Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
He let me finish, then he looked at me and he said I didn't have to fix everything right now. I could take time off if I needed it (I needed routine) and I didn't have to share if I didn't want to share (I didn't) but he needed to know if he should look out for anything.
And then he hugged me.
It was probably inappropriate. Really inappropriate. But it felt so warm and safe and accepting.
I didn't have to pretend anymore.
Liam saw me.
I didn't want him to see me, but he did.
It was terrifying but it was freeing too. I didn't have to hide anymore.
"I've had the same problems too," I say. "Since I was a teenager, on and off. I first got help in college. That was when I realized my mom went through the same thing. Still went through the same thing. I tried to talk to her about it, but she… I don't know. There's this gulf between us. It's hard."
Preston nods.
"I don't think it was the right time. I try to be gentle with her." The way I'd want someone to be gentle with me. The way Liam was. "Sometimes, I'm too stuck, too still, and any sort of movement is abrupt. It sends me back into my shell. So I still try, I still try to be soft with her when she's in another phase, but it's hard."
"It's not fair to you, having to take care of her."
"Who else will do it?"
"Your father?"
"He does. In some ways. That's the strange thing. He sleeps with other women. He has affairs. Some are short. Some last years. And they always send her into a depressive cycle, when she finds out. But he still makes sure she has a safe place to stay. He still gives her space and takes her out to dinner and keeps food in the fridge. He's not there to make it. I had to do that. I was cooking dinner when I was eight. First, frozen chicken tenders in the microwave. Or cans of soup. Then, sandwiches. Tacos. Spaghetti and meatballs."
"You father?"
"He was never home early enough. He'd take us to dinner on the weekends. He'd dote on us on the weekends. He was there. He was an attentive father. Until I pushed him away."
"Because of the affairs?"
I nod. "I couldn't forgive him. I thought he abandoned Mom. Abandoned us."
"It's normal to feel hurt."
"She had phases. The way I do, only much worse. But when she was on the upswing… when she is on the upswing, you've never met anyone so loving and bright." I almost smile at a memory of Mom taking us to San Diego. Then I remember two weeks after. Her locked in her room. Me signing a permission slip for a field trip, my sister crying because she didn't have lunch for school, the long, silent nights at home. "I guess I blamed my dad. Marriage. Kids. Maybe that wasn't all of it, but it was a big part. And I don't want that. I don't want to lose my vibrancy." I blink and a tear catches on my lashes.
Preston offers his hand.
I take it. Squeeze tightly. "Thanks, I… I don't think I've said this out loud. It's just fucked up."
His laugh is sad. "It is. Children shouldn't take care of their parents."
"Not when we're young, maybe. But when we're older… isn't that what people expect?"
"Some. But that isn't fair either. I wanted to have a child. I wanted three or four, but Ella and I were only able to have one. We adored Harrison. We wanted him more than anything. He loves us too, but he didn't ask to be born. He doesn't owe us anything."
"He would want to take care of you though."
"Maybe. But as his father, I owe it to him to take care of myself."
Maybe. I don't know. Everything is running together. "I haven't told anyone this."
"Liam doesn't know?"
"He does." Sort of. He knows about my depression, but we haven't really talked about it beyond the practical.
He knows my parents have a fucked-up marriage.
He knows I don't believe in love.
Not bad, what with us kissing for the first time last week, but he's supposed to be my fiancé, so, uh…
Shit.
"Why did you say yes?" Preston asks. "When he asked you to marry you, you said yes?"
"I did." Technically.
"Why?"
"I trust him."
"But you still worry?"
I nod. "That I'll feel trapped. Or end up like my mom. Or see him with other women."
"You doubt his faithfulness?"
"It's not that I think he'd cheat. I just can't see marriage in that light. It feels like a prison. I… I'm sorry. I'm really bringing down the wedding mood."
"Don't be sorry. I asked. And I want to know."
I nod.
"Don't apologize for your feelings, Briar. Even if it's to a nice old man who rambles about his kid."