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FORTY-ONE

BECCA

This Saturday is Sam’s retirement party, and it seems like everyone is talking about it. Personally, I just can’t wait for it to be over. Ninety percent of the town will be there, and eighty percent of them think I’m lower than the scum on their shoes.

But none of that bothers me as much as knowing Eli will be there, cuddled up with his perfect fiancée. I already spend too much time with them as it is.

For the thousandth time, I consider how different my life would have turned out if I had made different choices. I was this close to freedom.

I need to talk to Jeremy. He’s the only one who knows what happened with Eli and me all those years ago. But it’s hard to find time to chat. Between him being the point guard for a team in California and his secret life of loving dick, he’s always busy, even on the offseason, so we have to schedule times to talk. It’s been a few months since I’ve even spoken to him, and I’m anxious to get the news of Eli’s return off my chest.

My phone rings and I swipe up, grinning when I see Jeremy’s boyish smile fill my screen.

“Hey, Jer.”

“Hey, sweet cheeks. How ya doing down there in Hell’s Pit?”

I fall back on my bed and hold the phone above my head, puffing out my bottom lip. “Shitty.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “I figured.”

Over the years, I’ve opened up to Jeremy about what life was like growing up in Sugarlake. He’s convinced my mind is warped, thanks to my dysfunctional family history. He’s always trying to psychoanalyze me, even though I’m the one with the psychology degree.

I groan, dragging my hand down my face. “You’ve got no idea.”

His brow arches as he takes a sip of his Coke. “No? Well lay it on me, girl.”

I wrap a curl around my finger, tugging until it stings. “Eli’s back.”

Jeremy chokes, hunching forward and grabbing his chest. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah.” Tears burn my nose and choke my throat, but I bite them back. “He’s gettin’ married to that girl he worked with when we were students. Sarah .” I sigh. “Papa’s makin’ me plan their weddin’.”

“You’re kidding.”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

“Holy shit, Becca. Are you…are you okay?”

“Yeah…no.”

His cheeks puff out with his breath. “Tell me everything. Right now.”

So I do. I rehash every painstaking moment of interaction. How it feels like I’m standing on a ledge, my mind pushing me forward and my heart pulling me back. How whenever I’m around Eli, it’s easy to forget the reasons I left. I talk for what feels like hours, and Jeremy listens to it all, like he always does.

“I just don’t know what to do, Jer.”

He sighs. “You know what you need to do, Becca.”

I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say, even though deep down, I already know what it is—I already know that it’s right . The tears I’ve held back cling to my lashes, blurring my vision. I close my eyes, shaking my head.

“You do.” His voice is stern. “Give that man his closure and then…you have to suck it the hell up and step back. Let him be happy.”

My heart screams in protest. “But he doesn’t seem happy.”

Jeremy hums, nodding. “Maybe he doesn’t seem happy because he’s around you .”

The words sucker punch my gut, making me wince. “I don’t think?—”

“That’s just it, Becca. You don’t think. You did this to yourself.”

I scoff, my face flushing.

“Don’t you huff at me. When have you ever known me to not keep it real with you?” His brows jump to his hairline. “We’ve been talking for twenty minutes now, and I haven’t heard you shoulder the blame for any of what you’re feeling. Everything’s centered around Eli and how he makes you feel.”

Bullshit.

What the hell is Jeremy’s problem? He’s supposed to be on my side.

“Take a second and listen to what you’re saying. That man didn’t break your heart. You broke his. You have no right to him. You aren’t owed anything from Elliot Carson.”

Fire swirls up my chest, searing my cheeks. “I never said I was. Jesus, Jer.”

My wall of defense raises high, but his words sneak through the gaps. Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything he’s saying is true, but it doesn’t matter because all I can feel is the stinging lash of what feels like his betrayal. I came to him to feel better about my situation, not worse.

He shrugs. “Be mad at me all you want. Someone’s gotta say it.”

“Get fucked,” I snap.

His head tosses back with his laughter. “Oh, honey. I plan to. Listen, calm down a bit and think about what I said. Call me back once you realize I’m right, so I can say I told you so.” He winks. “I love you, sweet cheeks. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

He hangs up and I throw my phone across the room, screaming, trying to expel this fiery energy that’s padding my stomach and making me fit to burst.

I pace my room for hours, until the chirping of the crickets and the lull of the moon calms my nerves. And then, finally, I think about what Jeremy said. I focus on how it feels when he whips out his mirror and shows me the truth in my reflection.

The one I never want to see.

It’s so damn tempting to close my eyes and turn away.

But maybe it’s time I stop and take a closer look.

* * *

Tonight is my folks’ thirtieth anniversary. I’ve never forgotten the date, but even if I had, it’s obvious with the way Momma has taken extra care in getting ready for supper. She’s even wearing her special pearls. The ones she says Papa gave her on their fourth anniversary, right before I was born.

I’m here because I know Papa won’t be, and I just don’t have it in me to let Momma suffer in her misery alone.

She’s sitting in the dining room, knees crossed, her peep-toed shoes hanging off her heel, tapping her foot rhythmically against the wood leg of the table. She’s staring vacantly into the flames that are turning the beautiful cream candles from sticks to stubs—the melted wax a physical representation of how her marriage has diminished over the years.

I watch her from the hallway, my heart twisting because she looks so empty . So broken.

So alone.

I relate to her more in this moment than I ever have before, and it turns my stomach.

Taking a deep breath, I walk into the room, sliding into the chair next to her, reaching out and slipping my hand under her fingers.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Momma?” I whisper.

Her lips curl in, and she shakes her head. “He’s just runnin’ late.”

“Momma.” I sigh, my chest wringing tight. “He’s not gonna show. He never does.”

She flinches from my words, but that’s the only break in her stillness.

We sit in silence, the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall reminding us that Papa is shit at upholding his vows. At upholding his service to God. At upholding his respectability as a man.

“When summer ends, I’m gonna go to California,” I blurt.

I don’t know what makes me say it. Maybe it’s a need to tell someone who understands what it’s like to waste away under Papa’s thumb, or possibly I’m just digging for a reaction. A break in that impenetrable mask she wears like a shield.

Her fingers squeeze mine tight before she moves her hand, picking up her glass of vodka. She sips it slowly, her delicate throat bobbing with her swallow before she places it back down. Everything about her is proper. Pristine. Carefully crafted to put on a show. Even her sorrow.

“I always hoped you would, Rebecca Jean. You weren’t meant for this life.”

My heart stutters, and I couldn’t be more shocked if she took out a knife and glided it down my middle, pulling out my insides and gutting me on the floor.

“Wh-what?” I gasp. “You’ve always told me I’m doomed for this life.”

Her eyes flash, and finally , there’s a chink in her frigid exterior. “When you got nothin’ but time, you start to reflect. The years have turned me into a jealous, bitter woman. I’m not proud of it, but it’s happened all the same.”

I suck in a breath, dumbfounded by what she’s saying. Momma’s word has always been my gospel, even when I didn’t want it to be. She whispered in my ear and poisoned every decision of my life. I’m not sure what to do with this new information.

I’m not sure I believe it.

Anger, sharp and hot, percolates through my heart, dripping into my bloodstream. “You’re really gonna sit there and tell me you didn’t mean what you’ve said over the years? That it was all ’cause of jealousy ?”

“Indeed, there is not a righteous man on Earth who does right and never sins.” She swallows, her fingers trembling over mine. “I’ve let down God in a lot of ways, but the one I’ll burn for the most is failin’ at bein’ your momma.”

“No.” I rip my hand out from under hers. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit here, quote the Bible, and act like you’ve had some big revelation. For years you beat into my brain that I could trust no man , that I’d end up chained and shackled no matter what… You can’t take that back.”

Momma laughs, a sad, hollow sound. “Oh, child. Why would you listen to me? I’m an old lady who wastes all my days pinin’ for a man who can’t even remember that he married me twenty-six years ago.”

I cock my head. “You mean thirty.”

She frowns, taking another gulp of her vodka. “No, Rebecca Jean. I mean twenty-six.”

My lips pull down, creasing my forehead. “But I’m twenty-six. Y’all were married long before you had me.”

Momma sighs, patting the top of my hand. “Sometimes I forget the truth myself, we’ve been so good at lyin’ all these years.”

My heart stops.

“But I’m sick of lyin’,” she says on an exhale. “I met your Papa when I was young, dumb, and gullible. I knew he didn’t love me. He never even took me on a date.” She shakes her head, raggedness inscribed in the lines of her face. “I was so enamored with him, I didn’t mind much. But then I got pregnant.”

My mind whirls, bile climbing up my throat. “But you said he loved you. That once upon a time, he would have moved mountains.”

She shrugs. “I lied. Your papa moved many mountains, but they were never for me.”

I gasp. “What? No, I… How did I not know this?”

Betrayal—dark and thick—trickles through my veins.

“How could you not tell me this?” I hiss.

“You think this is somethin’ I’m proud of?” she snaps. “Gettin’ knocked up and bein’ shamed into movin’ to a new town? One where no one would see the scarlet letter I ripped from my chest?” Her eyes blaze, and I’m stunned into silence. “You think it was fun to watch you go down that same path?” She pauses, her hand wiping a stray tear. The first one I’ve ever seen her shed. “Besides,” she sniffs, “we have an image to uphold.”

Revulsion pours over me, a sticky, black sludge that weighs me down and makes me want to puke.

Everything I’ve known—everything I’ve believed in—has been a lie.

Suddenly, I’m unable to stand being here for a second longer and I shoot to my feet. “You disgust me. You and Papa both.”

I wait for an apology, but after a few moments I realize I’ll be waiting forever.

The mask has dropped back down, her face a blank canvas, waiting for whatever she chooses to paint for the world.

Doesn’t matter, I should know better than to hope.

I race out of the house, unable to breathe from the weight of the lies.

My entire life is a lie.

Ripping my phone from my purse, I pull up Jax’s number and send him a text.

Me:

Cali? I’m in. When do we leave?