Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Who the fuck is everyone?” I bitterly bite back. “I’m living in a secluded lake house for fuckssake!”
“Don’t raise your voice at me!”
“Don’t give me a reason to raise my fucking voice!”
Koose Koose aggressively honks yanking me out of the rage spiral she makes it so easy to slip into.
Fuckin’ Hades, man.
The list of reasons to never be around her is one that’s so easy to curate that I may do it just to prove to June further I know how to make lists.
Sucking in a deep breath allows me to momentarily regain my composure.
My calmness.
The emotions I prefer, as opposed to the ones she conjures.
“Why are you here?” Preventing resentment out of my tone is impossible. “Why are you here ruining the little piece of happiness I manage to find in spite of you?”
“So, you’re allowed to find happiness, but I’m not?”
Her accusation receives a small, twitched glare.
“Why is it okay for you, Tucker, to move on from Rachel after all these years, but I can’t do the same?”
“I wasn’t married to Rachel. And not once have I ever tried to fucking replace her.”
“And I haven’t tried to replace your dad.”
“Liar!” is screeched from me without reluctance. “That’s all you’ve done since he died! You erased what you could by giving his shit away like a cheap garage sale and the sentimental shit you couldn’t just David Copperfield out of your life you locked away like it was treasure in an Indiana Jones sequel never to be seen again!” Outrage rips through my voice in the next spew of words. “And then after you successfully obliterate him from existence, you decide to hitch yourself to some discount textbook thumping version of him who is so. Goddamn. Desperate. For a son that instead of just accepting my cancellations of meeting him for coffee for what they obviously are – polite refusals to have a relationship – that he bends ass over easel backwards to try to accommodate me! It’s pathetic. Because you’re pathetic.”
“That’s. Enough.” She hisses in a tone I swear I haven’t heard since childhood. “You wanna hate me? Fine. Hate me. Hate me forever. I’m your fucking mother. It comes with the territory. Children hate their mothers all the time!” Her hands are thrown defeatedly in the air. “And they blame them for fucking everything because blaming us is easier than accepting responsibility for their own shit! Or dealing with the trauma of their own shit! Or having to maybe unselfishly think about how deep or painful a situation was for their own mother who was in it too! God, Tucker, you runaway every chance you get blaming me for burying your dad, but not once did you stop and consider that maybe I was grieving just like you were! That maybe it was easier for me to ignore the gaping hole in my soul by locking it away rather than facing it day after day after day alone! And you know what else, boy who cried brat?! I gave your dad’s clothes and shoes and other random shit away to a vet charity because in his will, he told me to. He told me to only keep the things that had sentimental value and memories because at the end of it all that’s what people need to cherish not things.”
The new information creates a lump too large to swallow in my throat.
“And I’m okay with you hating me for the rest of your life if it leaves his memory untarnished. If it allows you to forget about all the hard moments, you two faced. How you loved him but hated how you never felt man enough in his eyes. Or how he never felt understanding enough in yours. Hate me all you want, Tuck, because I’m still here. I can still have something with you that he can’t, and I would rather be your emotional punching bag than ever let you dwell on the last words you might’ve said to him in anger or how many times you slammed a door in his face or told him to fuck off. I will take every verbal hit, every ounce of pain that comes from having my call ignored or declined, as long as you cherish the man who raised you for the incredible man he truly was.”
Tears join the anxiety clogging my vocal cords.
Were we really ever at odds?
Weren’t we always on the same side?
The same team?
Were there really moments where he wasn’t the incredible, untarnished hero I’ve painted him to be in my mind?
“Keep hating me, Tucker, but do not and I mean do not,” her pointed finger is jammed my direction, “hate Rich simply for trying to get to know you. For giving a shit about you because he loves me, and I love him.”
“You know just because you managed to love him, doesn’t mean I fucking have to.”