Page 83 of True Blue

Pop snorted. “And you need to learn that disappointing people won’t kill you, even your Mom.”

Nana cupped my chin and said firmly. “You need to be selfish sometimes, Teddy. Don’t ever stay in a situation to make someone else happy. Your happiness matters too, damnit.”

Pop hummed. “Hmm… I love that mouth on you, sweetheart.”

“Ew, Pop,” I grimaced, though a smile grew as I watched Pop pull Nana into his arms and kiss her.

I finally broke up with Lily when college gave me an excuse to do what I should have done much sooner. I thought that was the end of it. Thought enough time and distance and real life would help her move on, as I was ready to.

But now Mom and Colleen seemed to have these ideas in their heads—high school sweethearts, right girl, wrong time, a second chance.

I tried to make it clear to Indie when we were alone that my heart and my body are hers and hers alone. But I knew it was getting to her. And instead of stopping it outright, I tried to walk some careful little line down the middle.

Mom cautioned me that Lily was fragile from her divorce, so I needed to be gentle. Careful.

Like a complete fucking coward, I made that seem more important than protecting my relationship with Indie.

I wince at the stabbing pain in my head.

Accompanying it is the memory that caused this. It was a buildup of movements, but that night in June scared me.

Last month, my mother finally called after the gluten incident. She asked me to come over so that we could talk. Her voice sounded genuinely regretful on the phone, so I agreed.

Indie offered to come with me. I told her no, feeling overly protective after what happened. Seeing her get sick over and over, watching itchy hives spread over her skin until she scratched herself bloody, seeing her stomach cramp all night while I stood there feeling completely fucking useless—it had me on edge even then.

Indie thinks that my mother switched those plates on purpose, and when she told me so in the bathroom, I hesitated. I went to defend my mother because… fuck. If Indie was right, then I would have to face the fact that my mother tried to hurt the love of my life.

And I don’t understand why she would do that. Why would she harm Indie? Why would she purposefully give her food to make her sick?

Did it stem from that night in February, when Indie finally snapped at her? Did she feel challenged? Humiliated? I was touched that Indie had stood up to me so ferociously, telling them to listen to me. That I didn’t want to be called Teddy by anyone but her. But as soon as my mother started crying, my stomach twisted.

My mind split in two directions—defend Indie, keep the peace.

Or did it start before that? All the way back when we started dating? When I could explain away my mother calling her by the wrong name, because Indie was new, and this was an adjustment. But as the months went on, I ran out of excuses.

She just didn’t like Indie, and I couldn't figure out why.

It was hard, feeling like I was stuck in the middle between my grieving mother and my girlfriend.

Mom and I sat on the couch that night while Dad sat in his recliner across the room, eyes glued to the baseball game. One hand was behind his head, while the other dangled a beer bottle from his fingertips in a way I know drives my mother insane.

I think he does it on purpose.

“Indie has never shown you any disrespect,” I said, then added quickly when my mother opened her mouth, “that you didn’t start. She’s done nothing wrong.”

“Not insisting that Mother go to the doctor was wrong to me,” Mom muttered stubbornly.

“You know how Nana was,” I said through gritted teeth, already feeling my patience wear thin. “She didn’t want to go to the doctor. She wanted to go out on her own terms.”

“We could have had more years.”

“Nana was ready,” I said, because I knew those words were true. “Indie said she was most likely gone for hours. She passed away in her sleep.”

My mother lifted her chin. “I just think she should have tried harder.”

Dad grunted at something on the screen and raised the volume with the remote, like our conversation was annoying background noise instead of the only reason I was there.

“Indie loved Nana, and Nana loved Indie,” I said, my voice lowering as my eyes narrowed. “Is that why you don’t like her, Mom?”