Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“And don’t call me ‘babe.’” Jabbing her finger into the end call button, she resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room, but barely.
When it rang again immediately, she nearly did toss the thing, but fine, Brock wanted to get yelled at some more?
Why not? She went to answer the call but then saw that it wasn’t Brock at all.
It was her mom.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she murmured, ready to send her mother to voicemail, but she stopped herself. Sucking in a deep breath, she paused for just a moment. She always answered when her parents called—always. They gave her such a hard time otherwise. We thought you were dead in a ditch!
Exhaling, she hit the accept button. “Hey, Mom,” she said stiffly. “I can’t really—”
“Emma, wait until you hear where your father and I went today.” Her mother’s voice was buoyant. “The most incredible garden. Your grandmother would have loved it.”
“Mom—”
“They had these flower-covered archways and those Japanese maples that look like they shouldn’t stand up, they’re leaning over so far, and—”
“Mom.”
“—just fields and fields of—”
“Mom!”
Her mother’s voice cut off. “Sweetheart.” She said the word like an accusation.
Dimly, somewhere in the distance, she heard her father asking, “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know,” her mother said, muffled. Her voice came back clearer. “Is everything quite all right, Emma?”
And she wanted to lie. Put on that happy face and that chipper voice. Her parents didn’t need her whining or her complaining. She was their good little trouper.
Only today, she wasn’t.
Today, she’d driven through Jersey, and had this enormous blowup with Hunter, and on top of all of that, she’d had to listen to her ex’s… bullshit. She wasn’t a good little trouper.
She never should have had to be one in the first place, and the fact that she had…
It hadn’t been fair. None of this was fair.
“Nothing is all right, Mom!” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “I mean, I’m fine. Medically. But I’ve just… I’ve had a really, really bad day, okay?”
“Oh, Emma. I’m sorry, I just started talking and didn’t even ask.”
“You’re right, you didn’t.” And Emma had never spoken up for herself like this before, and yet she still knew the script. An apology was pressing at her tongue, demanding to be offered up, but she wasn’t sorry. Her voice cracking, she squeaked out, “You never do.”
“Well, I don’t know if that’s entirely fair.”
Of course it wasn’t. But what Emma had been doing for her whole life wasn’t entirely fair, either.
Her father said something again in the background, but both Emma and her mom ignored it.
“Look.” Emma blinked back the stinging in her eyes. “I know you care, but you’re always busy, and you always have something to say about your life and what’s going on with you, and today, I just can’t.”
“Is it your job? That young man—I knew you were rushing in too fast—”
“It’s all of it. It’s all a giant mess.” Emma pinched her nose and breathed out forcefully.
“Well, if you need to go—”
“What I need, Mom.” Her voice caught, and for a second, she couldn’t breathe. Finally, she whispered, “I needed you. So many times.”
“Oh, honey…”
“I needed you a couple of weeks ago when I sprained my ankle, and I needed you when Brock freaking left me, and took my job and my life savings with him, and I needed you—” One angry sob broke free of her throat, but she blinked furiously, swallowing past it.
“I needed you when I was a kid, Mom. When you and Dad were so busy with everything else.”
“Emma.” Her mother’s tone was a mix of shocked and hurt.
“You did your best. I know that. You were taking care of so many things. Your job, the house, Grandma. But sometimes… Sometimes, I needed you to take care of me.”
And there it was. Out there in the open. The thing she’d never been able to say before, the truth she’d squashed down for so many years.
But she could say it now.
She could say it because of Hunter. Hunter who’d looked at her and really seen her.
Who’d witnessed her discontent and called her out on it.
Who’d seen her joy and encouraged it, from pastry to glittery pumpkin decorations to online communities.
Hunter, who’d been so patient and kind, and who’d drawn out her hidden desires.
Simple things like not liking soda and complicated things like the way she liked to be touched.
And even more terrifying things. Like the fact that she wanted to be taken care of.
That she wanted to be loved.
Because she did. She loved him—so much it hurt.
And he didn’t believe it. Because she hadn’t felt secure enough to tell him. She’d thought she knew what he wanted, so she’d gone along with it, and now he felt abandoned, and he’d lashed out. He didn’t trust how she felt, which was absurd.
Because she’d never felt anything stronger in her life.
She wanted to rush out. To find him right now and tell him that.
But in the middle of her epiphany, her mother was still talking in her ear, telling her everything she’d ever wanted to hear. Her mom loved her, her mom sacrificed so much for her, her mom took care of her the best she could…
“I know, Mom,” she broke through.
But words only counted for so much. Actions spoke louder.
And if Hunter wanted what she did… if he felt what she felt… and if he didn’t trust her to be all in it with him?
Then there was only one thing to do.
Show him.