CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I SIPPED MY COFFEE as I stared at Brooklyn sitting in the reading chair in my living room, her eyes scanning the final page of my manuscript. Three weeks had passed since I’d last seen Noah. I tried not to think of him too much. Instead, I’d hidden myself away in my apartment and completely rewrote Avery and Jackson’s story into what my publisher wanted…sexy, sinful, sensual, with no love. It was now a story of Avery’s sexual awakening instead of an emotional one.
Sighing, Brooklyn placed the last sheet of paper on top of the pile that had accumulated throughout the morning as she read the final three chapters of the book I’d finished in the middle of the night.
“And?” I raised my eyebrows, anxious for her opinion.
“It’s good, Molly.”
“But?” I could sense there was more.
She scowled. “But it’s not nearly as good as the original story. There’s no connection here. It was pretty much just a lot of really kinky sex. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a stapler the same way again. Still, it’s nothing special. The original was full of so much love and passion, it jumped off the pages and held me hostage. I felt like I was part of their story. I went to bed dreaming about them. I didn’t here.” She met my eyes, a guarded look on her face. “I want to feel their love again.”
“Their love was a farce,” I argued, unsure of whether I was talking about myself or the characters I’d made up.
“You can’t honestly believe that.”
“Why does everyone say that?” I shot back, jumping off the couch. I paced in front of her. “There was nothing real about Avery and Jackson’s feelings for each other. Avery simply felt bad for him because of his mother’s mental state. Jackson used that to get in her pants.”
“But somewhere along the way, he fell for her. It was a real connection that I know both characters felt, regardless of what they tried to convince themselves and everyone around them. You…I mean, Jackson and Avery love each other. And I’m not just talking about a high school fling kind of love. I’m talking about big, fulfilling, soulful love. A love to put all other loves to shame. A love unmatched even by Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy.” She narrowed her gaze at me, then softened her voice. “You’re just too proud to admit it.”
“If he really loved me, how could he just let my father die?”
Brooklyn jumped off the couch. “He had no choice! He’s bound by the ethics of his profession, Molly! You’re just using this as an excuse to push Noah away. You’re scared, I get that, but don’t throw away something many of us would do anything to have.” She lowered her eyes. “Including me.”
I glowered at her, my jaw clenching. I seemed to be having this same conversation with everyone lately…Drew, Aunt Gigi, Brooklyn. These were people who were supposed to support me no matter what. All they had been doing was trying to convince me I was wrong. I wanted to surround myself with people who would encourage me, not tell me I was just one big fuckup. I wanted people to agree with me that maybe, just maybe, my mother had been right all along. That she may have been onto something when she insisted that real love wasn’t real life.
Tired of feeling like an intruder in my own life, I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Brooklyn called out.
“To see someone who’s not going to berate me for being me,” I answered, my face flushed with anger. “I’m going to see my mom.”
I slammed the door to my apartment and darted down the stairs before she could talk some sense into me. I swallowed hard when I nearly ran into a moving truck parked in the street. I continued past it, doing my best to ignore it. I couldn’t stomach another reminder that everyone had abandoned me.
Hopping into my car, I cranked the engine, plugged the last address I had for my mother into the GPS, then pulled into traffic. It was somewhere in western Massachusetts, about ninety minutes away. I just hoped she hadn’t moved since my birthday in February.
I didn’t know what possessed me to think this was a smart idea. I had little to no communication with this woman since she left us all those years ago. What made me think she’d want to see me now? What made me think I needed her now, especially when my actual family had been nothing but supportive throughout the years?
I almost came to my senses a few times during the drive, particularly after I made the mistake of reading a few of Drew’s texts when I stopped to get gas. He urged me that dropping in on our lovely mother was the last thing I needed to do. My pride and stubbornness prevented me from listening to him. I needed some sort of reassurance that I hadn’t allowed my fear to ruin what was one of the best things to ever happen to me, that the love Noah swore he had for me wasn’t real.
Pulling my car off the Mass Pike, I followed the GPS through what appeared to be a pleasant middle-class community. Perhaps my mother wasn’t this horrible woman the rest of the family made her out to be. The stories they continued to tell about what she was currently doing with her life painted an appalling picture, but there was nothing offensive about this charming suburb.
I drove past a medium-sized college campus, then through a historic downtown area that was typical of so many small New England towns. As I followed the GPS, the suburban landscape gave way to a more rundown section. I passed what was probably a factory at some point, but had long since been abandoned, front doors hanging on by rusty nails. Dilapidated cars covered in grime were parked in driveways. I tried not to be too judgmental. Perhaps this neighborhood had been plagued by the housing and mortgage crisis all those years ago.
When my GPS indicated I’d reached my destination, I slowed to a stop, apprehensive. I put my Audi in park outside a one-level white house with vinyl siding that probably hadn’t been power washed in over a decade, the roof in serious need of repair. A voice inside me shouted to go back home, but I couldn’t ignore my own curiosity. I hadn’t seen this woman since I was a little girl. I wondered whether she was anything like the image in my head.
Stepping out of my car, a smell that reminded me of an old scrap metal yard hit me hard. I made sure to lock the car, then walked up the gravel drive toward the front door. It was just past one on a Thursday afternoon, a time of day most people would be at work. I considered the likelihood that my mom wouldn’t even be here. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise I hadn’t really thought this through. The last thing I probably needed was to see this woman, a woman who didn’t want me all those years ago. Why would she want me now?
As I was about to ring the bell, the screen door, which contained no screen, swung open. I was surprised it didn’t fall off its hinges.
“Well, fuck me living,” a woman with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes muttered.
She came out of the darkened house and onto the stoop. Her orange and leather-like skin made it obvious she had spent far too much time in the sun or in tanning beds over her lifetime. She was slender, although no amount of good genes could help when gravity took over. She wore a tight black tank top and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. Everything about her appearance and clothing choices made me suspicious she was desperately trying to pretend she was in her twenties, not her fifties.
“I can’t believe you’re here!”
Much to my surprise, she pulled me into her arms. I weakly returned her hug, unsure of what was happening. The faint scent of alcohol made its way to my senses. Coupled with her slurred speech, I had a feeling she’d already been hitting the bottle today. That probably accounted for the warm welcome.
“Gosh, Molly.” She stepped back, holding me at arm’s length.
My stomach rolled at the idea I could be looking into my future. We were the same height, had the same color and style hair, the same blue eyes. Growing up, I’d always felt as if I didn’t belong, the rest of my family dark-haired with olive-toned skin. Not me. I’d always been told I took after my mother. Now I saw it. We were twins, separated by several decades.
“How long has it been?”
“Twenty-six years,” I mumbled.
She furrowed her brow, then quickly recovered. “Well, we’d better make up for lost time.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her small house. A cloud of smoke seemed to hang in the air, ashtrays filled with old cigarettes on every usable surface. It smelled like a hole-in-the-wall bar in a state where you could still smoke inside. I’d probably get lung cancer if I spent too much time in this house.
She sat down on a torn brown sofa and patted the cushion next to her. I pulled my lip between my teeth, feeling as if the walls were closing in on me. I considered leaving and forgetting I’d ever come here, but an outside force pushed me forward.
I gingerly lowered myself onto the edge of the sofa, avoiding what looked like a questionable stain on the cushion. Despite her less-than-optimal surroundings and objectionable cigarette addiction, this woman was still my mother. I felt the need to give her a chance to redeem herself, although the only interest she’d ever shown in me was keeping my feet warm with a crappy pair of slippers every year.
“So what brings you here, Molly Mae?”
My heart warmed at her use of my name in a singsong voice. It rolled off her tongue with such ease, as if no time had passed since she held me in her arms and sang me to sleep at night.
“I just needed to get away,” I confessed, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. “No one back home seems to support me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she insisted. “What about Drew? He’s always been incredibly supportive of you, hasn’t he? At least that’s what your father always told me.”
“Not this time.” I rolled my eyes. I struggled to hide my disgust when I noticed a torn condom wrapper underneath the coffee table, a crusty used rubber poking out beneath it. No child should be faced with the idea of their mother having sex. For all I knew, I was the result of an immaculate conception. But it didn’t feel like this woman was my mother. I felt no connection to her.
“Tell me what’s really going on.”
I took a breath, then launched into everything. I brought her up to speed on my writing and how I refused to get too attached to any man, simply using them as a muse. Then I told her all about Noah. How he was dad’s doctor and I began spending time with him because I was working on a forbidden romance, but that things changed between us.
“No one will listen to me when I say I never loved him,” I said, finishing my story. “I guess I just wanted to talk to someone who will believe me when I say none of it was real.”
“So let me see if I have this straight.” My mom cocked her head. “You write really sexy romances and have dated guys for the sole purpose of using them as inspiration for your writing, but this last guy seems to have fallen in love with you.”
I nodded. “Until I told him it wasn’t real.”
She studied me, a serious expression on her face. For a minute, I expected her to side with Drew and Brooklyn. Then she laughed, a wide smile growing on her face. Pulling me against her, I inhaled the combination of vanilla body wash, cigarettes, and hairspray.
“The apple certainly doesn’t fall too far from the tree, does it?” She got up and headed into the kitchen that probably hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. “It doesn’t matter I wasn’t around to raise you. You figured it out all on your own.” She returned with two shot glasses containing some dark liquid, handing one to me.
“Figured what out?” I’d come here to get some advice, not get drunk.
“You’re right. This man couldn’t possibly love you.”
“Why?” I asked, my heart sinking in my chest, much to my surprise. The idea of Noah not loving me hurt more than I thought it would.
“What people think of as love isn’t real. It’s a temporary feeling caused by hormones and nothing else. Like I’ve always said…” She held her shot glass up and I hesitantly followed suit. “Real love isn’t real life.” She threw back the glass. I simply watched her, my stomach churning.
When she saw I hadn’t drank my shot, she grabbed it out of my hand and threw that one back, as well. Her face turned up in a grimace before she recovered.
“Come on.” She jumped off the couch, tugging me up.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to make up for lost time. It’s not every day your estranged daughter appears on your doorstep and you learn she’s exactly like you.” She draped her arm over my shoulder. “That’s a damn good reason to celebrate. The world needs more smart people like us, ones who see all this bullshit for what it truly is. Could you imagine waking up next to the same person for the rest of your life?” She made a fake gagging sound as a look of absolute disgust crossed her face.
All I could think was it wouldn’t be so bad to wake up next to Noah the rest of my life, considering he had proven to be a big fan of morning sex. Come to think of it, waking up in Noah’s arms had been one of the things I’d missed most these past few weeks.
“No,” my mom continued. “We’re the smart ones, Molly. Variety is the spice of life, after all.” She dragged me out of the house.
I had no idea what was going on, but I somehow ended up behind the wheel of my car, driving back toward town.
“Take a left up here,” she ordered when I reached a stop sign at the end of her street.
“Where are we going?” I asked, putting my indicator on.
“To one of my favorite spots.” She winked. “There’s a benefit to living in a college town.”
My brain shouted at me to turn around and drop her back at her house, then return to Boston, but my intrigue kept me going. I followed her directions and, within ten minutes, pulled up in front of a bar in the downtown area. It seemed odd to be going to a bar in the afternoon on a Thursday, but as we entered, the place filled with college students watching the Sox game, it appeared we were late to the party.
A collective shout of “Josie” echoed as we stepped inside. I should have left then, but I didn’t. It was like watching an out of control car careening toward a crowd. As much as you knew you should do something to stop it, you were rooted to the spot, watching.
I heard a crunch beneath my feet and looked down, noticing the dark linoleum floor was covered with peanut shells. I refused to go to places like this when I was in college. What would possess me to want to be here now?
“Don’t call me mom or any of that shit,” she whispered into my ear as I attempted to come to grips with the fact that the woman who gave birth to me was a regular at a college bar. “Just call me Josie. Nothing else. Got it?”
I turned to her, my jaw slack, but before I could respond, a guy who didn’t look like he was old enough to drink approached, slinking his arm over her shoulder.
“Who’s your friend, Josie?”
“This is an old acquaintance from when I used to live in Boston,” she answered, gripping my arm hard, her nails digging into my skin. “Molly.”
Mr. Barely Legal grinned at me. “Nice to meet you, Molly.” He took my hand, licking his lips as he eyed me up and down. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly creeped out. “Any friend of Josie’s is certainly a friend of mine. You two look like you could be sisters.”
I pulled my hand away, my skin crawling. “Thanks.” I turned to my mom, only to realize she’d already abandoned me.
“If you’re worried about talking to me because of Josie, don’t be.” He slid his finger down the back of my sundress. “We just hook up once in a while. She likes to hit-and-run.”
I faced him, my eyes wide. Nausea settled in my stomach. “How old are you?” I asked in disbelief. This all felt like a bad dream.
“Twenty-two.” He beamed, as if proud to have managed to stay alive that long. “What can I say? I’ve got a thing for MILFs. Well, I guess it’s cougars in Josie’s case since she doesn’t have any kids.”
“What?” My voice rose, heat crashing over my body. I didn’t know why I was so hurt when I found out my mother had been telling people she didn’t have kids. She had abandoned us years ago. Still, part of me wanted to think there was some redeeming quality about her.
“Don’t worry. I like women my age, too.”
I shook my head, swallowing hard. I scanned the bar, seeing my mom across the room, laughing and smiling with another group of barely legal college students. Fire in my gaze, I stormed toward her.
“You tell people you don’t have kids?” I demanded, seething.
Irritation covered her face. She grabbed my arm and pulled me to an empty corner, obviously not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation. “What does it matter?” she hissed.
“It matters to me! How could you just leave us so easily?”
“Because that was a time in my life I’d rather forget,” she shot back, her tone harsh. “I didn’t want any reminder of it. Unfortunately, I’d given birth to two such reminders. So yes, I left, and I didn’t look back.”
“Is that why you didn’t go to Dad’s memorial service? I waited for you. I thought maybe you’d care enough to make an appearance!”
With a smug look, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Your father was dead to me the second I drove away from that crappy little house. Like I said, I cut all ties to that time in my life.”
I opened my mouth, heat washing over my body. “But you send me slippers! Why would you do that if you didn’t care?”
She furrowed her brow. “Slippers? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Every year on my birthday, you send me a pair of slippers. I still have them all!”
She shook her head. “That wasn’t me, Molly. If memory serves, Drew was the one who always got you slippers for your birthday.” She threw back a small glass containing an amber liquor. “I never sent you anything,” she scoffed, then pushed past me, rejoining her so-called friends.
A knot formed in my throat as I stared at this woman who carried me in her belly for nine months. She was convinced I’d turned out exactly like her. Seeing what my future held if I continued on the same path was the slap in the face I needed. I refused to believe this was what I’d become.