I suppose she does see it, but she accepts it, thinking she deserves to be guilt-tripped for the rest of her life.
I’m still angry as my eyes travel to the building’s entrance. This was supposed to be a simple, easy dinner with her brother and his family. Maybe I should have bitten my tongue and stayed like she wanted. Maybe I shouldn’t have left her alone with them, without anyone to support and defend her. But she made her choice, didn’t she? She chose them.
Something moves in the lit-up entry hall of the building, and my heart jumps in my chest. Could it be her? Is she coming after me?
A couple comes through the large glass door, dressed up for whatever party they are attending. My hopes turn into bitter disappointment. She’s still up there with them, sticking to her decision.
Five minutes. I’ll give her five minutes and then leave. She deserves at least that.
I count to three hundred, using that time to calm down. And then I count for another three hundred seconds. When I finish this time, I accept that she’s not coming down. She’s choosing her mother. Not me.
The drive back to Brooklyn is a blur. I replay the evening in my head, feeling hollow inside. How the fuck can Gen descend from those people? It makes no sense that she became the incredible person she is despite growing up under their thumb. But then, she was an entirely different person when I first met her, wasn’t she?
She was a haughty snob, so shocked by my appearance that she tried to weasel out of it. It was through time and dedication that I unearthed the woman I’ve come to know and love. So, maybe I should have guessed the kind of people her parents would be.
When I reach the floor of my loft, I can hear the commotion on the roof. The guys left the staircase door open, and music as well as voices reach me. Fuck, I forgot about this.
I don’t feel like joining Eli and Kill up there, so I pull out my keys and unlock my door. I need some time alone with my dog, gathering my thoughts and figuring out what the fuck I’ll do now.
“Mull?” I call out as I enter the dark flat. The glow of the streetlights through the large windows is enough for me to notice the stillness of the space. Mulligrubs isn’t here, meaning Eli probably took her up there.
I kick the door closed behind me, not flicking the lights on. Once my jacket is thrown on a chair by the entrance, I walk up to the liquor cabinet. I pick up the first bottle and wince when I discern the label. It’s the whiskey Gen and I enjoyed when we sampled a few bottles for The Devil’s Court.
I don’t bother grabbing a glass and go to the couch, where I slump down. Once the cap’s off, I drink up a few mouthfuls, the amber liquor burning my throat. It’ll soon do its magic, and the pain that won’t leave my chest, right under my left ribs, will eventually be numbed by it. And those reruns of our fight will stop playing in my mind over and over again.
The dark stillness that surrounds me is punctuated by the noises that come through the ceiling. It sounds like they’re having fun up there, but I don’t feel like joining them. Pretending all is fine around friends and colleagues is above my strength.
There’s no one I can talk to about this. The guys wouldn’t understand, and I’m pretty sure whatever advice they’d come up with would be shit. It’s rare for me to miss my mum, but at that moment, I wish she were still around. She’d know exactly what to say, how to make me feel better, and what I should do with this mess. Mum was always patient and soft, and she used to give the best advice.
A question I’ve been asking myself a few times resurfaces. Would she have liked Gen? The two are very different, and while Mum would have been happy that I found my one person in this world, I can’t decide if she would have genuinely liked her. In return, I know that Gen would have loved Mum. She would have seen what a true mother should be like, and she would have understood that Vivienne Kensington isn’t worth all the ache she puts herself through.
It’s like my whole body jump-starts when my phone vibrates, about twenty minutes and fifteen gulps of whiskey later. Is it her?
I quickly take my phone out of my back pocket to look at the caller ID. Disappointment strikes yet again when I see the words “Aunt Maggie” instead of “My Favorite Redhead.” With a sigh, I throw the phone to the side and take another couple of sips.
Gen will come around. She’s too clever to let her mother break us up.
The call goes to voicemail, but it starts ringing again moments later. A look to the side informs me it’s still my aunt. She rarely insists like this, so I pick up the phone with a frown. I do some quick math as I take the call. It’s around noon in Brisbane, so it’s not a middle-of-the-night kind of emergency.
“Hey, Mags,” I greet her, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Jakey! I hope I’m not interrupting your celebrations.”
“No, it’s good. I just got home.”
“Isn’t it a little early for you?”
The hint of judgment in her tone makes me chuckle. “Things didn’t go as planned, so I cut my evening short.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, love. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. What about you? Everything fine down under?”
“Yeah, all good. I just wanted to let you know that the first check will be a little delayed. We had some water damage, so we spent more than we intended in June.”
Well, at least I know that stubbornness runs in my genes. I hold back a groan, sitting up straight. “Mags, I already told you there was no need to pay me back.”
“We want to.”
