant that night, and—”
“Oh, honey.”
“We wanted the baby so bad. Weston was so excited. We snuck away and got married in Charleston, and on the way back, he got the call about the accident.”
As I recount the moments to my mother, reliving each horrifying detail, I find a surprising layer of strength. The words just come pouring out of me, from the first moment I realized I was having a miscarriage to me telling Weston.
I told her about his pain. About mine. And finally, about how I gave up because dealing with it was too much.
By the time I’m finished, she and I are both crying.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I just—I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to face any of it.” The knot in my stomach has loosened, but the weight on my heart is suffocating.
“Sugar, you have nothing to apologize for.” Reaching up, she cups my cheek. “I’m glad you finally told me, and I am so very sorry you went through that alone.”
“I left him, Mom. I left him to suffer through everything alone.”
“Suffering is exactly what you did.”
“It’s not the same.” I shake my head. “He would have been there for me if I had just told him. But he was already dealing with so much, and somehow, leaving just felt like it would be easier on him. I was wrong.”
“Sugar, that is in the past. You can move forward from this.”
“I’ve tried.” I wipe my eyes. “I’ve apologized to him, but every single time I attempt to take a step in the right direction, something goes wrong. Last week, we were having lunch, and I was about to start talking to him when Max called.”
“Max?”
“He’s a guy I’ve been on a couple dates with, and I was just trying to let him down easy, so I said we’d grab food when I got back, and—”
“Weston heard.”
“Weston heard,” I repeat. “All of it. He hasn’t talked to me since. He hates me, and I honestly cannot say I blame him.”
“Hates you?” My mom shakes her head. “Sugar, Weston could never hate you. That boy loves you more than life itself. Why do you think he came back here?”
“Because it’s home.”
“Come on, Reese. He lost his sister, and his mother abandoned him. Do you really think this was still home for him? He came back here for you. Even if he doesn’t quite realize it himself, I’ve always known why.”
“I just want to fix things so we can put it behind us.”
“Behind you?” she asks.
I smirk through my tears, unable to hide my amusement that she can see right through me. “Fine, for a moment there, during that storm, I wondered if maybe there could be something.”
“Then you need to be honest with him.”
“Honesty only works if he gives me the chance to finish what I’m trying to say, and I can find the words without putting my foot into my mouth.”
“Then don’t give him the chance to walk away. But before you take that step, you need to make sure this is what you want. Please don’t break that boy’s heart again. I can’t take seeing him go through it a second time.”
After a sleepless night where I tried to decide just how I’m going to get Weston to listen to everything I have to say and actually participate in said conversation, I make my way down the hall and toward the stairs in search of the coffee I smell.
When I reach the top of the stairs, though, I hear voices.
For a moment, hope surges through me. Is this another early morning meeting with Weston? Will I get the chance to talk to him? Before I can stop myself, I turn toward the mirror hanging at the top of the stairs and run my fingers through my hair.
Then, once I’m at least partially presentable, I make my way down the steps. Halfway down, I realize it’s not Weston but a familiar female voice.
“Ash?” I ask, completely shocked to see my best friend sitting on the couch with my mother. She gets to her feet and beams at me.
“Girl, it is so good to see you!” She rushes over and pulls me in for a hug.
“You, too! What are you doing here?”
“You needed girl time, and I needed to get away. Long story, but Jeremiah is not the guy for me.” She laughs. “Your mom was just telling me that she thinks the best therapy is a horseback ride, and she said I might talk you into one?”
I laugh. “We can definitely make that happen. I need coffee first.”
“Of course! Sorry, been a long morning already.” She laughs and takes a seat while I head into the kitchen. My mom comes in after me.
“You doing okay?”
“I am, thanks, Mom.” I pull her in for a hug. “What time did Ash get here?”
“About ten minutes ago. She was standing outside, looking lost, when I came out of the barn. So sweet.”
“She is the best.” I finish filling my coffee, then head back into the living room to take a seat.
“I’m going to go check on my garden. I need to move the hose. I’ll be back in just a bit, but it was so nice to meet you, Ash! Please stay as long as you’d like. We have plenty of space.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Faye.”
“You’re welcome.” My mom smiles one last time, then slips outside.
I turn to her. “So, tell me about Jeremiah.”
“Um, we can pause on that. Tell me about that gorgeous cowboy I saw leaving on horseback earlier. Guy is built like a mountain. Why would you withhold that from me?”
Heaviness settles over my shoulders. Of course she would have seen him. Of course she found him attractive. The guy is gorgeous with a capital ‘G’. But he’s so much more than that, too.
So. Much. More.
“Ahhh, there’s history there.” Ash takes a sip of her coffee.
“Some. We dated when we were in high school. He’s sort of been a part of my family for a long time.”
Ash nods in understanding. “Gotcha. Well, you let me know if there’s any current events with said cowboy, and I will give you all the details about my tragic dating life.”
Laughing, I lift my mug to my lips and let myself momentarily slip into someone else’s problems rather than facing my own. “You have a deal.”