When it was important, Chace never really answered.
“Right,” I muttered, my heart squeezing and it didn’t feel good at all. I took a sip of wine and didn’t get what women were always talking about in regards to drinking wine during heartbreak. It didn’t make me feel even a little bit better.
Maybe I needed more of it.
Like, a case.
Chace didn’t move.
“You aren’t leaving,” I prompted, pleased with myself that my voice didn’t crack because tears were rushing up my throat.
“I’ll call you Tuesday,” he whispered.
I lifted my wineglass his way and invited, “You do that.”
He didn’t move.
I took another sip of wine.
When I lowered my glass, reading me yet again, he noted, “You’re not gonna answer.”
“Nope,” I replied, sounding shockingly cavalier considering my insides were bleeding.
“Faye –” he started, taking a step toward me.
I shook my head and lifted a hand his way. “Unh-unh, no. Door’s the other way, Chace.”
He rocked to a halt, his chin jerked down and to the side in a motion that made it look like he’d been struck then he righted his head and reminded me, “You told me you’d never show me the door.”
“I changed my mind,” I fired back.
He studied me a moment while I hoped to all frak I gave nothing away then remarked, “You know my family’s fucked up.”
“No. I know your mother is mentally ill and I know this is not in her control, it isn’t her choice. It’s an illness like any other illness and it’s nothing to get tense or be embarrassed about. If she had diabetes, cancer, it wouldn’t reflect on her in any way. But because she is how she is, you are how you are, thinking I’ll judge her or maybe both of you because of something out of either of your control. That’s not nice and I don’t like it.”
“Faye –”
I interrupted him. “And I don’t know about your father. You’ve told me some but not all, definitely not what would drive you to behave the way you did tonight. For your mother’s sake, it seems a not difficult thing to do, putting up with him for fifteen minutes to shield her from that emotion. He seemed capable of doing that for her. But obviously, whatever it is runs deeper. And obviously, you don’t intend to share it with me.”
“It is deeper,” he shared, just not much because he didn’t go on.
“No kidding?” I asked, hiding my despair behind sarcasm.
“Give me time,” he urged quietly.
“How much do you need, Chace? A year? Ten? Twenty?” I shot back, now hiding behind anger.
“It isn’t pleasant,” he whispered.
“So is a lot of stuff in life,” I replied. “Clue in, I am not your mother. Yes, I read. And yes, I do it a lot. And yes, I did it before you because life can suck and living in a fantasy world is a lot more fun than living in the real world sometimes. This was not a weak choice, it was an informed one. The cops in my town were dirty, my father was getting pulled over all the time because he didn’t like it and didn’t mind saying it but didn’t have the power to stop it. Innocent men like Ty Walker were being extradited states away to stand trial for murders they didn’t commit. Women who weren’t all that nice but still, that doesn’t matter, were being murdered. My friends got cheated on by their boyfriends or dumped after they slept with them or lied to or broken up with for what seemed no reason at all. You know I can go on. There’s not one thing wrong with saying, ‘To hell with that garbage,’ and immersing myself in worlds where happy ever afters are guaranteed or things are so fantastical, you know they’re not real, even the bad stuff. But that doesn’t mean I’m weak or fragile. It doesn’t mean I’m incapable of living my life. Everyone finds things they enjoy so they can escape. I’m not a freak. Even you do it with your sports. Part of me likes that you want to protect me from unpleasantness but part of me feels like it’s a slap in the face that you think I can’t cope when I can.”
He took another step toward me saying, “It’s worse than you could expect.”