Sew yourself up if it’s gone, Regan. That’s the only way you’ll move on. If you want to move on.
Georgia’s words from the week before echoed in through my ears as I trudged up the stairs and heaved myself onto my bed.
I wanted to move on, but was unsure if I’d be able to do that without reading that card. I fell slowly asleep, dreaming of Rae’s laughter, Georgia’s eyes, and the smell of cupcakes.
I slept through sunrise, my eyes peeling open around ten. In my sleep, it seemed I’d decided I’d get Rae’s card back from Georgia, because the second my feet hit the floor, I slogged through my apartment, destined for hers.
I had to move on. It turned out that saying goodbye to Rae wasn’t reserved for just the funeral. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye then. But, I was getting there now.
Opening my door, I was startled by a petite woman with shoulder length brown hair who was knocking on Georgia’s door. She turned around when she heard me, and the startle didn’t stop there. She had a smile so similar to Georgia’s, it made me almost uncomfortable to stare at it. I looked around, feeling out of sorts.
“Do you live here?” she asked in a soft voice.
I nodded.
“Do you know where Georgia is, by any chance?”
I took a deep breath, not sure how to answer that since I never knew where she was unless she was at E’s. As I inhaled, though, I smelled freshly baked goodness. I was briefly concerned, adding up that she’d been in the kitchen for more than six hours.
“Smells like she’s in the bakery.” I smiled, and the woman’s eyes widened as she smiled even bigger. I continued, “I can take you down there. She usually locks the door. But ... can I ask who you are?”
The smile left her face as she looked to the ground, almost confused. When she looked back up, there was a vacant sadness in her eyes.
“I’m her mother.”
So, there I stood. Six inches away from Georgia’s dead mother.
Georgia
Six hours later, and surrounded by more gluten-free muffins, brownies, and cupcakes than I knew what to rationally do with, I finally felt tired. Twice in a week being in this kitchen was a lot lately, and I loved how good I felt after several hours of work.
And hated it. Because it wouldn’t last long. Late night freak-outs and phone calls, middle of the night trips to talk her off the ledge ... that was all around the corner since my mother was checking herself out of Breezy Pointe this morning.
CJ was right. I needed to confide this to someone, and Regan was the best candidate. I’d have a lot of talking to do to get him caught up, but I was willing to forge through that discomfort in order to get to a place of peace about the situation. I needed someone.
Taking a deep breath as I frosted the last of my let’s talk about my problems cupcakes, I heard a tentative knock on the kitchen door. I don’t know when Regan got in, but I recalled seeing his car in the driveway sometime after dawn. Maybe the smell woke him. Given the last time we were together I told him to get over his dead girlfriend, I understood his hesitance in approaching me. I needed to apologize for that, too.
“Come in,” I chirped, trying to sound a lot more awake than I felt.
Just as I suspected, Regan opened the door and slid through, leaving it cracked. He looked a little grey, and I chalked it up to exhaustion.
“Morning. Sorry if I woke you. Look, I’m sorry if I upset you last week when we talked, so,” I held up a plate of chocolate and vanilla frosted cupcakes, “here. A peace offering. And, I was hoping we could—”
Regan put up his hand. “Wait.”
I swallowed hard, his quietly harsh voice drying out my throat. “What?”
“Someone was looking for you upstairs. I told them I’d check to see if you were down here.”
It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it that sent my heart on the erratic flight pattern of a bat.
“Just send them—”
He opened the door the rest of the way, and there she was. My mom. Checked out of Breezy Pointe and standing next to one of the most decent guys I knew. One who knew nothing about her, most notably her alive status. My eyes flicked back and forth between hers and his, both sets filled with questions. Too many. I had answers for every one of them, but was running out of time as Regan folded his arms across his chest.
“Regan, I can—”
He pulled his head back. “Explain? No need. This is your mom, right? It’s all good. I was going to your place to ask if I could have that envelope you were holding for me.” His tone was flat. Cold.
“Just give me a minute. Um ... Mom, can you give us a sec?”
My mom’s eyes had been busy scanning the dining part of the bakery. She hadn’t been by since I completed it. Her face was red with impending tears as she faced me. “Sure. Um...”
“Just, here, take this plate of muffins and go to a table, all right?”