Messy Love(35)

I chuckled and shook my head. The stretch of my lips hurt my cheeks after spending days without so much as a weak smile on my usually smiling face. “I can always count on you to shed light on this fuckedupness.’’

“You know you do. But I’m sorry. I mean, I’m the one who pushed you to get close to him.’’

“Come on, Sophie. We both know I was attracted to him.’’ I took a swig of my beer, and she mirrored me. “Anyway, it’s done and over now. He wanted me out of his life, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’’

“What about your birth mother?’’

“I went to meet her to know who she was and where I came from. I have my answers so now…’’ I trailed off and lost myself in the amber color of the beer in the tall glass. “I’m moving on.’’

“Mar,’’ she sighed, and I didn’t need to ask her what it was. I knew all too well. I wasn’t ready to move on.

“Let’s talk about something else instead. What’s going on with your family?’’

Her eyes probed, but I didn’t break down. I didn’t want to think about all of this anymore. Right now, I only wanted to focus on my friend and stop the pity party I had been having all week. After a few more sips of beer, she finally let it go and started talking about her last chat with her mother.

I had my issues with Wyatt and the fact that I got to meet my biological mother, but Sophie was always stuck with family drama, and yet she was always pushing through. I should follow her lead, and everything would be alright. It had to. After all, it had only been sex. It didn’t mean anything.

***





WYATT


I put down the dirty dishes in the sink. If I listened carefully, I could hear Ava’s laughter outside while she played with Ralph and my father. Usually, I’d be the first one to swing around my little sister until her light laughs full of joy filled me and the darkness ever present inside me subsided, even if only temporarily, but this time around I hid in my parents' kitchen.

This past week had been hard, more so than I imagined it would. A one night stand had never had such an impact on me, leaving me unsettled whenever I locked eyes with my mother, whenever I had too much time to think.

Marissa haunted me.

“What are you doing in here?’’ my mother asked, walking in the kitchen with the empty serving plate in her hands.

I looked away when I noticed the rings under her eyes and how pale she was. Meeting her biological daughter had rocked her more than she wanted to acknowledge. Once again, anger took hold of me, making me grip the countertop tightly until my joints ached, burning as hot as the anger inside.

Marissa fucked up my mother, fucked me up.

But at the same time, she didn’t do a damn thing wrong. I did by fucking her. I had wanted her fiercely, that’s not a lie, but I had also wanted her away from my family, and I had known fucking her would do just that.

“Just putting the dishes in the sink.’’ I shrugged and went to walk away when her hand on my arm stopped me.

“You never put the dishes in the sink unless I ask you to. What’s wrong?’’

I closed my eyes for a moment, hoping the damn pain in my fucking chest would go away, but it didn’t. Everything hurt these days. It all hung over my head, and it felt like if I made a single wrong move, it’d all fall over me and bury me until I didn’t exist anymore. My mother wouldn’t be able to look at me like she did right now if she knew I had sex with her daughter or if she knew the ugly reason why I did.

“Nothing’s wrong.’’

“Wyatt,’’ she sighed and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly before she led me to the kitchen table, forcing me to sit with her.

She used to do the same thing when I was an angry teenager, always bottling up everything until I turned mute or would only open my trap to utter grunts and poisonous words. She had never given up, and at some point, our little chats in the kitchen became our thing. It used to warm me up and put my fears to rest for a little while, but this time it was the opposite.

Fear clogged my mind until I was the same eight-year-old boy shivering in dirty clothes and waiting for social service to find somewhere for me to go after my father dropped me off and relinquished his parental rights. Only now, I was a twenty-four-year-old man, and I was pathetic, trapped in my insecurities and fears until it turned me into a despicable human being, someone I knew my adoptive family wouldn’t be proud calling their own.

“Talk to me,’’ my mother said, cajoling me with her voice that had always been able to calm me and make me believe that everything was possible for me. I knew better.

“I have nothing to say, Mom.’’

She patted my hand and then sat back, straightening the table set in front of her. “You used to say the same thing when you first came here to live with us. Do you remember what I told you?’’

Reluctantly, a small smile stretched my lips upward. It’s stiff and probably pitiful to look at, but it’s there, and it helped to chase away some of the darkness swallowing me more and more as minutes ticked. “You always said that it’s impossible to have nothing to say. There’s always something, even if it’s only to talk about the weather.’’

“And as the smart-ass you are, you went into a very long and detailed description of the day’s weather.’’ She laughed softly, eyes turned away as if reliving those memories. “It took you almost a year to open up to me.’’ She sighed and stared back at me. Her eyes with such a unique color reminded me so much of Marissa that I tensed again. “Don’t push me away again, Wyatt. We’re past that, don’t you think?’’