Page 17 of Hold You Close
My mother tilts her head. “I hear you told her you didn’t need her help.”
Fucking London! “Maybe I don’t need her help,” I say defensively, running a hand through my hair. “Maybe I can handle them on my own. Sabrina seemed to think so.”
She crosses her arms. “Ian. Being a parent is hard enough when there are two of them in the house. Being a single parent is even tougher, and you have your hands full. Chris is trying to keep it together for the girls, but he’s struggling. Morgan is a mess—she hasn’t stopped crying, barely comes out of her room, and hardly eats. And did you notice that Ruby has stopped talking?”
“What?”
“She won’t talk. Not at all to me or Daddy, scarcely a word to Chris and Morgan.” She glances over her shoulder out the door. “But I just heard her telling London she didn’t want her to go.”
A vise closes around my heart.
“You’re going to need her help,” my mother says, slowly and firmly. “You should apologize.”
No fucking way. “Apologize! For what?”
“For whatever it is you said to her. She tried to hide it, but she was in tears when she walked out of here, and it was clearly because of you.” My mother sniffled, and touched at her eyes with a white handkerchief. “I don’t understand why you two can’t get along. She was Sabrina’s best friend. Practically family. Why can’t you be civil to each other?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“Well, you’d better figure it out. Those kids are going to need both of you.” Her voice softens and her eyes fill again. “Your sister trusted you, Ian. Don’t let her down.”
“Jesus, Mom. Enough.” Overwhelmed by guilt and grief and fear and the feeling that the ground is giving way under my feet, I walk to the door and shoulder past her before she can make me feel worse.
On my way home, I call Drea. “Hey,” I say when she picks up her cell. “I can’t come in tonight.”
She groans. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t give you shit today of all days, but you said you could be there.”
“I thought I could. Look, it’s a Wednesday night. We won’t be that busy.”
“That’s what you said last time you didn’t come in on a weekday night, and there were two fights in line.”
I frown and change lanes without signaling. You’re a reckless driver, I hear in my head. “You’ll have to handle it, Drea. I’ve got family issues.”
She sighs. “Okay. I’ll see if I can get a second bouncer for the door tonight. Maybe another one for inside, too.”
“Fine.”
A pause. “The service was beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you . . . okay?”
“I’m fine. Call me if there’s an emergency.” I end the call before she can even reply.
I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay I can’t even see where the line for okay begins. I’m livid, hurt, confused, and if I’m honest, I’m scared out of my fucking mind. Three kids. I am now responsible for three kids. And I have to be good at it, because that’s what my sister wanted.
It will be a huge lifestyle change for me, but for those kids, I’ll do it.
What I won’t do is pretend I’m not very upset at said sister. First, she goes and dies on me--I know that’s not the most mature way to look at it, but I’m a broken man. Then, she leaves everyone under the fucking sun a goodbye letter except me. Why?
Of all the people who needed one, I needed it the most.
London gets one.
The kids, of course, get one.
Hell, even our parents, who we only see at Christmas, get one.
