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TWENTY-EIGHT

BECCA

There’s something desensitizing when you finally welcome in your demons.

I’m a fool.

Truly the dumbest woman on the planet, thinking I could hack it on my own. I can’t even be pressed to check into the logistics of where I hand my money. Or who I hand it to.

I’ve known betrayal. Felt it slamming into the depths of my soul and spreading like ivy. Turns out, it never really leaves. It just remains stagnant until something pours water on its seeds, allowing it to grow.

I didn’t know Sabrina held the watering can. But now I do.

How could she?

I make it through the graduation ceremony, but while most celebrate the breaking of their chains, wings spread and ready to soar, I feel mine clamping down and halting my flight. Strange, how the same experience can affect people so differently.

Sabrina tries to talk to me, tries to tell me congratulations, but I find only silence to offer. I can’t even look at her. Can’t stand what I’ll see.

I’m quiet as my family walks into the upscale restaurant to “celebrate.” Despondent as we sit at the table. Papa orders for all of us, just like he always does. He has to be in control of everything. I’m sure he’s thrilled at my new subdued personality.

I was so close. At least, I thought I was, but everything I thought I knew was an illusion, put together by the ones I’m supposed to trust.

I’ve been outplayed in a game I didn’t even know I was in. The realization is a bitch-slap to my psyche, reaffirming the truths my mind has always whispered, but I’ve tried so hard to ignore. I ache to leave here and go to Eli’s. Lay in his arms and feel the comfort of his embrace. Beg him to fuck me unconscious, so my thoughts don’t torture me in my dreams.

We’re halfway through the meal before conversation is attempted. I’ve been playing with the food on my plate, my appetite lost after realizing I’ve been living in a cage with a view.

“I assume you’ll be comin’ home with us?” Papa asks.

My chest pulls tight, and I murmur, “No, Papa. I’m not comin’ home.”

He dabs his mouth with a red cloth napkin, then throws it on the table. “Enough, Rebecca. I let you live your life this semester. You have responsibilities in Sugarlake. I want you home, where I can make sure you don’t sully our name.”

I pick up my glass, taking a sip while I mull his words. I lick my lips as I set the water down. “A little late for all that, don’t you think?”

Papa’s face grows as red as my hair, and a spike of satisfaction splits my face into a grin. “Besides, I don’t have any responsibilities there. The church is your legacy, not mine.”

He jerks to a stand, his chair scratching against the floor. Pointing to me, his mouth straightens into a firm line before he turns toward Momma. “Talk to your daughter. Maybe you can get it in her thick head I’m not givin’ her a choice.”

He storms away, moving to walk past the bar and then suddenly stopping. Momma and I watch as he sidles next to a curvy brunette. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Pig. Nausea curdles my stomach when I think about how I used to look up to that man—used to think he was my everything.

I never see things the way they really are.

“How can you just let him disrespect you like that, Momma?” I wave my arm toward the bar, my nose scrunched.

She sighs, sipping on her water. Wishing it was liquor, I’m sure. She’s always been a closet drinker. There were many nights growing up where Lee, Lily, and I would raid her secret stash.

“I made an oath in front of God to honor and cherish him all the days of my life, and I’ll hold true to my word.”

“Even when he doesn’t?”

Her gaze spears me with its sadness, and there’s a familiarity, beyond our genes, tugging me into its depth.

“He means well, you know. He loves you?—”

I huff out a laugh.

“He does. Somewhere along the way, I think he just forgot he was supposed to show it.”

My throat thickens.

“I had many good years with that man.” She glances toward the bar, shaking her head, her eyes darkening.

Papa is laughing, his head thrown back, while he chats with the brunette who clearly doesn’t mind the ring on his finger. I’ve known Papa was a cheat, but I’ve never seen him flaunt it this way. I guess when he’s out of town, he can’t be bothered to keep on the religious cloak that hides the snake underneath.

“There was a time…” She clears her throat, swallowing back whatever emotion was trying to break through her veneer. “There was a time I thought he would move mountains to be with me. Looked at me like I was all he could see.” Momma’s head angles down as she meets my stare. “He looked at me the way Elliot Carson looks at you.”

My heart slams so hard against my ribs, I’m surprised they don’t break. “I’m not sure what you mean, Momma.”

She chuckles, reaching out to pat my hand. “You do. But you won’t admit it, to me or to yourself, I reckon. You’re so like me, Rebecca Jean. In so many ways.”

I tamp down the bile rising up my esophagus. There are a lot of things I aspire to be. Kind. Loving. Free. Turning into Momma is not on that list.

“Men are skilled at weavin’ their words. Makin’ them pretty. Puttin’ dumb ideas in your head and promisin’ you the world.”

Bitterness coats her words, slicing into my ears like a blade.

My stomach twists. “But all men are liars, right?”

She nods. “If you remember anything I’ve ever taught you, Rebecca Jean, remember that.”

“What happens when the woman’s a liar too?” My elbows rest on the table.

Her fingernails tap against her glass. “I’m not quite sure what you’re insinuatin’.”

I should stop talking. Cut my losses and try to salvage what’s an already ruined dinner. But years of resentment billow in my chest, pumping from my heart and pouring into my veins.

“Momma, come on. You prance around in public for Papa, actin’ like the perfect little preacher’s wife. But there’s a reason your liquor is clear and your water glass is always full.”

Momma’s eyes narrow, her lips pursing. “When did you become so disrespectful ?”

“When did you become so weak ?”

Her wince pulls at the seams of my heart, but I don’t apologize. I’m so exhausted. Tired from a lifetime of watching a strong woman wither away into this doormat.

“Givin’ my life to Jesus does not make me weak, young lady.”

“No, but givin’ your life to Papa sure does.”

Her hand slaps the table. “I’ve accepted the twists and turns that brought me to where I am in life. I’ve learned to be at peace with the way things turned out. With the decisions I’ve made. You hate how weak I seem? Well, you better get ready because twenty years ago I was you. Thinkin’ I had the world at my fingertips and the love of a perfect man.”

I suck in a breath, my insides churning from the torrential downpour of her words.

No. I will not be my momma.

She leans in, her voice low. “But while you get lost in your illusion of love, the world keeps spinnin’, and it’ll spin right outta your grasp. All those years you spent tryin’ to break free? Wasted. You’ll be tied down and stuck anyway.” Weariness paints her features. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I roll my eyes to try and stem the tears, turning my head to the side and crossing my arms over my chest. But her words dig through the cavity in my chest, knocking against the cage that holds my heart, seeking to destroy.