ever see you as is an employee.”
“Jesus, you give me a headache from your whiplash of emotions.”
“Georgia, move on. Be with someone else!”
She throws a glass down. “I can’t because you don’t want me to! You stop me.”
I only nod and walk away.
She isn’t the same Georgia for the rest of the week.
Somehow, it’s like every feeling she had for me is gone … except for the hating part.
I’m an asshole for being sad that she doesn’t want me anymore since I’m the one who turned her down.
That night in my office changed everything between us.
It wrote in stone that we’re done.
Over.
Nothing.
And never will be.
I grab the most expensive bottle of alcohol from my kitchen and throw it across the room. I wish I were a different man, one who could give her what she wanted, one who wasn’t fucked up in the head.
One who wasn’t responsible for someone else’s death.
20
Georgia
“How are your classes going?”
My mom glances up from her plate at my question. We’re at the Moccasin Diner, where she works and the place we meet at once a week. It’s not the best diner in Anchor Ridge. The checkered floor tile is dingy, the silverware is always bent, and it’s a trucker hot spot. Every time I leave, I cross my fingers I don’t get food poisoning.
I don’t come for the food. I come for her.
To cheer her on, so she never turns to drugs again.
So far, the ride to developing a relationship has been smooth. It’s nice to finally have a mother. Even though it’s only halfway, it’s still better than nothing.
It should’ve happened sooner, though.
She should’ve been there since day one.
I’m working hard not to hold that resentment toward her, but it hasn’t been easy. Cohen was the one there for me—when my period started, after my first heartbreak, during my first hangover, preparing me for college.
Not my mother.
Not my father.
Not two people who were meant to be my biggest supporters.
Cohen.
Every week, I struggle to put it aside, knowing we’ll have to talk about it eventually.
People make mistakes.
Drugs make people selfish.
That’s why I haven’t fully thrown myself into a relationship with her—in fear of her disappearing. Cohen refuses to see or talk to her. He passes off my visits as something that will only break me in the end.
The thing with me is, my heart survives a beating.
It can get fractured in every way possible, nearly destroyed, and I’ll still pick up every piece. I’ll gather them one by one and then hand them over to someone even more reckless.
Sometimes, my heart is too good for me.
Sometimes, it’s too bad for me.
It’s also why I am who I am and why I love so hard.
In the end, I can say I tried—tried with my mother, my father, Archer.
I gave every single one of them an opportunity. What they chose to do with it was up to them.
She smiles at me from across our booth, one nestled against a window. “Good. I’m attending them every night I don’t work and have been saving up my money to get my own place when I leave the halfway house.”
Her cheeks are sunken from the drug’s long-term effects. She’s gradually gaining weight, and her halfway house drug-tests her every three days. She’s missing two bottom teeth, and the others aren’t in great condition—another side effect from the addiction. Her plan is to save enough money for dentures.
“That’s awesome! Congratulations.” I reach out and grab her hand, squeezing it tightly before pulling it away and taking a sip of my strawberry milkshake.
“How are your classes going?”
“Good. I’m ready to graduate and forget about midterms and papers and exams.”
“I’m so proud of you.” She places her palm on her chest over her heart. “My daughter, a college graduate.”
I blush.
“All on her own … without a mother.”
I open my mouth to tell her it wasn’t all on my own. I had Cohen, but she sniffles and keeps talking.
“I’m so sorry, Georgia. For failing you, Cohen, our family.” She wipes at her eyes. “My apology will never make up for my absence, and I’m not asking for a pass. You and Cohen will never forget my neglect, but someday, I hope you can forgive me for it.”
“I understand,” I reply with silent tears.
Her love for the drug was stronger than the one for her family.
I pray that’s changed.
That her yearning for forgiveness is stronger than her love for a high.
21
Archer
What’s harder?
Hating someone or acting like you hate someone?
Forcing yourself to push them away?
Georgia stares