36. Jenna
Chapter thirty-six
Jenna
The creek scene.
God dammit.
I’ve been dreading it while impatiently waiting to witness it be filmed, and it was everything I hoped it wouldn’t be, and more.
It was hot.
It was steamy.
Every part of me wanted to rip off what little clothes Cole had on, while simultaneously clawing Mara’s eyeballs out of her stupid, pretty face.
I had to walk away.
I pretended to answer a call, turned my back toward the cast and crew, and rushed completely out of sight to catch my breath.
I did, however, look at his crotch before I left. There wasn’t a semblance of an erection, and it made me feel things I shouldn’t.
Knowing he had no choice but to have an intense make-out session with his on-screen girlfriend, and it did nothing for him. Yet he claims that just by looking at me, he’s ready to go, round after round.
I hated that I had to watch them kiss. And it was real this time, unlike every other scene they’d shot.
After the third take, I could tell he was getting frustrated with Mara, who purposely kept messing up, resulting in the scene needing to be shot again and again, until Cole had enough and pulled her aside to talk to her.
After he said whatever he did, they shot the scene in one take—so I’m told—while she feigned incompetence, claiming she kept forgetting her lines.
I don’t buy it, though. If I were her and got to kiss him all afternoon, I’d pretend to forget my lines, too.
One kiss from him in my kitchen was all it took, and I forgot how to breathe.
I watched the two of them standing side by side, and they looked like they just fit . Like they’re about to surprise everyone and announce they’re secretly in love. If Mara has her way, they probably will. And I’m in no position at all to protest.
Do I like it? No, not even a little bit.
Can I do anything to stop it? Also no. But fuck, I wish I could.
I’ve never cared enough about a guy in the past to worry about what he’s doing, or if he’s hooking up with anybody else. But I realized that I care a little too much about what Cole’s doing at all hours of the day.
Not in an obsessive type of way, but I could be making myself dinner, and I would wonder what he’s eating.
I could get home after having a long day, and wonder if he’s just as exhausted as I am. Or when I wake up after having little sleep, I wonder if he got a solid eight hours.
I wonder about so many things. Yet every part of me is holding back from letting him know that I think of him in ways I shouldn’t think about my fuck buddy.
To take my mind off it all, I did the one thing I swore to myself I wouldn’t do.
I would love to blame it all on my best friend for not being here to talk me out of it, but this one is on me.
I’ve tried to avoid Becky Rogers for four days, but that woman is persistent. I’ll give her that.
She caught me at the wrong time—for me, the right time for her—when I was in desperate need of a distraction, and apparently I agreed to meet with her and Mark.
They’d flown to town after I asked her not to. She said he was adamant, which made me even more hesitant. But I promised myself I could handle it.
She would look well.
She isn’t dying.
She would be kind.
OK, that last one is a stretch, but the young girl inside me is pathetically hoping to reignite the relationship with my mother that I have no memory of.
There is no good, only bad.
I took all of that into consideration on my drive from the creek to Katie’s Diner, parked my car, and now, here I am.
In a booth tucked in the very back corner.
My back is to the door, waiting for her and Mark to greet me, and to my absolute surprise, they’re on time, alerting me of their presence with a single tap on my shoulder.
My body stiffens.
Is it too soon to leave?
Looking behind me, I see Becky Rogers, no taller than five foot three inches, her natural blonde hair freshly cut above her shoulders, and her ice-blue eyes staring back at me.
All things considered, she looks good.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for her to look as though she’s never touched a drink in her life. Like she hadn’t just suffered a minor stroke.
I made the right choice.
Though, after today, I have a feeling I’m going to regret even being born.
I don’t stand from my seat.
I nod, gesturing in front of me for them to take the empty spots, and they do before a single word is spoken between the three of us.
A brunette server with the name tag that reads ‘Luna’, approaches our table to take our orders—delaying the inevitable awkward and tension-filled conversation that’s coming—and Mark answers before us girls do.
“What will you have, sweet thing?” he asks my mom after placing his own order, and I’m glad I haven’t eaten today, or it would be thrown up onto the table.
I always knew Mark was a bit of a creep, but he always kept our conversations strictly professional. This is making me see him in a whole new light, and now I wish I never knew him at all.
I almost want to pretend he’s a complete stranger that I’m meeting for the very first time. It would make this ordeal so much less uncomfortable.
She strokes his arm, flicking the menu open to see her options.
“Do you have beer?” she asks, and Mark gives her a look. Firm, but not aggressive, like he’s just told her something with his eyes in their own language.
“Becky,” he warns with a slight shake of his head. “You know you shouldn’t.”
“Sorry, force of habit, I guess. I’m just nervous to see my girl again. After, you know…” Her voice trails off. I can feel her legs bouncing underneath the table.
Does she really only drink when she knows she has to see me?
“Maybe after breakfast your girl here can explain why she left in the dead of the night when she was supposed to help you get started in your physical therapy the next morning.” Mark places his intertwined fingers on the table in between us on the table, and I want to sink so far into my chair, hoping it takes me anywhere but here.
“Mark,” my mother says, shooting him a glare. “I told you. She does that sometimes. It isn’t a big deal.” She shrugs. “She isn’t the type to stick to her word.”
I bite my tongue.
Pick your battles, Jenna. It’s hard to do, but I know I’ll be better for it if I don’t let it get to me.
She’s explaining the type of person she is, not me.
“Well, do you want to explain yourself to me , then, Jenna? Because while my wife might be OK with you leaving the way you did, I don’t think I am.” He sips on his cup of black coffee.
“Respectfully, Mark, I don’t owe you an explanation.” I relax into the back of my seat. Though, that probably isn’t the right word.
I cower into it.
I’m terrified of this confrontation, and the knowing smirk on my mom’s face tells me I’m right where she wants me.
She knows I won’t tell her the reason she married him.
“Mark, it’s fine. Jenna and I are fine. Aren’t we, baby girl?” She reaches her hand out for me to take, and I just stare at it, still in disbelief that she’s just called me something my dad used to call me.
I take her hand quickly, squeezing it tight enough for her to wince before I let it go, and Luna clears her throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation Mark just attempted to have with me.
They order their drinks and a big breakfast meal between the two of them, and I ask for my third coffee refill. She always judges the things that I eat, and I don’t need to be shunned in a public place, in front of a man I barely know. Opting for no food at all seems like the obvious choice.
“Any food for you?” Luna asks. Two pairs of eyes stare at me from the side of the table, and I shake my head.
“No, thanks. I ate before I came,” I lie, and she gives me a soft smile before repeating the order for the table and walking away to take it to the kitchen.
“I’m waiting.” Mark taps his fingers on the vinyl covered counter between us.
“You’re going to be waiting a while, then,” I whisper back, and my mom kicks my foot under the table.
“ Jennifer ,” she hisses, her final warning before she either leaps over the table and drags me out by my hair or runs out crying, claiming to be the victim.
I sigh. “My mom knows why I left.” I put it simply. “And if she doesn’t feel like sharing it with her husband , then that’s something that the two of you need to discuss without me.” I go to pick up my bag and leave, but he puts his arm on my bicep to stop me.
“We’re not done. Sit down.” I roll my eyes. I watch as my mom flinches, her eyes threaten to well with emotion.
I don’t know if it’s because I could reveal the truth and she could lose everything, or if she’s embarrassed that he’s causing a scene. My guess is the former.
“Tell me where you’ve been while your mom has been struggling.” He slams his fist down onto the table, and this time, we both flinch. I hate that it scares me. I hate that my lip trembles in fear.
“I’ve been exactly where she wanted me to be: not with her,” I whisper, and hang my head, hoping it’s enough. Gripping my mug, I do my best to not break it with my bare hands.
“If you really knew how much your mother loved you, you would never have left her the way that you did.” He scoffs at me, and I let go of my mug, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands. “Your Mom told me you guys were close,” he says, my mom’s head bobbing frantically beside him. When I look up at her, I see a single tear fall down her cheek. I’ve gone from confident and so sure, to a terrified, little girl again. All because a man raised his voice at me. Mark tilts his head at my reaction. “Is she wrong?”
I want to rise from my seat and scream.
I want to tell him he has no right.
I want to tell him she’s only with him because I cut her off.
But I can’t, because I know firsthand the things my mother is capable of saying and doing when things don’t go her way.
I might be a grown woman, but I’m still terrified of my mom and the hurtful things she has loaded in her ‘verbal gun’, patiently waiting to pull the trigger.
I don’t fight back.
Not this time.
I think the days of me fighting back are over.
I’m too tired.
Let her hurt me.
Let her break my heart.
Let her ruin me, piece by piece.
I can’t do it anymore.
“I’ve watched her every single day attempt to come to terms with her new reality.” He grips the cane resting on the side of the table that I hadn’t noticed until now.
I didn’t watch her walk through the door, or I would’ve noticed more of a change in her.
I give a weak nod.
“I’ve been by her side for every session of therapy. Blood tests, scans. You name it, I’ve been there.” This time I give nothing until the silence lingers for a little too long, and he clears his throat. “Well?”
“So then, why are you here, Mark? Do you want some sort of trophy? Shouldn’t she still be back in California trying to focus on her recovery? If we’re talking about things you’re responsible for, how about we talk about how you took her away from her medical team all because you wanted to try your luck at meeting fucking football players?” I straighten my back, perching my elbows up onto the table that separates us.
“If you must know, her team gave her the all clear to have a few days off, and I wanted you to take some sort of accountability. Your mother wouldn’t let me come to you alone,” he spits back at me, his voice raised ever so slightly, and I involuntarily look over my shoulder to make sure no one can hear us.
My mom hasn’t said a word this entire time. When I look at her, the expression she gives me is smug. Like she knows she’s fed him a web of lies, but is enjoying the way I squirm, knowing I could never repeat the things she’s said to me.
Not out loud, anyway.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, accepting defeat, and I zone out of the conversation entirely.
She thinks I could never tell a soul what she did to me because I would never hurt her the way she hurt me. But the truth is, I never say it out loud because it forces me to remember.
And when I remember, I break.
I’ve been broken too many times in my life where my mom is concerned, and I don’t have the strength to do it anymore. If I snap, it’ll be for good. Zoning out of the conversation is the only way to protect myself.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, notifications from Cassandra and Cole displayed on the screen, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
Only, I wish I weren’t here, gushing in front of my mom and my new asshole of a step-dad .
God forbid I be happy while my mom is going through the worst time of her life.
“It’s rude to be on your phone while with company, Jennifer , ” my mom says to me calmly, and Mark agrees too easily. “ I didn’t raise you to be disrespectful .” She shakes her head. I want to tell her she didn’t raise me at all, but what would be the point?
She’s clearly bought Mark here to prove that I’m the problem—that she’s the perfect mother who raised an ungrateful, good-for-nothing daughter.
I ignore them. I’m too anxious, and I need to know what Cole’s text message said. So, I clasp my phone between my fingers, unlock my screen and open the text.
Cole: What are you up to?
I quickly type back.
Me: At Katie’s Diner with my mom and my new dad, apparently. gagging emoji
Cole: Need a savior? I’m not far from there.
Me: And have my mom comment about how you’re too attractive to even be seen with me? Thank you, but no thank you. This is already a shitshow. You being here will just make it worse.
The second I hit the send button, my phone is snatched out of my hand by my mom, and I watch as she scrolls through the text messages Cole and I have sent each other.
Luckily, there’s nothing too incriminating, but now she knows I’m texting about her and Mark, so that’s great.
“Who’s Cole?” She raises a brow as I rise from my seat and snatch my phone from her hands.
“He’s a colleague.” It’s not a total lie, because he is, in fact, exactly that. And I would much rather bend the truth than admit what he really is to me.
“I don’t know about you, Mark, but do you ever want to keep your colleagues from meeting your momma?” she asks her husband as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, dotting kisses down her jaw.
Apparently, he’s turned from total prick to doting husband in a matter of minutes. Like he’s forgotten the conversation the two of us had, and remembered just how infatuated with his new wife he is.
I don’t listen to this answer. I tap out again, staring out the window, watching Grangewood Creek locals pass by Katie’s Diner in a haze.
Men in construction gear sitting out the front of their job sites are eating their lunch. People in active wear are walking out of Laney’s Yoga House. Teenagers are enjoying their waffle cones with a double scoop of their favorite ice cream.
All the while, I’m stuck in a diner, with no choice but to hear about how I’m the bad guy for not being there for a mom who barely even remembers I exist.
“Jenna? Did you hear what Mark said?” my mom says, forcing my eyes back on her, and I reluctantly oblige.
I shake my head, “No. I stopped listening a while ago. What did you say?” I ask, pretending like I’m actually paying attention this time, suddenly wishing I told Cole to come and save me.
I could really use—
“Sorry I’m late.” I hear his voice over my shoulder before my body registers the familiar warmth he radiates, and I stiffen. “Hey, baby.” He leans down, placing a kiss on my temple, gesturing for me to slide down the booth to give him space, and I oblige—albeit reluctantly.
“And who might you be?” my mom asks, cheeks flushed with a soft pink.
This could go in so many ways, and I don’t feel prepared for any of them.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Rogers. My name is Cole. I’m your daughter’s boyfriend. I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned me yet.” Another kiss, but this time on the back of my hand as he threads his fingers through mine.
Of all the things he could’ve said, I should’ve known he’d say that.
After all, it’s his favorite thing to say when he knows I’m in an uncomfortable situation.
Dammit.
I want to pull my phone back out of my pocket and ask Google how a person knows they’re falling in love.
But I don’t need to know the answer.
I think I already have it.