“I’ll just spread this out,” Mom said, draping my father’s ratty bathrobe over one of the armchairs. She hated the robe and had tried six ways to Sunday over the years to get rid of it. But Dad always found a way to resurrect it.
She plopped down on the robe-covered chair and patted the one next to her. “Sit. Talk.”
I shook my head even as I sat. “Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk right now.”
“Well, tough shit, sweetie.”
“Mom!”
She shrugged. “I’ve let you get away with this ‘don’t be a burden’ routine for far too long. It was easier for me to rely on you to always behave. To always be the easy daughter. And that’s not fair to you.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, dear, sweet, heart-of-gold daughter of mine: Stop trying to be so damn perfect.”
I wasn’t sure if I was prepared to have this conversation any more than the Knox conversation.
“You’ve lived your whole life trying to make up for your sister. Trying to never burden anyone, never ask for anything you needed, never disappoint.”
“I feel like that’s something a parent wouldn’t want to complain about,” I said defensively.
“Naomi, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you to be happy.”
“I’m…happy,” I lied.
“Your father and I did everything we could to help Tina be happy and healthy. But it wasn’t her path. And it took years, but we finally understood that it wasn’t our path to turn her into someone she’s not. We did our best with your sister. But Tina’s choices are not a measure of our worth. It’s a tough lesson, but we got it. Now it’s your turn. You can’t live your entire life trying to make up for your sister’s mistakes.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s how I’ve lived my entire life,” I hedged.
Mom reached over and brushed her hand over my cheek. I felt the grit of dirt transfer to my skin. “Whoops! Sorry about that.” She licked her thumb and leaned in for the Mom polish.
“I’m too old for this,” I complained, backing away.
“Listen, sweetie. You’re allowed to have needs. You’re allowed to make mistakes. You’re allowed to make decisions your father or I might not agree with. It’s your life. You’re a beautiful, big-hearted, intelligent woman who needs to start figuring out what she wants.”
What did I want?
Right now I just wanted to crawl in bed and pull the covers over my head for a week. But I couldn’t. I had responsibilities. And one of those responsibilities had conned my father into taking her to the mall.
“Do you even want to be a guardian?” Mom asked.
I stilled at the question.
“I can’t imagine that taking in a soon-to-be twelve-year-old fit neatly into your life plan.”
“Mom, I couldn’t just let her end up with strangers.”
“What about your father and me? You didn’t think we’d be thrilled to make room in our lives for a granddaughter?”
“You shouldn’t have to raise your daughter’s daughter. It’s not fair. Dad’s retired. You’ll be there soon. That cruise was the first big trip you two have ever taken together.”
“Do you want to be her guardian?” Mom repeated, ignoring my excellent points.
Did I want this? Did I want to be a surrogate mother to Waylay?
I felt an echo of that warm glow in my chest. It pushed back against the cold that had settled there.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling my mouth do the impossible and curve into a small smile. It was the truth. I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anything on my to do list. More than any goal I was single-mindedly marching toward. “I really do. I love her. I love being around her. I love when she comes home from school bursting with news to tell me. I love watching her grow into this smart, strong, confident kid who, every once in a while, lets her guard down and lets me in.”
“I know how that feels,” Mom said gently. “I wish it would happen more often.”
Ouch. Direct hit.
“Knox and I broke up,” I said in a rush. “We were never really together. We were just having really, really great sex. But I accidentally fell in love with him, which he warned me not to do. And now he thinks I’m too complicated and not worth the effort.”
Mom looked at her iced tea, then back at me. “I think we’re gonna need a stronger drink.”
* * *
Hourslater I tiptoed out onto the deck with my phone in hand. The phone he’d bought me. Which meant it needed to be smashed into a million pieces at my earliest convenience.
The rest of the family was cleaning up from dinner. A dinner that Knox was conspicuously absent from. My mom had distracted Waylay from his absence by demanding a post-dinner fashion show of the new winter coat and sweaters my pushover father had bought her.
I had a headache from fake smiling.
I dialed the number before I could chicken out.
“Witty! What’s up? Did they find the bastard who broke in?”
I’d texted him and Sloane about the break-in. But this deserved a phone call.
“Stef.” My voice broke on his name.
“Shit. What happened? Are you okay? Is Waylay okay?”
I shook my head, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. When I remembered what Knox had said.
“Do not shed one more tear over some asshole who never deserved you in the first place.”
I cleared my throat. “Knox ended things.”
“That gorgeous piece of garbage. Fake ended things or for real ended things?”
“Real ended things. I’m too ‘complicated.’”
“What the hell does he want? A simpleton? Simpletons are terrible in bed, and they’re worse at blow jobs.”
I managed a pathetic chuckle.
“Listen to me, Naomi. If that man isn’t smart enough to recognize how amazingly intelligent and beautiful and kind and caring and wickedly awesome at board games you are, it’s his loss. Which makes him the simpleton. I forbid you to spend one second of your time over-thinking this and coming to the false conclusion you’re the one with the problem.”
Well, there went my evening plans.
“I can’t believe I fell for him, Stef. What was I thinking?”
“You were thinking, ‘here’s a gorgeous man who’s great in bed who walks my niece to the bus stop, breaks my ex’s nose, and brings me mid-afternoon coffee so I don’t get cranky.’ All the signs were there because he put them there. If you ask me—which I know you didn’t—I’m betting he wasn’t faking it. He was feeling it, and it scared the shit out of him. The beautiful, tattooed piece of chicken shit.”
“I really need to stop texting you about everything that happens in my day,” I decided. “It’s co-dependent.”
“I’ll bring it up with our couples therapist,” Stef quipped. “Listen. I’ll be back in Knockemout in a few days. What do you want to do until then? Get out of Dodge? Buy a new ‘fuck you’ wardrobe?”
He meant it. If I said I felt like flying to Rome and spending a ridiculous amount of money on shoes, he would book the plane tickets. If I told him I wanted to get revenge on Knox by filling his house with Styrofoam peanuts and cat litter, Stef would show up at my house with a U-Haul packed with retribution supplies.
Maybe I didn’t need a life partner. Maybe I already had one.
“I think I want to pretend he doesn’t exist long enough that I forget he does,” I decided.
I wanted to make him not matter. I wanted to not feel a damn thing when he walked into a room. I wanted to forget I’d ever fallen for him in the first place.
“That’s annoyingly mature of you,” Stef observed.
“But I want him to suffer while I forget,” I added.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “So it’s a straightforward Ice Queen with a side of Swan.”
I managed a watery smile despite the gaping hole in my chest cavity. “That sounds about right.”
“Keep an eye on your mailbox for an order from Sephora,” Stef said.
No amount of expensive cosmetics would make me feel better. But I also knew that this was Stef showing me how much he loved me, and I could let him.
“Thanks, Stef,” I whispered.
“Hey. Keep your chin up, Witty. You’ve got a kid to set an example for. Resilience isn’t a bad trait to pass on. Get out there and have some fun. Even if it doesn’t feel fun right away, just fake it till you make it.”
I had a feeling I’d be faking it for a very long time.
Knox Morgan wasn’t the kind of man you got over. Ever.