Think about it, babe. The things you said in your videos and on television.
What kind of mother was she? More like, what kind of daughter was I?
Then there was the time Alavita Hodges asked me if Mom had taught me about life hacks or self-esteem. What had I said?
She didn’t have time to teach me those things.
The look in her eyes when she’d walked out haunted me.
Determination and hurt.
She’d just given me one heckuva lesson about self-esteem when she walked out the door because her only daughter hadn’t respected her.
All these years I’d blamed her for my father leaving; I’d wanted to be nothing like her. All the while, she’d been teaching me how to drive stick shift in a car she couldn’t really afford to insure and shuffling me to drama practice—even offering a shoulder to cry on when I couldn’t overcome my stage fright enough to take the lead role. She’d been there at every performance, every test, every milestone. She’d tried to talk some sense into Mitch and make him promise that I’d finish my degree. When that failed, she made sure I had the house in my name and money of my own because she knew.
She. Knew.
And what was her reward? Putting up with a thousand barbs about how I was a better wife because I wasn’t likeher.
Now I wanted nothing more than to be like her.
But I’d screwed up.
I’d screwed up in so many ways.
I reached for Lucky, but she was gone, too.
I trudged to the backyard, desperate to catch a glimpse of her one green eye. I flashed the light into all the bushes I hadn’t trimmed because I was waiting—hoping—someone else would do it. When Lucky still didn’t appear no matter how much I willed her to, prayed for her to, I dragged myself around the house and back to my lonely bedroom.
Then I raged and cried and screamed into my pillow the way my mother had taught me to.
The next morning, I’d have to get up and put one foot in front of the other.
Mom had taught me that, too.
Chapter 32
The next night I sat out in the cul-de-sac by myself. I stared holes into the fence of the house across from mine.
I texted Abi, but she didn’t answer.
I started to text Rachel, but I was afraid to. If she’d been fired, she’d never want to speak to me again. It was well past her usual late arrival.
Shivering, I pulled my coat around me tightly.
Parker wasn’t coming. I’d called him—didn’t want a written record of the conversation after the pictures yesterday—and told him about what had happened. He agreed it would be better if he stayed away.
Even if he didn’t want to.
Did I want him to?
Memories of his kiss came unbidden. How his kiss had sent a tremor through me, how he’d defended me against myself when he said, “Don’t talk about my beautiful friend Vivian like that.”
I could easily cross the cul-de-sac and knock on his door. He would take me into his arms, and I would—
He was so handsome, so kind, and a good father to boot. But what if he was only interested in me because I was someone he couldn’t have? Would I lose my appeal once I was available?
He said you were worth waiting for.
