Page 119 of Regretting Youu

“Okay. Give him a kiss for me.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ll play it by ear.”

“Okay. Good night, Morgan.”

“Good night.”

When we end the call, I’m amazed by the ache it leaves in my chest. I successfully fought these feelings for so long, but now that I’ve opened myself up to him, I want to be near him. I want to be in his arms, in his bed. I want to sleep next to him.

I replay our entire conversation in my head as I try to fall asleep.

A noise startles me, though. The sound came from the direction of Clara’s bedroom. I jump out of my bed and rush down the hallway. She’s not in her bed, so I open her bathroom door. She’s on her knees, gripping the toilet.

Here we go.

I take a washcloth out of the cabinet and wet it, then kneel down next to her. I hold back her hair while she pukes.

I hate that she’s experiencing this, but I also love it. I want it to hurt. I want her to remember every terrible second of this hangover.

It’s a couple minutes later when she falls against me and says, “I think it’s over.”

I want to laugh because I know it isn’t. I help her back to bed because she’s still very drunk. When she lies down, I notice she’s just using a sheet to cover up. I go to the spare bedroom, where I put all the things I confiscated. I grab her blanket and her sequined pillow, then grab a trash can and take them all to her.

While I’m tucking her in, she mutters, “I think I have vomit in my nose.”

I laugh and hand her a Kleenex. She blows her nose and drops the Kleenex in the trash can. Her eyes are closed, and I’m stroking her hair when she says, “I don’t ever want to drink again.” Her words are slurred. “I hated the pot too. It smelled so bad. I don’t want vomit in my nostrils again, it’s the worst.”

“I’m glad you hate it,” I say.

“I hated sex too. I don’t want to do that again for a long, long time. We weren’t even ready. He tried to talk me out of it, and I wouldn’t listen.”

I know she’s drunk, but her words surprise me. What does she mean he tried to talk her out of it?

That was her idea?

I’m still stroking her hair when she begins to cry. She presses her face into her pillow. I hate that whatever happened between them is making her feel this guilty. “He obviously loves you, Clara. Don’t cry.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not why I’m crying.” She lifts her head from the pillow and looks at me. “I’m crying because it was my fault. It’s my fault they died, and I try not to think about it, but that’s all I think about when my head is on this pillow. Every single night. Except one time I fell asleep wondering why teddy bears are made to be cuddly, when real bears are so mean, but besides that one night, all I can think about is how it’s my fault they had the wreck.”

“What are you talking about?”

She drops her face back into her pillow. “Go away, Mom.” Before I even move, she lifts her head again and says, “No, wait. I want you to stay.” She scoots over, patting the bed next to her. “Sing me that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

I’m still trying to catch up to what she said about the wreck being her fault. Why would she think that? I want to ask her about it, but she’s too drunk to hold a real conversation right now, so I just climb into bed with her and appease her. “What song?”

“You know, that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

“I sang you a lot of songs. I don’t think we had any one particular song.”

“Sing something else, then. Do you know any Twenty One Pilots songs? We both like them.”

I laugh and pull her against my chest.

“Sing the song about the gold house,” she says.

I run my hand soothingly over her head and start to sing quietly.

She’s nodding as I sing, letting me know that’s the right song.

I continue singing the song, stroking her hair, until the song is over and she’s finally asleep.

I gently slip out of her bed and stare down at her. Drunk Clara is kind of funny. I’d prefer to have seen it for the first time when she was twenty-one, but at least it happened here, where I’m the one who gets to make sure she’s taken care of.

I tuck her blanket around her and then kiss her good night. “You’re driving me crazy right now, Clara . . . but my God, I love you.”