“You think you’re special?” she continued, her voice slicing. “That you’ll get a happy ending because he’s rich and smitten?Reality doesn’t care how charming a man is when the fantasy dries up.”
I blinked. “Maybe your dream dried up, Mom. Don’t take it out on me.”
Her eyes flashed, but I didn’t back down.
“Yes, he’s rich, and smitten, and charming…,” I trailed off, heart pounding. My hand rose instinctively to rest on my chest.
Hearing her words out loud struck me. That couldn’t be. My breath caught, no words came. I stared at her for a few stunned seconds, then turned and walked to my room. But for once I wasn’t just fleeing.
This was a different Mel than last year—even different from a few months ago. I couldn’t stay here tonight. I needed space to process everything running through my head. I packed an overnight bag and walked out the door.
Sean’s car was parked out front when I arrived at his house.
I let myself in.
He appeared from the hallway. “Hey.”
“Hey—” My voice cracked, and out of the blue, a tear slid down my cheek, another one followed. Damn it. Lately, my tear ducts loved making a dramatic entrance.
He paused mid-step, confused, but then he crossed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me without a word. I melted against him as my tear ducts popped champagne corks, one after another.
“What is it? What happened?” His voice rumbled through me.
He stroked my back, his other hand smoothing my hair. I probably sounded like the world’s messiest faucet, but it freaking hurt. By the time I calmed down, his shirt was damp. Again. A soaked déjà vu of the bar celebration night.
I wasn’t a weepy woman, not usually. I cried when Vince dumped me, but lately, it didn’t take much to crack me open.The dam holding back my tears kept bursting without warning, spilling onto Sean’s shirts and his dry-cleaning bills.
He tilted his head, searching my face, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Come sit,” he said. “I’ll get you a drink.”
I sank into the couch while he moved to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with two glasses, each crowned with a straw.
“Sangria,” he said simply, setting one down in front of me.
“Thanks.” I glanced toward the hallway. “Cassy?”
“Abby took her camping with a group of other moms and kids.”
Relief swept through me. The last thing I needed was to fall apart in front of them.
I took a sip. Fruity, sweet, lightly fizzy. I scooped a pineapple slice with my straw and chewed slowly, letting the sugar distract me. My brain was a tangled ribbon of self-pity and guilt.
“I feel selfish, dumping my mess on you when you have your own,” I finally said.
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “If you’re upset, I want to know. Always.”
That stopped me mid-swirling the drink with the straw. I looked at him then. His belief in me was like a mental massage, smoothing the nerves and the shame. Or maybe it was the pineapple... nope, definitely him.
But his posture didn’t match the tenderness of his voice. His hand had brushed my hair earlier soothing, but his arm stayed locked, his shoulders tight.
“Did you find anything about your dad? Is he okay?” I asked gently.
He swallowed a sip. “He’s fine. He told them proudly how his offspring did something right even if he failed.”
My eyes went wide. “I thought it would require some digging and twists, but he…? I’m sorry, Sean.”
He shrugged. “I have to learn to live with the fact that some screwed selfishness never changes.”
