As if choreographed by the biggest asshole in history, my mother and Regan moved at once, and in almost slow motion. She walked cautiously into the seating area, still taking in the decor, and he turned and made his way up the stairs without a word.
I took a deep breath before going after Regan, not sure what I was going to say since I’d never chased after anyone in my entire life. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I realized what a chase it really would be, as he was taking the stairs two at a time in a slow, forceful motion with his hands in his pockets.
“Regan,” I called, out of breath as I raced up the stairs.
He stood far enough away from my door that I could unlock it. “Just give me the letter, Georgia.”
“I’m sorry. I need to explain about my mom. It’s complicated.”
“No, no. It’s fine. You never actually told me your mother was dead. You just said she was gone. And never talked about her. And looked depressed every time I saw you, leading me to believe that you had a string of horrible luck, like Bo.”
My cheeks heated in anger and guilt. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I was going to tell you. I called CJ and he said—”
“Yeah. You were going to tell me. You know what, Georgia? I was going to tell someone a lot of things. Now I can’t ever again. Can I have my goddamn mail please?”
My chin shook as I nodded, tears clouding my vision. He was hurt, and thought he could trust me, and I screwed it up. I was too late to help.
Story of my life.
Regan didn’t enter the apartment, choosing instead to stand in the doorway with his arms at his sides. I rummaged through the backpack on my couch, and pulled out the large manila envelope, feeling around to make sure the square card was still inside.
I cleared my throat in hopes that it would stop the tears. It sort of worked, but I had to walk half-blind back to the door, refusing to blink.
“Here,” I whispered. “Just please don’t do anything stupid with it, okay? I can tell how much it means to you.”
Regan huffed as he took the envelope from me. “Honesty means a lot to me, Georgia. I trusted you. Even when you were harsh in telling me that I needed to get over Rae, and sew myself up, and all that shit? I heard you. I was processing it. I trusted that you knew what you were talking about—that you’d been all the way through something.”
“I have,” I cut in.
He held his hands out, never raising his voice. “How can I believe that? You tell me you’re not hooking up with all of those guys from the bar, but you’re never home after your shift. You tell me you don’t have time for the bakery, but as far as I know, the bar is your only job and, come on, we both know this place could make you a hell of a lot more money than selling glimpses of your skin for tips.”
I ground my back teeth together, reminding myself he was speaking from a place of anger and pain, but it still pissed me off.
“You never give me a clear answer. There’s not one complete story I can remember about you. And, CJ’s no help. He just tells me to watch out for you. Who the hell am I watching out for? It’s all like mismatched puzzle pieces I’m expected to just put together without any questions.”
The frustration on his face highlighted every person I’d ever pushed away in my life. In order to protect them, I thought. Regan’s eyes, though, looked anything but protected.
“Can you just ... hear me out for a second?” I grabbed the fabric of my apron, twisting it around my hands.
Regan shook his head and lifted the envelope. “I’ve got some wounds to go sew up. Right after they’re torn the fuck open.”
With that he vacated my doorframe and left out the back door. His footsteps clomped angrily down the stairs, and I didn’t move until I heard his car start and the sound of the engine fade into the distance.
“Georgia?”
I jumped, her voice still out of place here. Turning around, I found my mom halfway up the stairs.
“How much did you hear?” I asked, crossing my arms over my stomach to prevent my guts from spilling out in front of her.
She closed her eyes, clearing her throat before ascending the rest of the way. “It wasn’t what I heard, Georgia. It’s what I saw.”
“I don’t have time for riddles today, Mom.” I sighed, fighting tears with what little fight I had left in my body.
She shook her head, a small, faraway smile on her face. “It’s what I saw when I told him I was your mother. He was confused, and, honestly, looked hurt. It was the perverse, horrified shock on your face when you saw the two of us standing in the doorway together. Did you tell him I was dead, like you told all of your high school friends?”
I pursed my lips, the last line of defense against my tears. “Mom...”
“Sweetie.” She tentatively reached up and tucked some hair behind my ear. I let her.
“I didn’t tell him you were dead. But—”
“You didn’t exactly tell him I was alive and kicking.”
“I hadn’t gotten there yet. He’s CJ’s cousin. Remember my friend CJ from the Cape?”
“Ah yes,” my mother smiled, scanning her memory by looking at the ceiling, “the underage boy who your father let play the drums at Dunes?”
I chuckled. “That’s the one, though we’re well past underage now.”