Chapter 63

CHAPTER 63

SPENCER

I woke up feeling like death warmed over. The clock read almost eleven, the latest I'd slept in since I was twenty. My head pounded with a relentless ache, my stomach churned, and my body couldn't decide whether it was roasting hot or freezing cold. Fuck me.

Groaning, I sat up. The movement sent my stomach flipping and flopping and the room tilted sideways. The night before was a blur of beers, shots, and bad decisions.

I needed a shower, a gallon of water, and maybe a new life plan. I rubbed my temples in an attempt to clear the fog from my brain. It felt like cotton was stuffed in my head and like I had been sucking on cotton balls all night.

"Fuck me."

If I was in my bed, I would have fallen right back down and gone back to sleep. It was safe to say this day was shot to hell already. I was going to be useless. Sleep was the only cure for what ailed me. But I couldn't sleep on the couch another minute.

I could already feel the kinks in my neck and back. My bed was all the way on the other side of the apartment. I wasn't sure I could make it. I knew a shower would help, but it was the same distance as my bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the couch with my head buried in my hands, trying to work up the strength to get up and move. This didn't get better unless I got my ass up and got some aspirin and water and a shower. But damn did I hope my stomach wouldn't revolt the second I stood up. I slowly inhaled through my nose and then exhaled.

"Okay. Water. Shower. I can do this."

With a great deal of effort, I got to my feet. I swayed, nearly falling onto the couch once again. I breathed through the nausea. When the world righted itself, I took a few tentative steps toward my bedroom. I silently cursed myself for having such a big home. I would give anything to only have to walk a few feet.

As I stumbled toward the bathroom, the door buzzer rang. For a fleeting moment, I hoped it might be Marlow here to give me a piece of her mind. I'd let her yell at me just to see her again. I hoped she was angry, not heartbroken. But now I had to get the strength to change directions and give up the progress I had made toward the bathroom.

Halfway to the door, I realized I must look like total shit. I could smell myself, which meant someone else would likely be overwhelmed by my stench. But I had to talk to Marlow. I buzzed her up and waited in the foyer.

I opened the door to find someone I wasn't expecting—my mother. She looked as bad as I felt. It threw me off. My alcohol-soaked brain was not able to process my mother's presence.

"Mom?"

"Spencer."

"Are you okay?" I asked, unsure if it was out of reflex or genuine concern.

She had a hard time looking me in the eye, fidgeting with her purse. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," I said, still confused by her presence.

She walked inside, keeping her mouth shut. I expected complaints. A tantrum. Demands. I got none of that. Since I was up, I decided to make coffee. That would help my situation.

"I'm making coffee," I muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen. "I don't have tea."

"I know," she said softly. "Can I have a cup of coffee please?"

I stopped walking and looked at her. She didn't sound like my mother. I had to make sure it was actually her. "Sure," I replied.

I started the coffee while she moved to sit on the couch. I didn't understand why she was here. Why she was acting so strange. It was difficult for my brain to process much of anything, but certainly not the person in the living room. It was as if she was a pod person.

The smell of the coffee helped clear my mind a bit. I went for the bottle of aspirin and shook out a couple of pills. I swallowed them down and then filled two mugs. I carried hers to her, expecting her to bitch about the strong smell or the lack of cream. I truly didn't have the energy to add cream to her coffee. I sat down and took a sip. It was a little too hot but it felt good going down. Mom wrapped her hands around the mug as if she needed the warmth. She was acting really oddly.

I didn't like it.

"What's going on, Mom?" Despite everything, seeing her like this freaked me out. "Talk to me."

She looked me in the eyes and started crying. Real tears flowed for once. "I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"Sorry?" I asked with my brow raised. I really didn't have the bandwidth to decipher her tears.

"I'm sorry I let you down as a mother, for always falling short, for not providing for you and letting you take on the role as a provider."

I stared at her, trying to process all the apologies. "What? What's going on?"

She got up, wiping away her tears in frustration. I stayed where I was, unsure if my head was spinning from the hangover or her confession, which felt genuine. Maybe this was all a drunken dream. But the heat from the coffee told me that was unlikely. I couldn't remember a time when my mother was apologetic. I'd seen the tears, but they were usually just drama and a means to an end. This was different. This felt authentic.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, slowly realizing she was here alone.

She laughed bitterly. "He took a flight back to Florida this morning."

"Without you?" I asked with surprise.

She nodded. "We got into a fight. After you kicked us out, I did some soul searching and I couldn't ignore my shortcomings anymore."

I took another drink from my cup, praying the coffee would give me a kick in the ass to help me decipher what I was hearing because this didn't make sense. "I don't understand," I sighed.

"I've always been so embarrassed about how I raised you," she said. "The other mothers at school intimidated me, making me feel inferior. I didn't pack your lunches like they did, didn't get myself dressed in the morning. I was the mom dropping you off in my house robe and old slippers. I never chaperoned any of your events because I was afraid of them and what they thought."

She was dumping years of poor decisions on me, like she was confessing all of her sins. My only question was why? Why did she feel she needed to tell me all this shit? More importantly, why now? When I didn't answer, she continued to spill her guts.

"Trying meant failing, and not trying?" she said, wiping her tears. "Not trying made it an easier pill to swallow. You had a good head on your shoulders, so I figured you'd do a better job raising yourself than I could. I know how twisted and messed up that sounds and I'm deeply sorry."

I nodded, filing all of it away to think about later.

"And I'm sorry for how we've spent your money," she added. "All the stuff, the flashy cars, the nice house, the ocean. It made me feel like I couldn't have failed as a mother because, well, look at what you could do for us."

I felt like I had whiplash. What the hell was happening?

She didn't expect forgiveness, but she had to come and tell me all of this because she knew it had me all torn up and messed up inside, just like she was. If there was one thing she could do for me after everything, it was this.

"You're better than us," she said softly. "And you deserve all the good things this world has to offer. Like Marlow." She lit up a bit when she said her name. "She loves you, Spencer. I can see it in her eyes when she watches you. How she laughs when you're in the room. How she wants to be close to you. That is real wealth in this life. Not the cars or the clothes or the beach house. Take it from a woman who never had a love like that. It's special. And it's yours."

My heart squeezed. Her timing was impeccable. She told me all of this after I dropped a bomb on my relationship. "Marlow and I broke up," I murmured.

Suddenly, all her soft vulnerability was gone. Before I knew what she was going to do, she stunned me by whacking me on the back of the head.

"Ow!" I rubbed the stinging spot. "What was that for?"

My mother stood up straight and planted her hands on her hips. "I might not have done enough mothering these past thirty-six years, but I'm going to cash all my chips in now. Spencer Elijah Kane, get your head out of your caboose and go apologize to that woman for whatever you did wrong."

"How do you know I'm the one who did something wrong?"

She leveled me with the most motherly look I'd ever seen. It kind of reminded me of how Jodie used to look at Rhett when he got into trouble. It made me grin.

She wagged her finger at me. "Don't make me take away your PlayStation," she warned, also cracking a smile.

I chuckled despite myself, the tension in the room easing just a bit. "Alright, alright. I get it."

"Do you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "I know I screwed up, Mom. I know."

She softened again, sitting back down and taking my hand in hers. "Then fix it, Spencer. Go to her and fix it. Don't let your pride ruin something beautiful."

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "I will. I promise."

"You stink. And you look awful."

"Well then I look like I feel," I said.

She arched her brows at me. "I assume you went out after you ruined your relationship with Marlow?"

"You would assume right." I nodded.

"Go shower," she said with a sigh. "I'll make you some breakfast. That's the least that I can do."

"I don't know if I can eat, Mom," I said with a grimace.

"Trust me, I've nursed my fair share of hangovers, you need food," she said. "Go shower. I'll make more coffee."

It was probably the first time in our relationship she was eager to take care of me. For now, I would take it. I knew I was in a bad way and needed a little TLC.

As I headed for the bathroom, my mother headed to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. She was attempting to be motherly, and it felt strange but nice. I had never really had a mother figure in my life, and even though it was weird that she was starting now, I couldn't deny that it made me feel good.

In the shower, I let the hot water run over me as I thought about Marlow. My mother's words spun in my head. I had let Marlow slip through my fingers because of my inability to fully trust anyone. I had believed she would never go back to her ex, but the idea of her seeing me as a temporary thing, a passing fancy, was too much to bear. The thought of losing her filled me with a kind of dread I'd never experienced before.

I stayed in the shower a good long time, the water helping to ease the headache and make me feel human again. I stepped out, dried off, and tugged on some clothes. I felt slightly more human than I had earlier. The smell of bacon wafted from the kitchen, making my stomach rumble. I was suddenly ravenous. I had drunk my dinner last night, which attributed to my current hangover.

When I returned to the kitchen, my mother had made a bit of a mess, but I didn't care. It was the kind of mess mothers were supposed to make, as opposed to raising hell at a hotel.

"You look and smell better," she said with a smile. "There's fresh coffee. Sit down and I'll get you a plate."

Feeling eight years old again, I slid onto a stool at the island. My mother moved around the kitchen with an energy and purpose I wasn't accustomed to. It was strange watching her in this new light: motherly, caring, nurturing. It seemed as though she was trying to make amends for the past, even though we both knew that wasn't entirely possible.

It warmed my heart that she was trying, but it probably wouldn't last. Because of that, I forced myself to not feel too good about it. Then a realization slammed into me like a freight train. That kind of thinking was why I had pushed Marlow away.

I couldn't let myself believe things between us could last, especially when the article had made it seem like she was looking to move on. So, I broke things off first, choosing to take the pain now instead of later.

That had been a huge mistake. So was not enjoying this moment with my mother, who was making an effort to reconnect. I didn't have to forgive her or believe she would be like this forever. I could simply appreciate what was happening in the moment and accept the love she was offering.

"Here." She handed me a plate piled high with bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. "Eat up. Grease cures hangovers."

"Thanks, Mom."