All at once, the world starts moving in regular speed again, and I’m surrounded by people screaming, scrambling, and pushing each other to get out of the way. I feel goatee’s fist coming before I see it and spin to the side, feeling the wind from that meaty paw whistle by my face. The big man’s momentum from throwing that haymaker causes him to stumble forward a couple of steps – just enough to be within range of my elbow, which I drive backward with as much force as I can muster.
The jolt in my arm when I connect with his face is sharp, but the sound of his face cracking beneath the blow is satisfying. All around me, I hear a chorus of startled gasps, and I become aware of the sound of sirens in the distance. Goatee is doubled over, his hands held to his face, crimson streaks running from between his fingers. I grab him by the hair and drive my knee upward. It connects with his face with a sickening crunch, and he falls backward, joining his buddy in the land of sleep.
As I hear the shriek of tires on pavement and the deafening wail of sirens outside, I scan the crowd of terrified faces around me, searching for Chloe. Now that the heady cocktail of rage and adrenaline is wearing off, I know I’m going to have to do some serious tap dancing to talk my way out of this one. She was on the verge of walking away from me the last time, and I didn’t throw a punch. This time is worse. Much worse.
But as I search the faces in the restaurant and see the cops muscling their way in, I don’t see Chloe anywhere. It’s as if she’s just evaporated into thin air or something.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
As the cops walk me outside, I take a quick survey of the parking lot but know that I’m not going to see her. She’s gone. A feeling that’s somewhere between extreme grief and a profound nausea washes over me and pulls me down deep. Chloe’s gone, and I’m powerless to do anything about it.
And I feel the life I wanted, the life that had just been within my grasp, crumble into dust and run through my fingers, as if carried away by the evening breeze.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chloe
Feeling sick to my stomach and absolutely heartbroken, I park my car next to my mom’s in the driveway. I thought I had a few more days before she was home from her latest last-minute adventure. She travels a lot more these days, popping off for a quick trip somewhere, more than she ever did before. Which has worked out well for me since I started living here. But, of course, my luck being what it is, she’s home earlier than I thought she would be.
“Great,” I groan to myself.
Cold tendrils of tension and dread wrap themselves around my chest, squeezing me tight. The last thing I want is to have to deal with my mother tonight. Not after what just happened. I let out a long breath and climb out of my car, each step toward the front door feeling heavier and more oppressive than the last.
I unlock the front door and drop my keys into my bag, taking one last, deep, steadying breath before opening it and stepping inside. I close and lock the door behind me and head immediately for the stairs, hoping I can get up to my room before she notices I’m home.
But I’m given away. I hear Thaddeus’ nails on the hardwood flooring click-clacking their way toward me, and when the Boxer steps around the corner, he lets out a small whine, his stubby little tail wagging wildly. He turns a couple of circles, dancing around me. I can’t help but smile and kneel down, giving him the attention he so desperately wants.
“Chloe,” her voice echoes to me from the kitchen. “Is that you, dear?”
I grit my teeth – who in the hell else would it be?
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“I’m in the kitchen,” she calls. “Come in here.”
I roll my eyes. What in the hell could she possibly want? We don’t have the sort of relationship where we sit around having girl talk or check in with each other. I can’t recall ever having a single conversation with my mom about how our days went. I have no idea what in the hell she thinks we have to talk about. But I know if I don’t go in and make the effort, she’ll just follow me around and badger me until she gets what she wants. That’s just the way she works.
I let out a long sigh and trudge to the kitchen with Thaddeus in tow. I find her sitting at the center island counter with a glass of wine in one hand and a trashy romance novel in the other. She looks up with a loopy, crooked smile, and I can tell instantly that she’s at least halfway through a bottle.
After tossing a treat to Thaddeus, I walk to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water. Twisting off the top, I take a long swallow and lean against the counter on the island across from my mom. She drains the last of her wine and looks at me long and hard for a moment, a look of curiosity on her face. She does this sometimes – gets interested in me when she’s had a few drinks. It’s like the only time she shows interest in my life or any sort of affection is when she’s drunk.
“What do you want, Mom? I’m really tired.”
“Can’t I just spend a little time with my daughter?”
“Well, you’re almost a bottle in, why not?”
A small frown tugs at her lips, and I see something like sadness in her eyes. Even when she’s drunk, she’s not the most emotional person around, so it has me curious. Plus, focusing on her allows me to stop focusing on my problems for a little while.
“Have I been that terrible as a mother?” She’s almost speaking to herself. “Yeah, I’ve been terrible as a mother. I never meant to be. I wanted to be a good mom. I just – wasn’t.”
“I know,” I soothe her. “I know you did the best you could.”
She hasn’t been the bright, shining example of motherhood, but she also never beat or deprived me. If anything, I got most everything I wanted just to keep me out of her hair. She wasn’t a great mother – she was pretty neglectful emotionally – but she wasn’t the worst one out there. And seeing her sitting here, the booze stripping down her defenses and leaving her vulnerable, questioning her parenting skills sends a lance of pain through my heart.
I shouldn’t feel guilty or sad – I’ve got nothing to feel sad or guilty about – and yet I do. But seeing my mother in that moment of weakness, looking fragile and frail, beating herself down like she is breaks my heart. I shouldn’t let it – there’s a lot of history and hard feelings between us – but at the end of the day, she’s my mom. And as callous as I’ve tried to make my heart, that’s something I can’t shake. Seeing my mom hurting like this, whatever the reason might be, hurts me.
God I can be soft.
“It’s in the past, Mom,” I tell her. “It’s done. Water under the bridge.”
Her eyes are red and puffy, and for the first time, I actually see the similarities in us. I have her eyes and the delicate little upturn of her nose. The way her cheeks are red and splotchy when she’s been crying. I look more like my mom than I ever really thought about before.
She looks up at me with that weak, watery smile. “I want us to be close,” she says. “I want us to have a relationship. We’re family, and we’re all each other have left in this world.”
I squeeze the bottle in my hand, the plastic making a loud crackling sound. She’s drunk, but the sincerity in her voice surprises me. I don’t know why she’s having this sudden desire to be a mother and to be a family, but it throws me for a loop. And I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a small piece deep down inside of me – a piece that I’ve kept locked away and hidden – that wants the same thing. That’s always wanted the same thing.
But because my mom is who she is, I never thought that was something I’d ever have – a normal relationship with my mother. Deep down, I’ve always been a girl who’s needed her mom. But because my mom was never available to me, I did what I could to get by without her. To shut that part of my heart down. I’ve always been good about not showing the pain of not having my mother in my life has caused me.
She’s right, though. We are the only family we have left in this world. Maybe this sudden desire to be close is nothing more than a drunken declaration. A sentiment that’ll
be gone with the rising of the sun tomorrow morning. But after everything that happened tonight – after everything I’ve lost – my mom is like the only person I have left in this world.
But then as I look down at my belly, still flat and taut, I know that will be changing soon. Do I really want my baby to grow up without a family? Without a relationship with his or her grandmother?
Maybe there is some semblance of maternal instinct within her after all. Maybe she sees that her child is in pain, and for the first time in my existence, is trying to make it better. Or maybe I’m just desperately clinging to the childish notion that after all these years, my mother and I can still have a close relationship.
My head is spinning so hard that I don’t know what the right answer is. All I know is that right now, I feel alone and adrift on a sea of uncertainty, and I’m flailing – and it’s making me reach for anything solid I can find to grab hold of.
And if she’s genuinely reaching out, shouldn’t I at least try to meet her halfway?
“Mom, I have something to tell you…”
She looks up at me. “Let me guess; you’re dating my asshole neighbor.”
My eyes widen slightly, and I’m a bit taken aback. She gives me a crooked smile.
“Just because I don’t make a big deal about things, doesn’t mean I don’t notice what’s going on around here,” she laughs. “I mean, annoying though he may be, he’s cute. I get it.”
“Yeah well, I think that’s over, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” I inform her.
“Over?”
I nod. “Yeah. Over,” I mutter. “He’s too – volatile.”
My mother puts her wineglass aside and leans over the counter, her eyes riveted to mine. For the first time in my life, I feel like I have a connection with my mother. It’s tenuous, obviously. And given her current state of inebriation, it very well could be temporary. But that little girl inside of me who always longed to have a connection with her mom is crying out for me to try. I mean, if it doesn’t work and she wakes up in the morning with no memory of tonight, I’m no worse off than I am right now. Right?
So for the next forty-five minutes, I spill the entire story. I start with meeting him back in college and tell her everything that happened through tonight. I don’t leave anything out. She’s attentive and listens to my story, only interrupting once to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator – instead of pouring herself another glass of wine.
And when I’m finally done speaking, I’m crying my eyes out, my choked sobs making it sound like I’m gasping for breath. My body is shaking with grief, and the exertion of telling her everything I just spilled has left me exhausted. I feel empty and hollowed out, but it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I sniff loudly and wipe my eyes, trying to pull myself together.
My mom stands and comes around the center island, her face etched with concern and her own eyes wet with tears. She wraps her arms around me from behind and squeezes me tight, surprising me with the display of affection. She strokes my hair and whispers in my ear, doing her best to help calm me down. The feeling of my mom hugging me is so unexpected, but it fills me with a sense of happiness that runs deep inside of me.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she murmurs into my ear. All I can do is smile.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She holds me tight for a few more seconds, and then a low rumble of laughter starts in her throat. Soft, at first, but giddy – almost manic.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“I’m going to be a grandmother,” she whispers, sounding surprisingly sober. She smiles the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen on her face.
A wry laugh escapes me. “And I’m going to be a single mother.”
“You’re probably better off without him anyway,” she says. “He’s been nothing but an asshole to me.”
She steps back, and I wipe my eyes, a shaky smile on my lips. “Not to defend him or anything, but you really need to keep Thaddeus from crapping on his lawn, Mom.”
“He’s just such a disagreeable man.” Her tone is haughty. “Personally speaking, I’m glad you’re done with him. Cute or not.”
She scoffs and walks back around to her side of the island to take a long drink of her water. Her words bring another choked sob and fresh tears to my face. I love Braxton. I think I’ve loved him since college. To go from planning a future and a family together, to walking away from him entirely in the span of one evening is a pain, unlike anything I’ve ever known. The crushing weight of losing the man I love, and the life I thought I was building is tearing me to pieces inside.
But I won’t be with somebody so volatile. I won’t be with somebody who thinks solving problems with their fists is acceptable. That asshole at the bar was way out of line, and of course he pissed me off. But there’s a right way to handle it – either walking away or calling the police – and there was Braxton’s way. I understand he thinks he was defending my honor or whatever, but violence is not the way to do it.
I thought he understood that the first time we went through this. I thought I made my point and my position on violence clear. But it apparently didn’t take. Or Braxton just let his ego get the better of him. It wouldn’t be the first time. But it will be the last time.
Regardless of how much I’m hurting right now, I won’t have somebody capable of the kind of beating he gave those two men in my life. And I certainly won’t have somebody like that in my child’s life.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I respond. “I’m hurting pretty bad right now, Mom.”
I look up at my her, a wry smile on my face, amazed that out of the dumpster fire my life has become, she and I somehow seem to be forging a bond between us. It genuinely feels like we’re building a bridge that hasn’t existed in our lives before. And it feels good.
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “It will get easier, honey,” she tells me. “I promise you that it won’t be long before seeing his face doesn’t even faze you anymore.”
I have my doubts, given that it’s been a number of years now, and she’s still bitter as hell about my father divorcing her. But I’m not going to bring that up right now and ruin the moment we’re sharing. For the first time in my life, my mom is actually trying to be a mother. It’s like for once, the gods are throwing me a bone instead of kicking me while I’m down. It’s like they decided I’d dealt with enough miserable shit today and wanted to do something nice for me for a change.
“We are going to raise that child in your belly to be strong and independent,” she announces. “That child is going to learn that they can only rely on themselves.”
I don’t want to get into the fine details of rearing my child right now. Part of me is still trying to wrap my head around it all. At the moment, all I want to do is lick my wounds and try to find some way to fill that Braxton-sized hole in my life.
“I’m tired,” I say. “I think I just need to sleep.”
My mom nods. “I’m sure you do. You must be emotionally spent,” she replies. “Go get some rest, and we can talk more in the morning.”
I give her a considering look. “Thank you, Mom,” I tell her. “Thank you for listening to me tonight and –”
She waves her hand, cutting me off. “I know I wasn’t much of a mother to you growing up, and I wish I could change that. I just think I was so aloof with you because I was terrified. Because I just knew that I’d screw up as a mother.”
Her voice is quiet, and I can hear the shame in her words. “But I’m hoping it’s not too late to set things right and build a relationship with you, Chloe.”
I know these admissions can’t be easy for her to make. I’ve never thought my mom was the most introspective woman. Most everything is on the surface with her. So I’m struck again by the difference in her and wonder what it is that’s spurred this sudden bout of self-reflection and maternal instinct.
I don’t know what it is, b
ut ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I’m grateful for it. I feel like somebody who’s been thrown a life preserver and is being pulled back to shore. I just hope this isn’t one of my mom’s flights of fancy. I hope that when we wake up tomorrow, she won’t feel differently by the light of day.
Knowing her as I do, I know I should be guarded. I should be skeptical and take nothing at face value when it comes to my mother. But I’m in such uncharted territory and am trying to feel my way through it blind. Having her reaching out, trying to pull me back makes me feel that everything is not lost after all.
I give her a hug as I’m leaving the kitchen and then head upstairs, feeling better than I have any right to be feeling tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Braxton
Chloe didn’t come into the office again today, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s ever planning on coming back. It’s been a couple of days since the incident at the bar, and I haven’t heard word one from her since then. I thought giving her some time and space might be the best course of action. I thought letting her cool down would be for the best. But with my calls and texts going unanswered, I’m starting to think that might not have been the best way to go.
I pull into my driveway and see her car parked next to her mother’s. I sit there for a moment, gripped by indecision.
“Fuck it,” I mutter.
I fling the door open and am about to step out blindly but get my wits about me again and look carefully before I put my foot down on the grass. Seeing that there aren’t any unexpected surprises sitting there, I get out and take the walkway up to Chloe’s door. I clear my throat, and though my stomach is churning, I ring the bell.
A moment later, the door opens about halfway, and Chloe’s mother is standing there, blocking my view of the house’s interior, a smug, almost satisfied grin on her face. I get the feeling Chloe is standing somewhere behind her, out of sight and listening in, but there’s not much I can do about it. Pushing that thought aside, I struggle to recall her name. Chloe told me once, but it slipped my mind. As I rack my brain, it finally comes to me.
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