Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Emphasis on stick…
Taking their whips to me…
Entitled people…
Privileged assholes…
We were both creative.
We could both be prone to drama.
But this was intense language, and because it was, an unexpected cold started creeping over me.
“Are there deeper issues we should be talking about?” I asked hesitantly.
“Not if we’re not getting into the nitty-gritty,” he answered.
“I think maybe we need to.”
He sat straight.
And then he announced, “Great then. Mom’s dying of cancer.”
I gasped.
“Yep,” he said. “She wants me to come and see her. She wants the kids to come and see her. Or, at least, Dad does since he called to share this. Therefore, I’m sure you won’t be surprised, he was thrilled we’re working on things and I’m sure he wants you to come and see her, but mostly that means he wants you to come and see him.”
“Remy,” I whispered, watching him closely because this had to be confusing news to him.
But the bottom line was, your mom was your mom.
“And by the way, he’s been calling these last few days, but I didn’t talk to him until after I got off the phone with you yesterday. And that was the first time I’d talked to him in three years.”
Another gasp and then I asked, “Three years?”
A short nod and then, “Not a surprise, Mom was far from upset we broke up and she was happy to explain that to me as only Mom can do. Dad was devastated, but he didn’t call to share that. When I hung up on Mom and blocked her, Dad called not to say how upset he was that I’d done something as fucking stupid as leaving my beautiful wife. Nor did he call to try to explain why Mom behaved the way she did and apologize in her stead. He demanded I make amends. To her.”
“Some things don’t change,” I said hesitantly, saying this, but thinking how much I wished they did, especially around this very thing for Remy. And more hesitantly, I asked, “Are you going?”
“Did you fuck someone after I left?”
Hang on.
Wait.
Okay.
Um.
Hell no.
Remy did this, and it always happened around a discussion about his parents.
Precisely, anytime I got near to understanding how he truly felt about them.
Obviously, it wasn’t hard to discern they weren’t close. Equally, it wasn’t hard to discern they were difficult people, so it would be no fun having them as parents and that easily segued into them not being close.
But any deep discussion about this was a no go.
He’d try deflection. Or he’d attempt distraction.
Or he’d pick a fight.
All of which he was doing right now with that one question.
“Let’s stay on target,” I suggested.
“No, Wyn. I’d like to know how guilty I really should feel about how I fucked up with Myrna.”
Do not bite, Wyn!
“You don’t need to feel guilty, Remy. We were divorced. You were free to do what you wished.” It took a lot, but I said it, and I wasn’t sure I meant it, but that didn’t stop it from being the truth. “Now, let’s get back to the equally uncomfortable subject of your mother dying.”
“I was free to do what I wished, so you were too, is that what you’re saying?”
“Okay, let’s just get out of the nitty-gritty,” I requested, maybe somewhat desperately. “How was your day?”
“My day was shit because my mom’s dying, my kids have to go back and forth between two houses because I failed my marriage, and my wife is dodging a direct question because she doesn’t want to say to my face she took a cock that is not mine.”
Ding!
Done.
“Remy!” I snapped. “Stop being an ass.”
“Just tell me, did you fuck someone else, Wyn?”
“We never have to talk about this.”
“Okay then, I’ll let that slide for now. Do you forgive me for Myrna?”
“I don’t even know all the reasons why you walked out on me,” I reminded him. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse and get into all of this.”
“So that means…no. You don’t forgive me.”
“I know you don’t have a close relationship with your mom. I know why. Now she’s ill and she wants her family around her, and her family is my family, so we need to talk about that.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know why, Wyn.”
“Sorry?”
“You don’t know why I’m not close with my mother.”
Oh God.
Now that we were here, with that new look on his face, did I want to know?
I wasn’t sure.
My mouth was because it ordered, “Then tell me, Remy.”
After decades of evading this, he immediately turned his head and pointed to a white scar that was around three inches long. It marred his tanned skin about an inch down from his hairline, just behind his ear.
I’d asked him about it years ago.
He’d told me it was a rugby injury. He was down on the pitch and got stepped on by some cleats.