Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“Let me in, you fucking brats.”
We live in a nice neighborhood, and I don’t want anyone to see fighting at our front door. I close the storm door and press my back to it.
“Blair, lock the door and call the police.”
The door whooshes closed and I hear the dead bolt closing within a second.
“What the hell happened to you?” My mother snarls at me. “You want your own mother to starve to death? Or freeze? I have nothing!”
“You have what you deserve. Jails have heat and food.”
She spits in my face. “Bitch. You don’t look like you’re missing any meals.”
The spite and sorrow swirl inside me, the gathering storm making me want to scream, cry, and lash out at her all at once.
I wipe my face with my shirt sleeve, remembering my sessions with June, the therapist I worked with for two years. I get to make the life I want for myself, and I have. My mother is an addict—a sad shell of a person who uses and manipulates to fuel her habit.
I won’t engage with her. Instead, I do a breathing exercise, thinking about what’s inside my home. What she’ll never be able to touch.
Eli, with his old soul and sweet smile. Coop, who’s all energy and curiosity. Blair, my sister and best friend. We’re a family. We show up for each other. Blair and I promised each other when we finally got away from our mother that we’d always take care of each other. She’ll let me know if I’m showing the same destructive patterns our mother lived in, and I’ll do the same for her.
My entire life, I’ve longed for a mother who loved me. Who cooked meals and said kind things to me. A home where I didn’t have to worry about not having water or electricity to cook the food we got from food pantries.
She backs up, and I think she’s leaving, but she goes around to the back of the house instead.
I’m not worried she’ll get in. We keep it locked up tight at all times.
Then again, I don’t trust her not to throw a rock through a window and break in. I follow her, watching as she tries the door and main-level windows.
“Fuck you, Julie!” She hurls the words at me and walks away five minutes later, leaving me shaking and doing my best to breathe deeply, even with tears streaming down my face.
Blair lets me back in the house, and she gives me a fierce hug.
“She’s not taking anything else from us, Jules. We’re having a happy fucking Thanksgiving and that’s it.”
I pull away and look at her, smiling as I wipe my cheeks. “Yes, we are.”
“I’m telling the boys a mean lady was here, but she’s gone now and we’re going back to what we were doing.”
I nod. Usually, I’m the strong one when our mother tries to contact us. But this is the first time she’s come to our home when the boys are here. Blair would do anything to protect them.
“Thanks,” I take a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m going to go clean my face up so they don’t know I was crying.”
“We’re gonna dance it off,” she says as she walks away.
I go to my bedroom and close the door, trying not to think about our mother. I can’t give her the kind of help she needs. And I know the boundaries Blair and I have set are for our protection, and for Eli’s and Coop’s.
I’m a strong, independent woman, but I want Noel. Even though we aren’t in that kind of relationship, I want him to be here. To take me aside for a hug and a pep talk.
I go into the bathroom and fix my makeup. I can give myself a pep talk. Noel is with his kids today. It’s a holiday. I’m not his girlfriend. I don’t want to be needy.
Shaking my head, I set down my makeup brush and meet my own eyes in the mirror.
I’m gaslighting myself. Having a need does not make me needy. I have a rule for this—number eleven: if he doesn’t get hot for you when you’re in sweats, he doesn’t deserve you in Louboutins. If it’s been at least a month and things are going well, and you’ve spent at least one night together, it’s time to let him see you unfiltered.
Emotionally, I’m in sweats and an old T-shirt with holes in it. But I’m the same woman I was in that killer green dress. It’s time for Noel to see me unfiltered.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Noel
“And with the triple word, that’s ... sixty-two points.” Talia waggles her brows at me and Chase, showboating over the way she’s dominating us in Scrabble.
“I don’t think that’s even a word,” Chase grumbles.
“Is that an official challenge?” Talia reaches for the official Scrabble dictionary.