False Start - Jessica Ruddick Page 0,100

her lips. It was a total show. But their hands remained clasped, and he brushed his thumb over her hand, lingering before he turned his attention back to the turkey.

They love each other. Despite their self-centered, egotistical tendencies, they loved one another. Holy fuck. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, but it was. I’d always assumed my parents stayed together because it was mutually beneficial for them. I’d never thought love had anything to do with it.

“Carson,” my mother said to me, “we missed you at the engagement party. There were a lot of people I wanted to introduce you to.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” I tried to sound sincere, even though I would have rather been anywhere but there. “But my team is my priority.”

She held my gaze for a moment. “I understand that. Loyalty is an admirable trait.”

I remembered Chelsea’s words from yesterday—that was as close to a compliment as I would get from her. But knowing what I now knew, I was going to try to accept it for what it was and have it be enough.

Dinner consisted of more polite conversation, and though I failed a lot of the time, I tried not to look at everything my parents said through a cynical lens. I was only a tiny step closer to understanding them, but that one step had already made a huge difference because it made me realize that the problem was partially my perception of them. The revelation was mind-blowing.

Once we’d cleared the dishes and put them in the kitchen for the housekeeper to take care of the next day, we returned to the table for pie, coffee, and more polite conversation.

My mother looked at me over the rim of her mug. “Will you be rushing off to the Zizzos for a second meal now?” Her question wasn’t surprising considering I’d ridden my bike over there to do exactly that every year since I was twelve, but I was a little surprised she’d remembered.

“No, I…” I looked down, and the blue of my cast caught my eye. It was bare. Though Becca had bought me markers, I hadn’t done anything with them. It had been kind of a silly thought to have people sign my cast considering I was nearly twenty-two, but that wasn’t why she’d done it. She’d wanted to cheer me up, and instead I’d pushed her away. Pain seized my heart as her words from another time sounded in my mind.

You’re the one who’s hurting me, Carson.

This time, I couldn’t deny it. I’d hurt her and for no reason. Well, no good reason anyway. My damn insecurities were no excuse for hurting the only woman I’d ever loved—the only woman I would ever love.

I’m such an idiot. I’d done some pretty stupid shit in my life, but this was a next-level fuckup.

Becca’s voice sounded in my mind again. You know where to find me.

Hell yeah, I did. My chair screeched backward on the hardwood floor as I stood. “Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I gotta go.” On my way past my sister, I leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You’re the best.”

Then I raced out the front door.

***

Becca

“NO, MRS. MESERVE,” I said gently, my patience wearing thin. “That’s not Nia. Remember? I introduced you to Rayowa. She goes to VVU with me.”

“Oh.” The older woman nodded, but I could tell by the confused look in her eyes that what I’d said hadn’t registered. Dementia had taken root in Mrs. Meserve since the last time I saw her.

I turned to Rayowa, who was seated on my other side at the table. “Sorry. She gets confused easily.”

“It’s okay,” Rayowa said. “She reminds me of my great-grandmother. She could never keep me and my sisters straight, and lately she has been calling us by our mother and aunts’ names.”

I was grateful Rayowa was taking it in stride. It seemed that every time I looked up, Mrs. Meserve was talking to her as if she were Nia, the little girl who used to live next door. The real Nia was now in her thirties and a mother of three.

Across the table, my dad and my great-uncle Howie on my mother’s side were arguing loudly about baseball, and it sounded like Uncle Howie had just insulted my father’s beloved Orioles. Lord help us. Good thing we had a police officer present. Oh, wait. He’s the one screaming at the dinner table. I winced as some four-letter words floated through the air.

“Sorry,” I told Rayowa. “Thanksgiving at