echoing one of the last conversations we had. His words about how lonely she is in spite of all the glitz and glamour. About forgiveness, and if he can forgive her, why shouldn’t I?
“I have so many regrets about the things I did, the choices I made. I know Tommy was able to forgive me because he ended up where he was supposed to be, with you and CeCe. She really is something, you know.”
I narrow my eyes at her; the audacity of this woman continues to amaze me. “Of course I know.”
“She’s been coming by the set on her days off,” Monica says.
I sit up straight, trying not to let the shock show on my face. The whole point of Jill giving CeCe Wednesdays off was so she wouldn’t be at the café when Monica showed up, not so CeCe could have the day free to spend with her.
Monica doesn’t pick up on my shift in demeanor or she doesn’t care, because she keeps talking. “It’s hard not to think about what might have been, if things had been different. If I had the baby.” My fists tighten as she says the words that confirm my suspicions of her motives with CeCe. “Anyway, my offer, what I told CeCe, to have her come out to L.A. and stay with me for a few weeks, it’s still open.”
“She is my daughter.” I say the words slowly and clearly so there’s no mistaking the matter. “You may regret what you did, but you can’t undo it. And you can’t have my daughter. She is not going to Hollywood or anywhere else with you.”
“I hate you!”
I look up. CeCe is standing on the sidewalk, listening to us. Her words shoot straight to my heart.
“Dad would let me go,” CeCe says, and I know she isn’t wrong. She takes the porch steps in one giant leap, throwing the front door open as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.
“CeCe,” Monica calls, trying to help. It doesn’t.
My lost and sad and angry daughter hesitates at the door, glaring in my direction. “I wish it was you that died.”
I stand there, accepting my punishment as I silently count to ten, when I know her bedroom door will slam so hard I’ll feel it in my bones.
Monica stands, looking as out of place here as I would in her world. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on.”
“Let me just give you my card, in case you change your mind.” She reaches into her expensive purse that matches her expensive shoes and pulls out a shiny white business card.
I fold my arms, making it clear I have no interest in having any contact with her, not now or ever. I walk past her and into the house, closing the door on her once and for all.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
CeCe
The last time I stopped talking to my mom, I only lasted a few hours. But that was different because Dad was there. This time, it’s easy.
It’s already been a few days and I haven’t said a word.
She’s talked to me plenty. More like talked at me. I swear, the title of single parent has already gone to her head and she’s making decisions left and right as if she’s the only one affected by them.
She decided that we’re going back to Atlanta today even though school doesn’t start for three more weeks. I know I threw a fit about coming down here in the first place, but it was different then. Everything was different. I was different.
I lie back on my bed and stare up at the collection of dull stars on the ceiling, spinning the blue yoyo around in my hand.
“CeCe?” Mom calls upstairs as if she’s expecting an answer. She should be happy I’m not talking to her because if I were, she wouldn’t like the things I’d tell her.
To say that I’m mad would be the understatement of the century—she’s managed to single-handedly ruin a life that was already pretty ruined. Now, not only am I a girl without a father, but I’m a girl whose mother put her own selfish pride ahead of her only daughter’s dream. Monica’s not even texting me back now. I wrote her to say I was sorry and that I still wanted to go to L.A. with her. I can tell she read the text, but she hasn’t written back. Mom ruined that, too.
I hear footsteps coming up the stairs—too light to be Mom’s.