Chapter 42

chapter

forty-two

ADDIE

I pace my living room, wearing a hole in the heels of my fuzzy socks.

I should grade papers, adjust my lesson plans to account for my abrupt absence from yesterday, or stock my fridge. I should be productive, but instead, I'm thinking about Owen. I'm always thinking about him.

And I like it. I don't hate that he's a distraction from my responsibilities and goals. I don't hate that he makes me laugh and feel light.

In truth, it's one of the many reasons I like being with him—I love who I am with him.

I've spent the last few hours stewing over soup. Every spoonful I slurped reminded me that Dorothy made it.

Owen called his mom and asked her for a favor, which as I've learned, is hard for him to do. He's almost as terrible at asking for help as I am, but he did it for me.

How many times has he shown me how much I mean to him? And what have I done in return? I kicked him out of my house.

I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to beg him to stay. I wanted to promise I'll come clean. That I'll plaster it on posters down at the Tap and hand out "Addie loves Owen" buttons at the door.

But I froze when panic seized my body.

If I let myself truly be with him, I'm putting more than my job at risk. I'm putting my heart on a chopping block and daring him to carve it in half for the whole town to witness. These people relentlessly dissect and gossip about the new specials at Gordon's Pizzeria—they'd have a field day with Rain's daughter following so closely in her mother's footsteps.

How can I take that kind of risk?

I mull over Maren's advice, swirling it all around in my head like a blender until the perfect concoction forms.

But it's not what I expect.

I reach for my phone, scroll to the name I need in my contact list, and pause.

I can't do this, can I? I'm going to call, and say what—how dare you? Why did you abandon me when I needed you most?

"I could, actually," I say to no one but myself.

After all, that is what happened. I've never admitted it to anyone except to myself, but I always pushed it aside because the truth was too hard to face.

It was too scary.

But I take a deep breath, count to five, and face my fears head-on, just as my friend suggested.

My heart thumps like a fist banging against a door, the reverberations nearly numbing my entire body as I force myself to press the name.

I need to do this. Not for Maren or Owen or anyone else. I need to do this for me.

Dad answers on the first ring. "Hey there, sea turtle."

The nickname might as well be the twist of a knife in my chest.

When Maren suggested I turn straight to the source, it wasn't my mom I needed to talk to. It's my father—the first man to ever break my heart.

"Do you have a second, or a few?" I ask, hesitation weighing my voice down.

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"This is going to sound… odd. Maybe a little out of the blue, but… I think it's been a long time coming."

"Should I be sitting down for this?" His chuckle crackles through the speaker, and my stomach sinks.

Out with it.

"I'm mad at you," I blurt.

Any other sign of amusement fades, and the line is filled with silence, plus my heavy, labored breaths.

"Dad, I know you left because of Mom, and I don't blame you. I'm not saying you should've stayed and put up with all her weird, often insane, ways, but you didn't just leave her. You left me ," I choke out, gaining momentum the more I talk as I finally release years' worth of agony. "You moved out of the house, and as if that wasn't far enough, you then packed up and moved three states away. I haven't seen you since last Christmas, and that was only because I came to you. I always come to you. I've invited you over countless times, and you're always too busy."

"Addie, sweetheart. It's far more complicated than that."

"There's nothing complicated, Dad. I'm your daughter. You should've tried harder. I waited for you to try harder until I convinced myself that I actually respected you for doing yourself a favor and getting away."

"I had to get away," he says faintly. "There's so much you don't know."

"Yes, there is. I don't know the circumference of the Earth, how to replace a spark plug in a lawn mower, or how to completely love someone no matter how badly I want to," I deadpan, although the final item has tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

"I… I had no idea." His tone is loaded with surprise and disappointment.

I release a humorless laugh and squeeze my eyes closed. "The funny thing is that I've always admired your busy, jampacked routine. I've admired you . I've mirrored my own life to yours so I could be stable and smart and sensical in order to be more like you and less like Mom. But it's bullshit. It's all… bullshit." My eyes fling open.

I've never cursed in front of my father, and I've certainly never cursed at him. I've always spoken as respectfully as possible to him and my mother both, although Rain often makes it nearly impossible.

Still, they're my parents.

"I'm sorry to be so rude, but?—"

"You're right. I deserve that and far worse, to be honest."

My sharp inhale fills the silence of my house, and time seems to stop. This feels like one of those moments I'll look back on years from now—a turning point.

I just hope it's a good turning point.

"I'm a coward, sea turtle," he says, and his raw voice is loaded with vulnerability. From the other line, a sniff comes through, and my gut clenches.

He's upset.

"I should've made more of an effort to be part of your life, Addie, and not just the vacation dad. I'm so sorry."

His words wash over me, but the tension in my body doesn't subside.

My heart doesn't soften.

My eyes aren't freed of tears threatening to spill.

I don't feel better, but what did I expect? Did I really think a single apology would repair years' worth of damage?

As if he reads my mind, Dad adds, "I know that doesn't change anything right now, and I can't take back the way I hurt you. But I want to do better. I hate that you've been mad at me for so long."

"Why, Dad?"

"Why, what?"

"You said you're a coward. Is that all you've got?" I press. "It's not an explanation, and it most certainly is not grounds for a new future."

"I know. You're right." His sigh is heavy and strong through the speaker, and I almost feel it weighing on me. "It's just that your mother… well, she… Can we please have dinner this weekend? I could take a few vacation days from work and come to Sapphire Creek. I can be spontaneous like that for my daughter."

I sink onto my couch, my wary knees tuckered out for the afternoon.

"I'd really like to talk in person," he says, but it's more of a plea. "I'd like to see you. It has been too long, and I shouldn't have let this much time pass without making more of an effort." His tone is sincere, and I melt into the couch, my limbs mere noodles.

"Okay," I whisper. "I'll see you next weekend."

His sigh of relief brings a smile to my face, and after he promises to text me with an update on his itinerary for the weekend, we end the call.

But I don't move. Nothing but a warm pair of pajama pants and a sweater sound good—maybe even a glass of wine too—but I remain seated, my mind a muddled field of debris.

I faced my father. We're not finished, but I took the first step. It was scary and ballsy and overwhelming, but it's the move I needed to make. No matter what comes of it, I took a leap, and that's a big freaking deal.

I don't know how long I remain frozen like this when the lock on the front door turns, and my mother springs into the house with a cheery, "Honey, I'm home—again!"

Oh, good grief.

Do I really have to confront yet another parent tonight?

"Rain." I throw my hands up and stand, mustering the energy for this reunion. "Two visits in less than two weeks. To what do I owe this surprise? Is Mercury in retrograde?"

She tilts her head in a way that lets me know she's not amused.

That makes two of us.

I peek over her shoulder through the open door to see if her friends are parking and caravanning up the porch, but nothing happens. No one enters, other than a couple of flying critters.

"I see you've had time to clean up the mess we left." She shuts the door, further confirming no one else will be joining us, much to my relief, given the aforementioned mess.

But I don't miss the disappointment in her words.

"Why do you say it like that?" I ask.

"No, no. I expected nothing less than for you to break out the hazmat suit and douse the house with bleach."

"For your information, I didn't clean it. I've been a little busy." I saunter into the kitchen for a glass of wine, and she follows.

"With Mr. PE?"

"With work and friends and dance." I shut the cabinet and set the glass onto the counter, where I pour from a bottle of red until the surface reaches a millimeter from the rim. "Wine?" I offer her.

"Sure." She shrugs. It's rather nonchalant, but I don't buy it. There's something in her eyes. It swims and dances with a life of its own in her blue irises, and I know the rest of this evening won't be easy on me.

I set a full glass of wine in front of her, clink my own to it, and sip.

"You've been busy with that guy. Why can't you just admit it?" Rain presses.

"Is that why you're here? To pry into my personal life for God knows what reason?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

I freeze with the rim glued to my lips.

"You seemed so happy last week. Your aura was glowing like a thousand stars were hugging you. It was the kind of glow only good and groundbreaking sex offers."

"Please, not that again."

Her lips curl into a wistful, almost proud smile. "You didn't even get onto us about the mess this week, and I think I saw you dancing in the kitchen one morning."

"I like to dance. I dance a lot, as you might remember."

She levels me with a stern glare. "You dance at the studio, where no one can experience your talent. You hide it away, when you should share it with the world."

I gulp and lower my glass to the counter, my hand trembling. What is with everyone and sharing everything with the world? Can't some things just be kept private for the sake of humility and grace?

"What's going on with you, Cloud?"

"You haven't called me that in years."

"Not since you yelled at me to stop."

"It's because…" I sigh and meet her gaze head-on. Truth . It's time for truth and perspective. There is no room for deflections anymore. "I'm sorry I ever yelled at you. I shouldn't have."

She folds her arms, her mouth falling open and closed. She clearly didn't expect me to apologize.

I hold a finger up. "You deserved to be yelled at, though. It was the only way to get through to you."

"Until you basically stopped talking to me altogether."

"You don't get me. You never have."

"I get you better than you think. It's why I'm here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your aura is now full of weeping willows dripping with shame and regret, which can only mean one thing. You blew it with Mr. PE." She says it as a statement, with zero sign of a question. There's not a single ounce of hesitation in her voice that might suggest she feels she's wrong.

"It wasn't completely my fault," I whisper.

"I'm here to help you fix it." My mother nods in the direction of the back door, gesturing for me to follow her.

And I don't know why, but I do. My feet move in heavy steps as I grab a jacket and step onto the deck, where I sit next to her on the outdoor couch, my wine tucked into my lap like a security blanket.

"You're scared of love, and I think your father and I are to blame," she says.

"What—how did you…"

"Like I told you before, I know a thing or two, honey."

"Fine." I tug on my jacket with one hand, bracing myself against the breeze. It's chilly tonight, but the air feels good in my lungs. "Tell me why my issues are your fault."

She heaves her legs onto the couch and crosses them, seemingly comfortable in her light layers. "We were your role models. Our marriage was your first introduction to love, and when it shattered, it was the only lens you'd ever view love through again."

I gulp for the second time, and I fear it won't be the last. She's coming in hot with the punches tonight, isn't she?

Rain clears her throat and toys with the stem of her glass, averting her gaze. Is she nervous? That can't be right. She's never skittish or shy. The woman parades around the country in a van, mostly without shoes.

She's not afraid of anything.

Instantly, my guard shoots up.

"I've never told you this, but when you were almost eleven, I tried to convince your father to take me back. Our divorce hadn't been finalized yet, and I went to him on hands and knees to beg him for forgiveness."

"Really?" I whisper. I had no inkling of such a thing ever happening. Dad didn't say anything, either, nor did I ever hear it from anyone else.

She nods. "I told him I'd made a huge mistake and that I was so sorry for my lapse in judgment. That I hated my life without him and us as a whole family." She sips from her glass and blinks rapidly at the yellowing sky like she's fighting tears. This is a side of Rain I've never witnessed before, and my heart clenches as it does for a kitten in a storm.

It's not easy to experience a force of a woman like her crumbling this way.

With an unsteady, watery voice, she continues, "I was honest and raw, but it wasn't enough. He said I was too dangerous, too unpredictable, and he couldn't live in a constant state of caution over what I might do next. And he was right." Her soft laugh holds devastating sadness that fills the air around us.

And although I don't disagree with Dad, as I've often felt the same about the chaotic clouds of outlandish ideas floating around her, I'm sad to hear it from her perspective.

Rejection stings in all forms, especially when it comes to love. My mother made a mistake in driving Dad away, and when she apologized—when she bared her soul—he still said no.

I imagine such a wound doesn't heal easily.

"I never got over him," she confesses in a low, haunting whisper.

"You're still in love with Dad?" I squeak.

She slowly nods, and my throat clogs with empathy and even more sadness for her.

All this time. All those guys. All this mumbo jumbo about marrying nature and living in the world as a free bird.

Has it all been lies? Cries for help? Madness?

For so many years, I've criticized her, when I should've been asking for what was really going on. Guilt reaches like a hand inside my chest and squeezes my cold, selfish heart.

"It's why I bounce from guy to guy without another thought. No one's ever measured up to your father." Rain brushes her knuckles across my cheek. "I blew it with him, but you don't have to make the same mistakes I did. I don't want this curse for you."

Curse .

That's exactly what my situation sounds like, and the word covers me like a bad omen, chills racing up and down my arms.

A curse is exactly what I'll fall victim to if I don't make this right with Owen. I'll be cursed to watch him from afar without being able to touch, kiss, or wrap my arms around him.

How can I never experience another one of his ass grabs?

There's something I never thought I'd say, and here's another—Owen Conrad somehow went from someone I couldn't stand to the one person I don't want to be without.

"Tell me what to do." I lift my teary gaze to meet hers. "And please don't tell me to perform some voodoo ritual and cut off more of my hair. What's a normal thing to do in this situation?"

"Normal—who the hell wants normal?" She cracks a grin. "I hate that you cut your hair, by the way."

"You've mentioned it once or twice." It's been eleven times, to be exact. I counted.

"You can't just tell him you're sorry. You can't tell him you care or even that you love him, even though you totally do."

"What? Love? No one said anything about love." I lean back like she smacked me, and my wine sloshes in my glass.

"Then how do you feel about him?" She lifts a brow and waits expectantly, but the slow wicked grin spreading from cheek to cheek says all I need to know.

She knows the answer, as do I.

Because love is the only word that sums up my feelings. Nothing else encompasses this massive explosion of happiness and caring and excitement I feel for Owen.

I don't answer, but I guess my silence is enough when Rain says, "You have to show him, honey. Don't just tell him. Don't do what I did. Maybe if I would've shown your dad that I meant what I said and that I'd changed, he would've considered saving our marriage, but it's too late for us. It's not too late to show Mr. PE what your heart is made of."

When I got off the phone with Dad earlier, I was still uneasy. My stomach tossed and turned like a restless toddler.

But as I talk to my mom, I'm relieved. Dare I say, I might even feel peace coming on.

How did she do that? How is it that my mother, of all people, is the one who puts me at ease like this?

As she runs her fingers through my hair while we talk, I realize it's because I've never pretended with her, not like I have with Dad just to keep the peace. It's easier to keep the peace with someone I hardly see.

But with Rain, I've never been anything but myself, even though I know she doesn't agree with my philosophies. She and I have butted heads plenty of times in my life, but we've always been honest and real with each other. That's what always matters the most when it concerns our relationship.

That's not to say I haven't been wrong about her, because I totally have in many ways.

She knows me better than I ever thought she did, but I am just now beginning to understand the core of her in return.

And through the biggest plot twist of my life, she's going to be the one to help me win Owen back.