Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Aspen

Me: I love you. Sorry for disappearing on you.

Scarlett: I hate you.

Me: You don't.

Scarlett: No, I don't. You should hate me.

A knot forms in my throat, as my heart stops. Why could I possibly hate her? "What do you think, Hugo?" He's laying on top of my bed. Anderson visited her ranch once already, what are the chances that he visited again and they…

Me: Why?

Scarlett: You lost him too. I've never let you mourn Michael. I was never there for you.

Me: That's in the past.

Scarlett: It was wrong. All these years I've behaved as if I was the only one who should be in pain. I understand why you stopped talking to me.

Scarlett: That doesn't mean that I like it.

Me: It's not …

I stop typing the explanation of why I've avoided her for the past few weeks. It isn't time to open the box and let all the thoughts inside out into the world. Not when I have to deal with Mom, and the loss of Sophia is so freaking close.

Me: Sorry, I won't let it happen again. We need to talk but not now.

Scarlett: You're not coming to the party, are you?

Me: No, sorry.

Scarlett: Mike would've made you his excuse to skip his own party. He did that a lot. I think that's why Mom hates you.

Me: He adored you. You were his little sister, the best little sister he could've asked for.

Scarlett: Did he say that?

Me: Often, except when you were being a pain in the ass.

Scarlett: Thank you, I know he loved you too. Now can you tell me the other reason why you're avoiding me?

Me: Soon. I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

Scarlett: I can live with that for now. Just know that for what Brynn says, he seems like a good guy.

Me: Who?

Scarlett: Anderson.

Me: I don't want to talk about it.

Scarlett: I'll be here when you're ready.

Loving Anderson feels like a betrayal to everything I promised to Michael. It shouldn't.

Me: TTYS, I'm calling Mom.

Scarlett: Are you dying?

Me: No, why?

Scarlett: Sounds like you're trying to make amends before leaving for a long trip or…please don't leave me.

Me: No, I just feel like it's time to try to fix what's broken in my life.

Scarlett: Good luck, babe. Call if you need me. I know how cold she can be.

Me: Thank you.

"That wasn't so hard, was it, Hugo?"

"Woof!"

"I agree, boy. Time to call my mother."

"You've reached Addison Zimmerman. At the moment I can't come to the phone, but leave a message after the beep."

"Mom, it's me, Aspen." My voice sounds childish, my heart is beating fast at the idea of my mother going through the same pain Dad did. What if I let things go too far? She did too. That's not the point. Even when we both should've tried harder to have a better relationship, there's no point in blaming each other. "I…I guess I'll try back later. Please, let me know if you're well. Like you're not sick, or you know…just call me."

Hugo nuzzles my leg, my phone buzzes. Mom .

"Hello," I answer.

"Aspen, sweetie," she sighs in relief. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I've been busy." The excuse comes automatically without a question.

"I understand, that's why I never call this phone. You're a doctor."

"What does that mean?" I didn't intend to sound defensive, but I don't understand. She never uses my cell phone because I am a doctor?

"I would hate to interrupt you in the middle of work, that's what it means." She exhales in frustration. "Sorry, I'm not your father. And I don't know how to talk to you the way he did. I don't mean to yell."

"I know," I speak in the smallest voice possible. A thirty-three-year-old woman still cowards at her mother's loud voice.

"But I love you."

"I know."

"My family insisted that I should toughen you up; teach you to use your voice and stop you from hiding when things were scary for you." She tried so hard to teach me her ways and I just couldn't. "Instead, I should've learned how to protect you and how to speak softer—at least to you."

"How are you, Mom?" I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated her and her family. Learning to deal with them helped me in the ER. Maybe it's a conversation for another day. Tonight, I want to find out what is going on with her. "Are you sick?"

"No. I'm healthy as a horse. Why would you ask that?"

"You've been calling daily, Mom. That's not something you do."

"Well, I promised to be there for you when I healed," she says, as we had agreed to meet after her two o'clock appointment. As if nothing had happened between us; as if she didn't leave me alone while Dad was dying. "To apologize, I didn't think about your loss. Things were so bad between your father and me that I just wanted to be away from him. So I dumped him on you."

I remain silent, swallowing back the tears and the nasty words I've saved for her. If it hadn't been for my best friends, my sisters—my family—I don't know if I could've gotten through it. Walter, my godfather, tried his best. But like me, he had to deal with the stuff Dad left behind. My brother and my father had a terrible relationship. In a way, it was just Dad and me, and that's how he departed this world. Apparently I was the only person who loved him and remained by his side until the end.

"Yeah, well. It happened years ago."

"Yes, and our relationship continues to deteriorate, Aspen. I don't want that." She laughs nervously in a way I don't understand. "I adored you from the moment I conceived you, and knowing you were going to be a girl filled me with joy. It pained me that I couldn't understand you, that your father was the only one who got through to you. Everything I tried pushed you further away from me. The link between us was your dad. And I hated him."

She hated him? Since when and why stay for the sake of the children? "Why didn't you divorce him?"

"It's a long story, I don't want to talk about him. I want to talk about us."

"Mom, I love you. Even when I don't get it, I love you," I assert, thinking carefully about my next words. A few hours ago, I believed this was the best time to mend our relationship. Now, I can feel that our conversation is going to hit me emotionally on a level I can't deal with. Not when I'm losing Sophia. The woman who I've leaned on for the last couple of years. "Right now isn't the right time, not for me."

"Is there something I can do for you?" I remain quiet. "Walter mentioned you're planning on selling the house in Maine. Do you need money?"

"Brynn and I are planning on opening a private practice," I explain, excited by our project. The money we can get from the sale of Maine will help a lot. We still need more, but that's what loans are for. "It's coming along."

"Pediatrics?"

"Yes."

She sighs, and I wonder if she feels that the conversation is strained and we're avoiding subjects. Should we yell at each other? No, I couldn't.

"What's your news?" I ask her. "Austin said you had something going on."

"A few things. We opened a restaurant, Latin America cuisine." Who is we? Her and my grandparents? It doesn't matter, at least she's doing something with her life. I close my eyes and I can see it effortlessly. Mom in the middle of a kitchen ordering people around, mixing spices, stirring the sauce and serving a beautiful plate of picadillo. "It's new. I'd love if you and Austin could come to visit. It's been so long since the last time I saw you. Are you still single?"

"I wouldn't marry without telling you, Mom," I snap, rolling my eyes.

"No, I meant are you dating." Her voice is so silent, serious. "I don't mean to pry. You haven't been with anyone since Michael died."

"That's not true. I dated a guy for a couple of years," I correct her, getting ready to hang up. She would know if she hadn't abandoned me. The conversation is stealth like our relationship, and I don't know how to push away the struggle. How to have a relationship like the one Anderson has with Sophia. They are so close. "I'm going out with someone I met a few weeks ago."

"What's his name?"

"Anderson," I whisper, closing my eyes, thinking of his forest green eyes and his strong arms. Jesus, I miss him so much.

"You'll have to bring him to the Keys for a mini vacation," she suggests in that loud voice that seems like she's ordering me or mad or… I get anxious not knowing what she means and I wish Dad were here to translate her mood. Right, this is why we don't understand each other. We used my father as our way to communicate. "I have to meet him."

"Maybe later, Mom," I blurt, exasperated with the conversation. "His mom has cancer and … we're going through a tough time. We're not in a place for social visits."

"You like her?" She sounds jealous? Or is it just curiosity?

"I love her. She's my neighbor. She's fantastic, you know." I stop, swallowing the rest of the words. Feeling like I'm betraying my mother for having a better relationship with the woman next door. "Why don't I call you when we're in a better place?"

"You can't go through life thinking that way," she chastises me. At least, that's how it sounds.

"What do you mean?" Oh, Dad, how I wish you could decipher everything she's trying to say. No. I have to work harder.

"Life keeps going, Aspen. It doesn't matter where you're at or how you feel. The Earth never stops spinning around the Sun. I regret letting your father be the one who dealt with you instead of learning about who you are. I'm sorry for leaving you when you lost your daddy, knowing how much you loved him. Most of all, I regret not having a relationship with you." My eyes drip with tears. The salty drops fall from my cheeks, drenching Hugo who I'm using as my support and my pillow. My hand clutches the phone. "I'm sorry for abandoning you. It's okay if you're not in a good place, we can start the conversation anywhere. It seems like you need support, a loved one is sick. Why don't you let me be there for you? This time you don't have to do much, only answer your phone when I call. Call me when you need to talk."

"Mhm," I respond as the loud sobs echo through my room.

I don't even know why I'm crying. Is it because I miss Dad, miss her, or I just need someone to hug me after everything she said? My door swings open, Brynn steps inside.

"Hey, what happened?"

She takes my phone and shakes her head, giving it back. "Say goodbye, I'm heading to the freezer for some ice cream. I'll bring the chocolate syrup and candy. We can talk once you're ready."

"Mom, I have to go." I sniff.

"I'll call you tomorrow, have a good night sleep." I make a noncommittal sound.

This isn't what I expected. I break down as she talks. I wanted her to see me as the grown woman who didn't need her; someone who has done well for herself. Have I? I guess I have. Everyone at the hospital loves me, and they recognize my hard work. I'm now taking on a new responsibility. And I understand it isn't that I failed, but that I am ready for the next step. Still, here I am crying because Mom and I can't understand each other the way most mother and daughters do. The question is, will I answer her call tomorrow?