Chapter 26
Aspen
Inormally don’t go into work early, but Kevin was tired from closing the night before and asked if I’d be willing to come in a few hours before I was scheduled.
I also don’t normally answer random numbers, but when it called for the third time in a row, I decided to answer.
Bad decision.
Bad, bad fucking decision.
“Aspen? Aspen Andersen?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“It’s—I’m Linda. Linda Thompson. Well, I, my maiden name is Andersen.”
She didn’t need to tell me she was my birth mother. I knew the second she spoke.
Call it intuition. Call is the blood that binds us together while love didn’t.
But I knew it.
I wish I never picked up the phone.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying in bed. Everything’s a blur between her calling and me walking home. I did walk home, right?
Yes, I must have. Because Reid isn’t here. He’d be here otherwise.
And I called Kevin, right? I think he came in before I left. But honestly, I’m not sure. And frankly, I don’t care. I just knew I needed to leave. To get home. To be with Macaroni and lay in bed, snuggled beneath the covers in my home.
My home.
One that never included her.
Why did she call me? I’m nothing to her.
I guess I could’ve asked. But the second she finished saying her name, I hung up. She tried calling back again, but I ignored it.
When it rang again a little bit ago, I planned to ignore it again. But at the last second, I checked the caller ID and saw his name.
And the moment I answered, I knew I couldn’t hide what happened from him. Didn’t want to. If anyone could possibly understand how I’m feeling, it’s him.
So that’s why when there’s a pounding at my front door, I drag my body out of bed, Macaroni running beside my feet, and go let him in. I barely swing the door open before he’s lunging inside, scooping me up into his arms.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
He just holds me. I wrap my legs around his waist, letting his warmth, his strength, leech into me. The band of his arms hold me tightly.
Silently, he walks us back to my bedroom and gingerly sits me down on the bed. Cupping my cheeks, he tilts my head up, and the look on his face gives me everything I need. I find anger in the lines around his mouth, concern in the dip of his brows, compassion in the blues of his irises.
He wipes under my eyes with his thumbs and they come away wet. I didn’t even realize I’m crying. I look down at the wet collar of my T-shirt. Guess I’ve been crying for a while now.
Maybe that’s the reason behind the dull throbbing behind my forehead.
His voice is unwavering as he says, “You don’t owe her anything, you hear me?
If you want nothing to do with her, that’s your right and your choice.
And if you do want something to do with her, then I’ll support you in any way I can.
Whatever you want, this is your decision and yours only. Not hers. Yours.”
I nod shakily.
“No, I want to hear you say it. Whose decision is it?”
“Mine.” The word comes out strangled, cracked apart like the heart of the little girl she didn’t want.
Reid bends down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. I grip his wrists, still holding my face. “And if you want me to tell her to fuck off and rot in Hell, because I know she believes in that, I’ll do it.”
Despite it all, a choked laugh works its way up my throat.
Reid grins and presses another kiss to my lips this time.
He moves to lay on the bed, kicking off his shoes.
His long form stretches out and he holds an arm out in silent offer.
I immediately crawl over to him, snuggling into his side.
A moment later, Macaroni joins us, meowing before curling up into a ball by my feet.
My two boys comforting me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, or as gently as he’s capable of. There’s always a roughness to his voice that dances over my skin.
“There’s not much to say.” I bury my nose into his chest. His familiar cologne, spearmint and something musky, settles into my bones. “I didn’t exactly let her talk long. I sort of hung up on her after she said who she was.”
Reid squeezes my shoulder. “Atta girl,” he teases.
I snake my hand under his shirt to feel his skin on mine. There’s something soothing about it. “I don’t know how she got my number.”
“I don’t know how my aunt ever got my address either, but people have their ways.”
“I guess I just can’t fathom her going through the work of tracking it down. She’s the one who didn’t want me. It’s been almost twenty years since she gave me up, and didn’t step in when my aunt and uncle did, too. If she wanted me in her life…” Fresh tears clog my throat, cutting off my words.
Reid pulls me closer. His chin rests on my head as he lets me cry it out. We rock back and forth, him an unmovable source of strength in the raging sea of my reality.
“It’s too late,” I cry. I don’t want anything to do with her. Not since I cried myself to sleep every single night until I turned seventeen and realized that a true mother would never allow their child to feel that way.
“That’s okay,” Reid says. “We can block her number and you never have to worry about her calling you again.”
“Why the hell did she even try calling me in the first place?”
He scoffs. “Probably wants some bullshit kind of closure to make herself feel better.”
He’s probably right.
And it’s so unfair I want to scream.
Why does she get to decide to disrupt my life after everything else she’s done?
I know she was fifteen when she had me, but she still chose her family, her community, her religion, over the shame that my existence brought her. I didn’t choose to be born into her world.
Just like I didn’t choose to be taken out of it.
But I can choose this.
I grab my phone and pull up the unknown number. It’s right there at my fingertips. The ability to shut her back out and leave her in the past.
But why is there an inkling at the back of my head telling me not to block her? To maybe keep that line of communication open, just in case?
I don’t need closure with her.
I don’t need anything from her.
And yet…
My head feels like it could explode from all of the racing thoughts and heightened emotions. If anyone can help me try to make sense of this, and not judge me for anything regarding the situation, it’s the man holding me.
“I know you said you visited your mother’s grave, and that was enough for you,” I say, needing to get his insight.
“But have you ever thought about getting closure with your father?” He’s never mentioned his father in any of the rare times he’s opened up about his childhood.
And even from what I remember when we were both at the foster house, he never mentioned a dad.
Reid’s entire body freezes, his arm growing rigid around my shoulders and skin turning cold. I crane my head to look up at him.
“I tried that,” he says stiffly. “Didn’t go too well.”