Chapter Twenty-Five
The Mommy Issues
Cash
My mom escaped from a federal prison. Somehow, that’s the last thing on my mind as I make my way up the front walk of an intimidating two-story house.
I’ve never dated anyone other than Ingrid. Her door is the only one I’ve ever knocked on. Am I ready to knock on someone else’s?
It’s been a year.
I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.
Is anyone?
I thought this thing with Ingrid and Wilder would fizzle out. That she would get what she needed from him—fun, an adventure, sex—and then she’d realize that what we had was real.
It was real for me.
But it’s hard to love someone well when you have no idea what that even looks like. My parents hated each other. My dad was always having an affair. And my mom decided to focus her attention on me.
And Ingrid, by default.
I didn’t realize what was happening. I trusted my mom. She’s my mother. I was na?ve enough to believe she had my best interests at heart. That her advice was solid. That she could see things I couldn’t.
Turns out, she’s diabolical.
And not my problem anymore.
She’s the state of North Carolina’s problem now.
In a way, it’s kind of funny.
A woman who barely clears five feet outsmarted an entire prison.
And escaped.
Never underestimate Fanny Allred.
I can’t keep thinking about my mom.
I need to knock on the door in front of me.
Things were just easier when Ingrid was mine. When she looked at me like I hung all the stars in the sky.
The way she looks at Wilder makes my stomach turn. The way she touches him when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention. The way her voice softens when she speaks to him.
It’s painful.
Like getting stabbed in the heart and bleeding out slowly for an entire year painful.
I thought she loved me.
Now, I keep wondering if she even likes me.
Or am I just their pity case?
Wilder used to be my mother’s. She’d do anything to help him as long as she was able to tell all the ladies at her church group what a good Christian she was.
If you have to say it out loud repeatedly, do people think that makes it real?
Or are we all that delusional?
I know I’m not a good person. I chose myself every single time.
Would Ingrid have believed me if I told her it was purely out of survival instinct?
Doesn’t matter now.
She’s wearing that stupid diamond band Wilder gave her. And I know her lightning bolt tattoo is about him. She won’t admit it, but I’ve studied Ingrid for the last five years. I know her thoughts even if she refuses to speak them out loud.
And when it comes to me?
She’s over me.
I don’t even think she feels bad about it.
She fell head over heels for Wilder. She’s a goner. If he breaks her heart, she’ll never recover.
She’ll fall apart and honestly? So would he.
We used to give him a hard time about dating a bunch of girls. Maybe I even thought I was better than he was because I was committed to Ingrid.
Jokes on me. She chose him in the end.
I know something traumatic went down with Wilder’s first girlfriend, Olivia-Sophia, but Ingrid seems to have healed whatever part of him was hurting from that.
Which makes it hurt even more.
Because those two? They’re the reason single people hate relationships. They make it so glaringly obvious that romance is easy. Or, at the very least, worth it.
I mean, what’s the point of a relationship if it doesn’t heal you or make you a better person? Why do people who hate each other stay together?
Why did my parents?
Is it easier to stay in something that makes you bitter than it is to search for something that might make you better?
And if you find it, how do you not take it for granted?
I just want Ingrid to be happy.
But I want it to be me who makes her happy.
The thought hits my chest like a boulder just as the front door creaks open.
I swallow hard as a brown-haired girl steps out.
She looks nothing like Ingrid and it hits me all at once.
I don’t want a new relationship.
I want closure from my old one.
“Hi,” Britta says as she smiles.
“Hey,” I return, my stomach aching.
It’s awkward. Tense.
But Britta cuts through it with a laugh.
“This is weird, right?”
I nod in agreement. “Super weird.”
Which makes me think about the first time I met Ingrid. It was freshman year and she was perfect. The way she laughed was perfect. The cowlick that always messes up the back of her hair is perfect. The way she cries at movies that are happy is perfect.
Am I ever going to feel that way for someone again?
“Do you want to come in?” Britta asks.
I clear my throat. “How do you feel about a walk?” I suggest. I’m not ready to meet her mom—her dad’s in jail. Or her siblings. Or get too comfortable here.
I wouldn’t call showing up a mistake. But it’s clear this isn’t what I want.
Britta closes the door behind her. “Yeah. There’s a cute little coffee shop a block away if you want to grab a drink.”
“Sounds good.”
We walk, and she makes small talk beneath the shady trees.
The path is concrete, the sole of my shoe scuffing it every few steps.
I don’t realize I’m wandering aimlessly until Britta calls out my name.
“Um… Cash?”
My body jerks as I stop and twist to face her.
She looks devastated.
I’m not what she was expecting.
I’m a fraud.
“This way,” she says as she points to the crosswalk.
“Right,” I say.
The coffee shop is empty for a Friday, but we order and I pay.
Then, we find an outside spot to watch the cars pass by.
“Your mind is somewhere else,” Britta notices as she takes a sip of her iced mocha.
“I’m sorry,” I offer. “My mom escaped prison and it’s making the headlines back home.” And I’m still in love with my ex.
Can’t say that part out loud, though.
“Oh my goodness!” Britta says as she touches my hand lightly. “That’s… um… I don’t even have the right word.”
“Insane?” I offer.
She nods, her blue-gray eyes concerned. “Do they know how she escaped?”
I exhale. “She shanked a guard with a spork.”
Silence falls across the table.
“You’re joking,” Britta deadpans.
“Wish I was,” I reply.
Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m so sorry, Cash.”
“It’s alright.” I wave it off as I stare out at the busy street.
Right now, Ingrid and Wilder are setting up a tent so we can camp on the beach for the next two days.
All I can think about is how messed up it is that I’m here with the reason we took this road trip in the first place, and I wish I was anywhere else.
“If this is too much,” Britta begins, “we can meet up tomorrow instead.”
I take a deep breath. “No, I drove all this way.”
She gives me a small smile. “You’ve been through a lot, Cash. Not just your mom escaping prison. Everything before that. You should take some time to rest and enjoy the west coast.”
I nod. “Yeah, okay.”
“It’s a short walk back,” she say. “Let’s go.”
Neither of us speak as we walk, but the silence is less tense than before.
Maybe I’ve been so focused on Ingrid and Wilder because I don’t want to deal with what my mom’s done.
She ruined my relationship with Ingrid.
She almost ruined the Winthrops’ livelihood.
She lied.
And yet, she’s still my mother.
It’s complicated.
Because I don’t think I ever want to see her again.
Britta clears her throat. “Well, here we are.”
I scratch the side of my face, surprised we’re already back at her place.
“I’ll text you,” I tell her. “Maybe tomorrow you can meet Ingrid and Wilder.”
Britta’s face lights up. “I’d love to meet them. They feel like… like book characters that I know about but haven’t seen in person, you know?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know what campsite we’re at.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cash.”
I get into Ingrid’s car and take a sobering breath.
We drove hundreds of miles for me to figure out that what I really need isn’t a new relationship or to uproot my life for Baltimore.
I need to let go of the things that I can’t change.
The drive back to the campsite is slow. Traffic is jam-packed. But I roll the window down and let the Southern California breeze drift through like a new friend.
The campsite is full when I drive through it. Every space has occupants. It’s a miracle we were even able to get one.
Kids ride bikes. The smell of charcoal and smoke fills the air. The sound of people laughing echoes off the trees.
It’s peaceful.
Possibly even what I need.
I park beside the tent that Wilder and Ingrid have gotten upright. I know I shouldn’t have doubted that they could do it without me, but I did.
I really have to stop doing that.
Ingrid’s laughing when I approach the tent.
That’s a good sign.
I unzip it and push back the flap.
The second I do, my eyes are met with the worst possible sight.
They’re naked.
On a blow up mattress.
Ingrid’s on top of Wilder and they’re moaning and laughing and I can’t get the image of Wilder’s fingers digging into her backside out of my head.
Maybe I should stop looking.
“What the fuck, Cash?!” Wilder yells.
My eyes widen.
I’ve been caught.
Wait… why am I still watching this?
What is wrong with me?
Ingrid grabs her shirt and covers up her chest, even though I’ve seen it a hundred times.
“You’re seriously going to stand there and watch?” Wilder hollers.
My legs move into overdrive and I flip around and head straight for the black fence twenty feet away.
The one that overlooks the ocean.
I can’t believe I just stood there. Watching. Ingrid and Wilder. They were…
Guess their bet is over.
I run a tired hand over my face.
I’m not sure how long I stand there before Wilder appears at my side.
“Didn’t realize you had a watching kink,” he jests.
But it’s not the right time.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I think I was in shock.”
“It’s been a long few days,” Wilder agrees. “We thought you’d be gone longer. Did things not go well with Britta?”
“They were fine,” I say, taking a deep breath. “But it turns out I have mommy issues.”
Wilder rests his elbows on the fence and tuts. “They can’t be any worse than having daddy issues.”
Despite everything we’ve been through, I laugh. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“Two sides of the same coin,” Wilder says.
Then, more silence.
I’m so uncomfortable with silence.
“My mom attacked a guard,” I murmur.
“With a plastic spork,” Wilder adds. “Impressive, even for Fanny.”
“She caused bodily harm to someone just so she could… what? Go on the run?”
Wilder shrugs. “I’m sure your mom had her reasons.”
“And what about you?” I argue weakly. “What are your reasons for not calling Elowyn.”
His sister.
Who’s been texting me for days.
She needs her brother—not me.
“I don’t have any good ones,” he admits. “Except that I’m afraid if I let her in, then I have to let my dad in. And I’m not ready for that.”
“You could start small,” I suggest. “Just call her once. Text her back a few times a week. She’s not you, Wild. She doesn’t have your ability to land on your feet every time like a friggin’ cat.”
“Friggin’?” Wilder raises an eyebrow. “That was pretty close to fucking.”
“Character growth,” I say to him.
He chuckles. “Yeah. Okay.”
We both watch the late afternoon waves crash against the shoreline below.
“It’s hard,” I surprise myself by saying out loud.
“Which part?” Wilder asks.
“The watching you and Ingrid part.”
He sighs. “I know.”
“I hate to say this, but I get it.”
Wilder turns to face me. “Get what?”
“I get why she loves you,” I say. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.
You always show up. You don’t care about what I’ve done or what my mom’s done.
You’re always there for me. You deserve to have something good happen for you.
Go to NYU. Take Ingrid with you. Take out the student loans.
You’ve taken care of all of us. Take care of yourself for a change. ”
He blows out a breath. “You have to stop talking to Ingrid. It’s ruining my financial plans.”
I slap him on the back. “Go have an adventure with the girl we love, man. You’d be a fool not to take it.”
He playfully punches my arm. “I fucking hate it when you’re right, Cash. Which is like… three times a year.”
We look at each other. Not as friends, but brothers.
Because that’s really what we’ve always been. Family.
“If you two are done getting all mushy,” Ingrid says as she walks up. “Can we walk to the pier?”
She won’t meet my eyes, and I don’t blame her.
But I wish she would.
“You ready?” Wilder asks her.
She smiles at him like he created all the stupid galaxies in the sky and made them all just for her.
It’s fucking gross.
There. I said it.
“I’m ready,” she whispers as he kisses her forehead.
And you know? Maybe I’m ready, too.
Ready to let go and find someone who looks at me like I’m everything that’s ever been or ever will be.