Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
TALLY
"Tally, what happened?" Mom's eyes dart from me to the empty driveway where Cameron's car should be.
The evidence is all there—drunk daughter, crying baby, missing baby daddy. Mom doesn't need a geology degree to see the seismic event that just leveled our lives.
"Cam's gone," I say, my voice cracking. "I kicked him out. He left furious." My stomach churns with alcohol and rage while my hands shake. "We'll need some custody arrangement, but how the fuck am I supposed to look at him now?"
I pace the living room floor, yanking at my hair while Brinley's wails echo through the ceiling.
"Everyone does this shit—exes passing kids back and forth like fucking parcels. But how?" The words tumble out. "How do you stand there making small talk with someone who used to be your everything without breaking apart every single time?"
Mom slams her mug down. "Tally, why the hell did you kick him out?"
"Because, Mom," I spit the word like venom, "he was going to leave anyway. He's putting a goddamn ring on Willow's perfect little finger for Christmas. I just accelerated the inevitable before he could rip my heart out."
Mom's eyes narrow to slits. "What did you expect?
Jesus Christ, Tally! You've been playing with fire this entire time.
" She jabs her finger at me. "You practically shoved Cameron at that gorgeous doctor with her perfect hair and perfect teeth.
Everyone could see he was miserable—that he's desperate for you.
But you pushed and pushed until he broke, and now he's gone. Are you fucking satisfied now?"
I slam my glass down, tequila sloshing over my fingers. "That's rich coming from you. I'm supposed to take relationship advice from the queen of bad decisions?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice drops dangerously low.
"I mean your revolving door of men, Mom! You couldn't keep a man if you handcuffed him to the bed! You wouldn't recognize a healthy relationship if it slapped you across the face!"
"Well, neither do you, obviously!" She's shouting now, face flushed.
"AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?" I scream, hurling my glass against the wall where it shatters, Patrón streaking down the paint. "Who showed me exactly what love looks like? You were my fucking blueprint!"
Something inside me knows I should stop, but the alcohol has unleashed the beast I keep chained.
It claws its way up my throat, shredding every careful boundary I've built.
The rage I've buried under smiles and tattoo ink is breaking free, and I can feel myself burning bridges I might never rebuild.
Mom bolts up the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"Your daughter's been wailing since I pulled in the driveway. God knows how long before that."
Shit. Brinley. I'm down here getting hammered while my baby screams her lungs out upstairs.
Some mother of the year I turned out to be—kicking out her dad, then drowning my guilt in top shelf tequila.
With Cameron around, I could fake the whole responsible parent thing.
Now? My hands shake as I imagine Brinley at sixteen, with my tattoos and my mouth and my taste in losers.
The cycle continues, courtesy of yours truly.
Mom descends with my red-faced daughter clutched against her chest. Brinley's cheeks glisten with tears, her tiny mouth working: “Ba-da-ba-ba-ba.” Not actual words—she's only six months old—but the desperate babble cuts straight through me.
Her eyes dart around the room like she's searching for something.
For Cameron? For the mom who had her shit together a day ago?
Babies pick up on everything. The tension in this house must feel like static electricity against her skin.
I sink into the rocking chair and hold my arms out for my daughter.
Mom hesitates—she can smell the tequila from where she stands—but hands her over anyway.
The room tilts slightly as I cradle my baby against my chest, her tiny fingers clutching at my shirt.
I hum something soft and tuneless, swaying in time with the chair's gentle motion.
Her eyes, so much like his, stare up at me, wide and questioning.
My voice cracks on the third verse of whatever lullaby I'm attempting.
She shouldn't have to feel the tremor in my hands or see the mess I've become, but tonight, she just needs her mother—drunk, broken, or otherwise.
“Mom,” I say. “I need to take her to see Santa.
I was supposed to go with Cameron and Willow, but, that's not gonna happen now.
But I need to give her as normal of a Christmas as I can.
I know she's too little to really appreciate any of it, but, one of these days, she's gonna be looking for pictures of her first Christmas and I want her to have them.
So I'm hoping you can go with me to see Santa with her.”
“Of course,” Mom says. “when do you want to go?”
"I was supposed to go with Cameron and Willow next Saturday. But I think I can say that I'm not going to go to work tomorrow. I mean today, considering it is tomorrow right now. It's OK, Blade's been amazing, and he can hold down the fort. I thought I'd like to do that later on today.”
Mom sinks into the couch beside me. "Tally, are the therapy sessions helping at all?"
I shrug. "They're fine. Just—you can't exactly erase decades of bullshit with a few months of talking, you know? But I'm trying."
Mom's eyes soften. "And what about Cameron? Is that door completely closed?"
"He bought Willow a ring, Mom." My throat tightens.
I stare at the ceiling, blinking hard. "Look, I don't blame him.
I blame me. He's a good man who deserves someone whole, and that's what she is.
That's the reality I'm facing." I stroke Brinley's tiny hand.
"Some days I feel like I'll never put myself back together.
But if he's happy... I'll learn to be happy for him.
And maybe someday I'll figure out that me and this little nugget—that we're enough. "
Brinley's eyes flutter closed, thumb sliding into her mouth. I trace the curve of her cheek with my fingertip, memorizing her face like it might disappear. Her baby smell hits me—milk and powder and something uniquely her—and my eyes burn.
"This is it for me," I whisper, the truth of it like swallowing glass. "Just her and me against the fucking world. And you." I look at Mom. "Cameron's gone. Forever gone. And I need to tattoo that reality onto my heart before it kills me."