by Fields, MJ
“It doesn’t matter if you’re nine or nineteen or thirty-nine, Elliot; your grandfather and I will always do what we think is best for you. That’s all we’ve ever tried to do since the day you came into our lives. It was never our intention to hurt you, and I’m so sorry that we did.”
In the last five minutes, I was pretty sure Nana had aged a whole decade. Like the full weight of this secret had finally caught up with her.
“I get that, Nana. I do. But what I need you two and Bryce to understand is that just because your intentions were good does nothing to change how it makes me feel. If there’s a hurricane forming in the middle of the ocean, would you tear your house down just because there’s a possibility you’re in its potential path of destruction? No. You’d keep a close eye on it and wait to make a rational, informed decision. You were so consumed by the possibility that Helen would hurt me that you failed to realize your actions are what caused the most destruction of all.”
Without waiting for a response, I practically sprinted for the door.
“Elliot,” Pops called in a tone that conveyed that this conversation wasn’t over.
I turned to look at them, but kept my hand firmly around the door knob and my feet planted. “I’m going to meet her. I realize you might still think that’s a mistake, but it’s my mistake to make. I know y’all were doing what you thought was best, but this isn’t the kind of thing I can just magically get over. It’s gonna take some time.”
They both called after me, but I didn’t stop. Not this time.
I had somewhere else to be.
* * *
“Milo, wake up,” I said, leaning down to shake his shoulder for good measure. There was a fair chance he’d just gone to bed a few hours ago, but I didn’t care. The rules of friendship clearly state that it’s perfectly acceptable to wake a friend in times of crisis.
“What the hell?” he groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes or brush the shaggy brown locks out of his face. “You realize I usually sleep naked, right? You’re lucky I was too tired to finish stripping down last night.” He paused and squinted in the semi-darkness. “Wait. It’s not even light outside. What the fuck?”
“Milo, get your head out of your ass. This is important. Please.”
He must’ve heard the panic in my voice because he flipped over and immediately zeroed in on my face. “El, what’s wrong? What happened?”
It was a fair question since I’d just busted into his room at the crack of dawn like a psycho, but as soon as I opened my mouth to answer, tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t get the words out. Milo scooted into a sitting position and pulled me down to the edge of his bed.
“Just breathe.”
“I need to…does your dad still have a billion frequent flyer miles?”
“I think so. Why? Oh, shit. Did you kill somebody? Are we about to go on the lam?” he asked with way too much sincerity.
“Are you high? No! My god, you and Sophia really need to stop watching the Investigation Discovery channel. And who the hell even uses that phrase?”
“People who were pulled out of a deep sleep. What’s wrong, Elliot?”
“I’m pulling the best friend card and going to need you to trust me. You’re off work today, right? I am too. I need you to see if your dad can get us on the next flight to Denver. Sophia too.”
“Okay, now I’m actually concerned. You’re not the impulsive jet-setter type. You know I’m with you in whatever this is, but what the fuck is going on?”
“It’s Helen. I have to see her, Milo. Today. I had a huge fight with Bryce and with my grandparents about her, and I just…it can’t wait.” My resolution was absolute, but my voice still quivered.
“Shit,” he muttered, throwing the blanket off and wrapping his arms around me. “Okay. Go wake Sophia up and I’ll call my dad. We’ll get to Denver, El.”
“Thanks, Mi. I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. You’re my best friend, Elliot. I know ninety percent of our friendship is joking around with each other, but you know I’d do anything for you, right? You and Soph are the sisters I never knew I wanted, and I’ve got your back. Always.”
“You really are the best, you know that?”
He gave me a wink and reached for his phone.
I crossed the hall and stopped outside Sophia’s door, searching my brain for the right words.
Do the right words even exist to gently tilt someone’s entire world on its axis?
* * *
Eight hours later, I stared out the window of the Uber driver’s SUV, studying the sights of Denver as I tried to decipher exactly what emotion gripped my heart. Twenty-four hours ago I would’ve sworn it wasn’t possible to experience this range of emotions in a single day.
I went to sleep last night wondering if it was possible to be falling for Bryce this soon, if maybe those three little words that had been at the tip of my tongue were always meant only for Bryce. Now I wanted to exorcise the words from my vocabulary and the entire feeling from my heart.
“El? You sure you don’t want to go to the hotel first? Before we see her?” Sophia asked, squeezing my hand from the seat next to me.
I still wasn’t over the fact that she’d immediately forgiven me after I told her everything. She pulled me into a hug and let me cry on her shoulder for a solid ten minutes after I woke her up. We’ve come a long way in the last two months. She said she wasn’t even sure if she would’ve wanted to meet our mother five years ago, anyway, which made sense; high school was rough for Sophia.
I nodded and squeezed her hand in return. “I’m sure. I need to do this before I talk myself out of it.”
For the last few minutes of the ride, I typed a dozen different texts to Bryce, but I deleted them all without sending a single one. Nothing felt right. Every time I thought I knew what I wanted to say I’d go right back to second guessing everything.
“I think you need to forgive him, Elliot,” Sophia said, bumping my shoulder and nodding at my phone. “He’s been in your corner for as long as I can remember. Bryce is one of the good ones, and he fucking loves you. There’s no way he would’ve let things play out the way they did back then if he had known in advance how much it would affect you.”
“It’s not black and white, Soph. If he loves me, why did it take him two months to tell me about what he did? Why wait until right after we’ve slept together?”
“That’s exactly my point, El; it’s not black and white. Bryce was living in shades of gray. Between y’all’s history, Peyton, and him working on the inn and venue, the deck was already stacked against you two. And it’s worth mentioning that, on top of all that, there’s no way Bryce’s heart isn’t scarred from Peyton’s mother. You said she just vanished without a word, and Bryce had to handle her fucking him over like that and becoming a dad? I don’t care how much he trusts you, there’s no way a little part of him hasn’t worried you’d do the same thing. My guess is that he was scared of losing you, and for more than one reason.”
I swiveled around to give her a side-eye.
“How did this happen? I’m supposed to be the wise sister who offers wisdom and life lessons. You’re supposed to need my advice, not the other way around.”
She shrugged and gave me a smile. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that like you’re surprised I’m actually capable of such insight. I’m not a kid anymore, you know. Plus, as far as relationships go, what I lack in real life experience, I make up for in romance bookworm knowledge.” She dug a paperback out of her purse and shook it, making us both chuckle. “And I’ll always need my big sister’s advice, El. Don’t think you’re off the hook for sisterly wisdom down the road.”
Before I could reply, the car came to a stop and Milo turned to us from the front seat, his blue-gray eyes bouncing between Sophia and me. “Ready?”
Sophia and I glanced at each other and smiled before turning to Milo.
“We’re ready.”
Twenty-Three
&nb
sp; Elliot
Stepping out of the SUV and into the chilly fall air, I pulled my jacket a little tighter around me and surveyed my surroundings. This is my mother’s neighborhood—my mother’s house. Surreal didn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe what I felt. I was seconds from meeting the woman who gave me life.
Trees sporting a kaleidoscope of red and orange and yellow leaves lined the street. A group of rowdy kids played kickball in the cul-de-sac a few lots down. The houses were all Victorian-style with fancy woodwork and bright pops of color. Each residence on the block looked like a super-sized version of a dollhouse.
I threaded my arm through Sophia’s and tugged her up the sidewalk, taking in Helen’s house in its three-story entirety. A beautiful stained glass bay window caught my eye first, the blue and green hues highlighting the matching trim along the gabled roof. Something about the house just felt…inviting. Which was the last thing I had expected to feel about anything Helen-related.
Realizing the reason I was so drawn to the house, I froze. “Soph…”
“I know,” she agreed with a nod. “It’s so much like the manor.”
The house we’d grown up in was coated in warmer colors, but the styles were eerily similar. It made me wonder if that’s why Helen chose this house, this neighborhood.
Milo ascended the porch steps first and shot us a questioning glance before he reached for the door. We both nodded, and he rapped his fist against it three times before stepping aside.
It only took a few seconds for the door to swing open, and then…
She was there.
I could barely believe my eyes, could barely breathe.
Standing two feet in front of me, clad in an expensive Adrianna Papell sheath dress, was the woman I’d never expected to see again.
Before Sophia showed me Helen's picture on Facebook, I’d had only my blurry mental images of a woman half my mother's current age. The two might as well have been completely different people—the Helen in my childhood and the one standing before me; the Helen from my memories didn’t even seem to exist anymore.
She was about my height but looked like an older version of Sophia—straight, dark hair brushing her shoulders, high cheekbones, small button nose, long lashes framing her dark eyes. A nervous smile pulled at the corners of her lips.
When Sophia and I failed to speak after a few seconds, Milo stepped around us and offered his hand.
“Hi, I’m Milo. The best friend.”
“Helen,” she replied, shaking hands with him.
“And these two are…uh…well, I guess you already know who they are,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. His face flushed red. “Gee, I’m really glad I didn’t make things more awkward.”
The three of us let out soft laughs, and Helen nodded.
“Of course. Please, come in,” she offered, pulling the door open to gesture us inside.
I squeezed Milo’s forearm and gave him a smile of appreciation while we filed in behind her.
The house’s interior was a continuation of typical Victorian-style features—high ceilings, an ornate staircase, fancy woodwork throughout, and a floor-plan that flowed seamlessly from room to room. The impersonal artwork along the walls and beige color scheme were nothing like my—our—childhood home, but there was no mistaking the similarities the two shared in style.
“Can I get anyone some coffee? Tea? Water?” she asked, absently picking at a loose thread on her dress.
Huh. We might not share a lot physically, but we’ve got at least some habits in common.
We all went with coffee, and a couple minutes later, she returned with a tray and four steaming cups.
“You’ve got a beautiful home,” Sophia said, letting her eyes wander around the room for the zillionth time.
Helen set her coffee down, her red-stained lips lifting as she followed Sophia’s gaze. “Thank you. We knew as soon as we walked in that it was the one.”
We? My eyes flew to her hand, searching for a ring, then to the walls, searching for signs of a family. I zeroed in on a cluster of photos on the mantle, but there were no children in them, only Helen and a tall, balding man with glasses.
She must’ve followed my gaze because she stood up and grabbed one of the photos off the mantle.
“My husband. Alvin,” she said, handing me the frame.
Sophia leaned over and studied the photo with me. They were on a cruise ship, laughing and clinking cocktail glasses together. They looked blissfully happy together.
Which shouldn’t have angered me, but it did.
I shoved the frame into Sophia’s lap and scooted away. “I’m sorry. I can’t do the whole awkward ‘get to know each other’ grace period. I have to know. Why? You’ve obviously got a wonderful life, and you’re obviously not the same person you were twenty years ago. What happened five years ago? Why didn’t you want to meet me?”
“El,” Sophia warned, cutting her eyes at me.
“No, she’s right,” Helen interjected. “She’s waited long enough for an explanation. You both deserve to know.” She paused and twisted her hands together in her lap, pulling in a deep breath through her nose. “Elliot, Sophia, I want you to know how sorry I am. I know those words don’t even scratch the surface of what you both deserve from me, but I’m offering them anyway. Not for forgiveness, and not because I think it will fix anything, but because it’s the truth. I’m so sorry for everything.”
I sat perfectly still, absorbing the words I never thought I’d hear from a woman I never thought I’d see again. For a few seconds, I tried to pinpoint how I felt about her apology. My brain kept hurling clichés: talk is cheap; actions speak louder than words; don’t believe everything you’re told.
But my brain wasn’t the only organ in the fight for control. Talk is cheap, but there’s value in sincerity. Actions hold the power to hurt you, but words can heal.
“I struggled to maintain sobriety during all of my twenties,” she continued, letting us off the hook for a response to her apology. “I was haunted by my failure as a parent, by the knowledge of what I’d put you both through. But then I moved to California and met a man who helped me get clean, stay sober, and even helped me get a job. We got married, and I felt like I was finally in a good enough place in my life that I could be a part of your lives. But I owed it to your grandparents to see them first, to prove to them that I deserved another chance. I knew things would be strained between us; I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but I was hoping they’d realize how far I’d come. Let’s just say they were…less than thrilled about me getting in contact with you, Elliot.”
“They didn’t believe that you were sober?” I asked, though it came out as a statement.
“No, they didn’t. At the time, I was devastated that they didn’t believe me. But I can’t say I blame them; the last time they saw me I stole your grandfather’s wallet. They assumed I had some kind of ulterior motive, so I offered to take a drug test, to do whatever it took. But then they started telling me about the…nightmares you had as a child, Elliot. About how, for months after I left, they’d find you curled up in a ball in your closet at night. About how you always needed to know where they were going and how long they’d be gone every time one of them left the house. About how you wouldn’t let Sophia out of your sight for weeks at first…”
She trailed off and swiped away the tears that spilled onto her cheeks.
Sophia scooted closer and squeezed my hand. You’re not alone in this, her warm grip promised.
“They also told me that you were doing really well at the time,” she continued. “That night, I went back to the hotel and told my husband—now ex-husband—how it went with my parents. I started hyperventilating while telling him what they said, and then it escalated into a full-blown panic attack. I ended up spending the night in the ER. Given my condition at the time, he begged me not to go through with meeting you; he told me it would be best not to let my past ruin our future. Our family.”
�
�Condition?” I asked, struggling to wrap my head around everything Helen was telling me. “What sort of condition?”
Helen flinched, and I was struck by an unexpected jolt of sympathy for whatever it was I saw in her eyes.
“I was…I was pregnant. Four months. Because of my age and a couple of other factors, it was considered a high-risk pregnancy. The doctors told me to avoid stress as much as possible. Between that and the onslaught of guilt I felt from hearing about your…struggles, Elliot…it was too much. I couldn’t risk my health or the baby’s, so I went back to California the next day.”
A million questions and thoughts burst through my mind at once, and I couldn’t decide which to grab on to.
How is it possible that I'm starting to understand why she did what she did? Nana and Pops wanted to talk to me about meeting her. Why didn’t I let them finish explaining? I have another sibling. What if she’s lying? There’s no way she’s not telling the truth right now. You can’t fake that kind of emotion. Why didn’t she come back or contact me again after the baby was born?
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say. That’s…a lot.”
When I finally brought my eyes back to Helen, she was still trying to control the tears. Her pain was palpable, and I had the strongest urge to offer her some kind of comfort. On some level, I still felt hurt, and a part of me would probably always struggle to understand some of the choices my mother made, but right now all I felt was sympathy.
Sophia shifted on the couch before clearing her throat. “Why didn’t you try to get in contact with us after you had the baby?”
“For the rest of my pregnancy, I struggled with depression. It was like my trip to Texas opened the floodgates of doubt in my mind. I’d already blown my shot at being a mother; what made me think I deserved another chance? I couldn’t come to terms with everything I’d done. The week before Michael’s due date, I knew something wasn’t right. He had stopped moving around, and I just knew. I went to the hospital and found out he was just…gone. They couldn’t explain it. For a year after…he passed, I was an empty shell. I hardly ate, I barely left my bed, I couldn’t even look at my husband. Eventually, I saw a therapist, and little by little, I came back to life. Things with my ex had fallen apart, but I wanted to live again. I knew I needed a fresh start to make that happen, so I moved here about two years ago, and then I met Alvin last year.” She leaned over to pick up the photo from the coffee table and smiled through her watery gaze. “He’s shown me that it’s okay to forgive myself and that my past mistakes only define me if I fail to grow from them.”