he Resolution of Callie & Kayden (The Coincidence, #6)(48)

‘Well, I’m sorry we make you so miserable.’ She sounds anything but sorry. Irritated, yes. Sorry, no. There’s a pause and I think she’s waiting for me to disagree with her statement, but I’m not going to. ‘Well, anyway. I thought I’d call to let you know you’re now officially fatherless.’

‘Okay.’ Again, I feel nothing.

Nothing.

Empty.

Cold.

Without a heart.

Except I do have a heart.

It just beats for someone else.

For people who deserve it.

Callie.

‘Jesus, Kayden, you could at least pretend to sound upset about it,’ she says in a surprisingly even tone for someone who just lost her husband.

‘Yeah, well, I guess I’m not as good at pretending as you are.’ I lower my head into my hand, wanting to take what I said back because it’s rude and spiteful, and I don’t want to be that. But I can’t bring myself to retract what I’m really feeling and pretend.

‘I can’t believe how you’re acting,’ she snaps. ‘I raised you to be better than this. Raised you to be the kind of person that would at least come say goodbye to their father before he passed. You know how weird it looked to the doctors and nurses for none of his children to show up?’ My mother has always been into appearances, her motto being that as long as everyone thinks everything is perfect, then it is.

‘About as bad as it looked for the entire town when I got arrested, I’m sure. Or when I was committed because of my cutting.’

‘I can’t believe you’re bringing that up.’

‘And I can’t believe you called me.’ I get up from the bed and start pacing the room, trying to channel my adrenaline in the healthiest way I can think of. I will not give in. I won’t. ‘Dylan could have given me the update.’

‘Update? I can’t believe you just called your father’s death an update.’ She’s verging toward crying. I should feel bad, but I can’t find the will to bring that emotion out of me for her. ‘After everything he did for you; put you into sports, put a roof over your head, bought you all the things you needed.’

‘There’s so much more to life than materialism, Mother. And so much more to being a parent than buying your children the shit they need, like, say, loving them and not beating them up or stabbing them.’

‘I didn’t do any of those things.’ She tries to sound calm, but I can tell she’s crying, almost losing it completely, which is something I’ve never seen or heard her do before.

I should stop.

I should care enough to stop.

But I don’t.

‘No, you just let it happen,’ I say through gritted teeth, ‘which is just as bad.’

‘We are not bad parents!’ she cries hysterically, shocking me because I honestly didn’t think she possessed emotion. ‘We’re not …’ The last part sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, not me.

I can’t take it anymore. Bad mother or not, I don’t want to be the kind of person to bring others pain. Don’t want to be like them. Don’t want to carry this heaviness in me anymore. I want to let it go – be free. So I make a choice, one that will hopefully set me free.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘For saying all those things …’ Even though they’re true.

‘Good. Now, let’s talk about your father’s funeral and what you can help me with.’

I stop pacing. ‘No.’

‘What?’ She sounds shocked.

‘I’m not helping you with any of that.’

‘But he’s your father …’ That’s the best argument she can come up with and it’s sad. ‘And you just said you were sorry.’

‘Yeah, for saying hateful things,’ I say, breathing through the pain tearing at my chest, through the tears starting to fall. I’m letting go – accepting what is. I can feel myself on the edge of it. But the thing is, I’m letting go of a lot and I’m worried I’m going to explode when I finally say goodbye to it all – the hate, the pain, the resentment. ‘But not for feeling the way that I do. I’ll never be sorry for that, nor will I help with his funeral.’

‘So you’re not coming.’ She’s still crying, but she sounds angry.

‘I might, but I’m not sure yet.’ I stand up and grab my car keys and jacket before heading out of the room. ‘You can give Dylan the details and then he can pass them along to me.’

‘You’re a terrible son.’

The only things that keep me from listing off the terrible things she is, are 1) She’s hurting and even though I despise her, I don’t want to be that person. And 2) It doesn’t matter; she’s my past if I choose to let her be.

And I think I do.

‘That’s your opinion’ – I jerk open the front door, telling myself to keep breathing, to keep doing what I’m doing. Moving forward … move forward … one step at a time – ‘and I can live with that.’ I make another choice and hang up, not giving her any more room to insult me or make me angry.

I head for my car and then in the direction of quite possibly the best choice I have ever made.