“I’ll check in tomorrow afternoon, so we can look at what else needs to be done.” The words echoed in his head. It sounded like he’d decided to go away for the weekend, rather than going to visit his potentially suicidal father.
Good. That’s exactly how you have to sound.
Chapter 22
“I think the term ‘ghosting’ was invented because of Reed McMahon. One minute everything is sexy and steamy; the next, you’re wondering if it was all a dream.”
—Don’tCallMeBaby
Darcy turned her phone over in her hands as she stood outside her mother’s house in Bensonhurst. The call from Reed’s assistant had thrown her for a loop and she found herself anxious and unsure of where to go. Remi and Annie were still at work.
But Darcy needed to take her mind off worrying about this man and his father when she had no right to do so. Her finger hovered above the doorbell. Would talking to her family make it better or worse? She never could tell.
She jabbed at the button and the bell chimed inside. A few seconds later, footsteps sounded and the door swung open.
“What a nice surprise.” Her mother’s face lit up for a second before faltering. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”
Wow. Had it been that long since she’d dropped by just because? “Hey, Ma. I’m fine. I was close by so I thought I’d see if you were home.”
“Come in.” She unlocked the screen door with a smile. “I’ve already finished dinner, but we have leftovers. I can make you a coffee too?”
“Coffee would be great.” The house was quiet. Only the sound of the grandfather clock ticking away in the living room broke the silence. “Where is everyone?”
“Cynthia is at a work function and Genio has gone to visit Enzo and Maria.”
“You didn’t want to go with him?”
Marietta gave a cheeky smile. “Even old married women need time alone. Cynthia showed me how to record my shows, so now I don’t miss out even if Genio wants to watch something else during the day.”
Her mom was having a girl’s night watching soap operas by herself. A quick glance into the living room confirmed that she’d eaten on the couch too, something Darcy never thought her mother would do.
“I don’t want to interrupt if you’re having some peace and quiet,” Darcy said.
“Nonsense.” Marietta patted her arm. “You never drop in anymore unless I tell you to come. I feel like I have to call it a family meal so you’ll actually visit.”
Normally the comment would have gotten under Darcy’s skin, but her mother had a point. These days she only came by because of Cynthia, that’s how much she’d let her relationship with her mother deteriorate.
“Come. I’ll put the coffee on.”
She followed her mother into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. The wedding. If Bridezillas were a thing, then what was the equivalent for the mother of the bride? Marietta had stuck her nose into everything from the dress choice to the catering to the floral arrangement to the guest list. She’d wanted a say in it all…and then, when it all went to hell, she’d done nothing but criticize.
“I made some biscotti this afternoon,” Marietta said as she pulled the old-fashioned Bialetti coffeemaker from the cupboard. No matter how many times Darcy had offered to buy her parents a fancy espresso machine, they refused. “It has almonds and orange peel. I’ll pack some up for you to take home. I’m sure Remi would enjoy them too.”
“I’m sure she would.”
She watched as her mother made the coffee—scooping the grounds into the filter, filling up the bottom chamber, and screwing the two components together. There was something ritualistic about it. Darcy remembered being a little girl and watching her mother repeat these exact steps over and over.
Marietta had been her world then, her perfect mama. Before Genio, before Cynthia. Before Darcy became the other child. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
“Hey.” Marietta set the coffeemaker down on the stove. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” She blinked the tears away, but her eyes were already feeling raw and watery. “A friend got some bad news about a family member. I’m worried for them.”
“Oh no.” Marietta frowned. “I’ll give you extra biscotti then. You can take them to your friend.”
Typical Italian. Always thinking that food would solve the world’s problems. “Thanks, Ma.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll make another batch for Genio tomorrow.”
“I, uh…” The weight of all their differences suddenly fell heavily on her chest. Coming here had dredged up the past, and now she couldn’t find the strength to push it back down. “I got rid of my wedding dress.”
Bracing herself, she waited for the torrent of criticism. The verbal lashing. But her mother only sighed.
“I know.”
Darcy blinked. “You do?”
“I saw the photographs.” Her mother’s mouth was downturned, but not in the way that usually accompanied a complaint about her appearance or single status. “The album. Cynthia and I were looking for the remote when we were at your apartment and I found it hidden under the newspapers.”
“Oh.” So her hiding spot hadn’t been that well thought out after all.
“I wish you had told me.” Marietta sighed. “Actually, I wish you had told me you didn’t want to keep the dress, so we could have done something with it instead of ruining it with paint. It was such a beautiful dress.”
She swallowed. “I hated it.”
“Really? But you looked so beautiful. Like a princess.”
“I’m not a princess, Ma.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Cynthia will get married and you’ll be able to dress her up like the perfect angel she is.”
Her mother went back to the stove, turning away so Darcy couldn’t see her expression. When the coffee was done, she poured the steaming, dark liquid into two cups and added a dash of milk to each.
“Do you think I’m harder on you than I am on Cynthia?” She carried the cups to the small, rickety table squashed into one corner of the kitchen and they both sat.
“Yeah, I do.”
She cradled her coffee cup. “Maybe I am.”
It’d been a long time since Darcy really looked at her mother. They only shared a few features—the small, heart-shaped face and vibrant-blue eyes. But everything else was different. Her mother had given more to Cynthia—soft brown hair, olive skin, pert nose, and small frame. Whereas Darcy assumed she got her near-black hair and porcelain complexion from her father…whoever he was.
“I worry that you don’t see your own potential,” Marietta said, working her way through the words slowly. “I worry that you sell yourself short because you don’t think people will like you. It’s why I saved the top of the cake.”
She sipped her drink, trying to understand what her mother was saying. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I wanted to remind you that even though it didn’t work out that time, it doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future. Time goes on, even when we don’t want it to.” She paused. “I didn’t want you to give up on finding love because of one bad experience.”
“Oh.”
That’s certainly not the message she’d taken from it. But, in fairness to her mother, Darcy had been hurting too much to ask her to clarify. The anniversary of getting jilted had hit her harder than she’d expected.
“I guess I’m tough on you because we’re so alike. When I see you getting frustrated, it reminds me of how I felt and I get angry at myself that I couldn’t save you from that heartbreak.”
Darcy stared at her mother. Never before had Marietta spoken to her like this…but then again, Darcy had always eschewed any real conversations, convinced she would end up feeling like even more of a failure in her mother
’s eyes.
“When I eventually found Genio, I was glad I kept going. I had told myself that was it for me. In those days, being single with a baby was not a respectable thing. Good girls didn’t get pregnant before marriage. I thought all men would see me as baggage.” Her eyes became misty. “But I loved you so much I was determined to set a good example. I would find the right man and I would be a good mother to you, even if I had started out so badly.”
“Because you got pregnant by accident?” She swallowed. “It happens. And, as much as I don’t agree with it, I get why you never wanted to talk about him. But it would have been nice to know who he was.”
Marietta looked down as though grappling with her own demons. “I never told you his name because I don’t know his name.”
Her mother’s words hit her like a punch to the solar plexus. All this time, she’d led Darcy to believe he was an old boyfriend who broke things off after news of the pregnancy.
“What do you mean you didn’t know his name?”
“I had a one-night stand. I know his first name was Peter, but I never knew his last name.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a linen handkerchief to dab her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to track him down with a first name alone and I was too ashamed to tell you.”
“Oh my God.” She reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. “I had no idea.”
“I thought to myself, ‘How can I be a good mother when I can’t even give her this one thing she wants so badly?’”
Darcy thought back to all the times she’d asked about her father. The requests had become more and more demanding through her teenage years, and all that time, she’d assumed the withholding of information came out of her mother’s selfishness. But instead it was shame.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said, squeezing her hand. “I have no idea where he is, if he’s dead or alive. I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Probably for the same reason you weren’t going to tell me about the dress.” She sipped her coffee. “We fear judgment from the ones we love.”
“And rejection,” Darcy added.
“And you’ll realize this one day if you have children of your own, but they all need different things from their mother.” She smiled, her expression wistful as if recalling a happy memory. “Cynthia was such an easy baby. She hardly cried and she slept well from the beginning. You were…difficult.”
“So not much has changed, huh?” Darcy toyed with her coffee cup.
“As you both grew up, I realized you were difficult because you needed to figure things out for yourself. You were curious. Cynthia needed a lot of guidance and feedback, but you were stifled by it.” She offered up a wry smile. “Not that I am very good at keeping my opinion to myself. But Cynthia always made me feel like she needed me close by, but you were ready to escape and rebel the second I gave birth to you.”
“Sounds like me.” This time it didn’t feel like a criticism though. Darcy and Cynthia were different people—inside and out. And that wasn’t a bad thing.
“I never quite knew how to be there for you. Sometimes it feels like the harder I try, the worse I do. We get under each other’s skin so easily.”
Darcy smiled. “Yes, we do.”
“I don’t agree with everything you do. I never will.” She looked pointedly at Darcy’s tattoos. “But I don’t love you any less for it.”
“I needed to hear that.” Darcy nodded her head. “The whole thing with Ben totally shattered my confidence. You’re right, I do want to get married and have a family someday. But I’m scared of picking the wrong guy again.”
“Do you know I hated Genio at first?” Her mother had a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “He asked me on a date and I told him I wouldn’t date him even if he were the last man on earth.”
“You did not!”
“I did.” Her mother nodded. “He used to tease me all the time when we worked together at the church functions. I thought he was cocky and rude.”
“Then why did you go out with him?” Darcy planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward, fascinated.
“Because he was cute. Then I found out that all that bravado was a cover and he was a sweet man.” She laughed. “Not that anyone would know it, since he acts like such a grump all the time.”
Sound like someone else you know?
“All my friends thought I was crazy to go out with him. They used to tell me he’d break my heart. But I knew different.” She tapped a finger to her chest. “When we were alone, I saw who he really was…and I liked that person very much.”
She couldn’t help but think of Reed and the way he tried so damn hard to care for his father—and the way he’d made her feel when they’d slept together. He’d seen how scared and vulnerable she was and made her feel desired and beautiful instead.
And the truth was, she wanted to explore that more. She wanted to learn his soft spots and find the dents in his armor. She wanted to see who he was, stripped of all his self-protection.
“Thanks for telling me the truth.” Darcy sipped her coffee and leaned back in her chair.
She wasn’t sure how she felt knowing the door was closed forever on finding her father—save for possibilities with DNA testing, if that kind of thing was even an option. She had no idea. But at least now there wasn’t this barrier between Darcy and her mother. They’d bridged some gap created by the stress of organizing a wedding and amplified by the events that had followed.
“I ran into Ben recently,” Marietta said. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to hear about it.”
“He’s called a few times.” A few months ago, this conversation might have sent her running. But the past was finally starting to stay where it belonged—behind her. “I haven’t taken his calls.”
“He told me as much,” she said.
Darcy sucked on her lower lip. “Where did you see him?”
“At the supermarket. He was shopping with Mark. They asked about you.” She smiled. “He seemed happy. They both did.”
Darcy nodded, waiting for any ill feelings to surface. But none came. “I’m glad he was finally able to be himself.”
“They’re getting married.”
“Oh?” Nostalgia crashed over her like a wave. She remembered how handsome Ben looked in the tux he’d rented for their big day. He’d modeled it at her request the day before it’d all fallen to pieces. “Good for him.”
“I know his parents were shocked, but it sounds like everything has worked out. It was a good thing that it happened before you went through with the wedding.” She sucked in a breath. “I see that now.”
“Yeah,” Darcy echoed. “Me too.”
* * *
Reed waited as his father lowered himself into his chair. Donna was still puttering around the house, and Adam had grumbled at her until he was near blue in the face, but she insisted on tidying up before she left. Although it did appear that her nerves were starting to fray if the look she shot Reed was anything to go on.
“I can do it,” Reed said.
“It’s fine. It’s what you pay me for.” She collected Adam’s mostly untouched dinner from the dining table.
“I’m still here,” Adam snapped. “You can include me in the conversation.”
Reed shot her an apologetic look, but she waved his concern away. No doubt the poor woman dealt with this kind of stuff on a daily basis. He made a mental note to slip her some extra money next time.
Adam had been home for two days after being kept under observation for seventy-two hours, while they watched his vitals and had him speak with a psychiatrist. They’d referred him to a local mental health clinic, and he was supposed to be seeing them the following day, but Adam had got it in his head that he didn’t need to go.
“Are we going to talk about this?” Reed asked aft
er Donna had left. “You’ve been home two days now and you’re acting like nothing happened.”
“Nothing did happen.” Adam’s voice was steely.
“You overdosed on painkillers, Dad. That’s not nothing.” Reed gripped the edge of the sofa because all he wanted to do was slap some sense into the old man. “You nearly gave me a heart attack and poor Donna… Thank God she was here.”
“It was a mistake.” Adam rubbed a hand over his face. “I took a few pills and they didn’t work, so I took a few more.”
“What were you doing, swallowing them by the handful? They’re not fucking breath mints.”
“I couldn’t remember how many I’d taken.”
Reed hung his head. The doctors had told him that his father’s blood alcohol content was well over the legal limit. Not that he would have been driving anywhere, but the combination of drink and pills wasn’t a good one. Adam was adamant that it was all a mistake, muddled thinking caused by the booze. But what was he doing getting drunk anyway?
“You need to tell me what’s going on, Dad.” Reed swallowed the panicky feeling in his chest. “I can’t help you if you keep it all locked up.”
“And talking about my feelings like a crybaby is going to help?” he scoffed. “It’s not how we McMahons do things.”
That was the old Irish roots coming out. Men didn’t talk about their feelings—they dealt with problems by drinking and fighting. Adam wasn’t in a state to throw any punches, but the man had a barbed tongue that would cut to the bone if he wanted it to.
“Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s okay. I’ll be taking you to see Dr. Preston tomorrow anyway.” Reed cleared his throat. “But I’m going to talk now.”
Reed figured the only way his father might get past his refusal to talk was if he took the first step. But where to start? They had years—decades—of shit to work through. Even when Reed’s mother left, his father had only said, “She’s gone and she ain’t coming back,” and that was that. Every time he’d tried to ask about it, Adam had changed the subject.
Ever wonder if that’s why she left? How would you work through marital problems if the other person wasn’t willing to talk through the issues?
Bad Bachelor Page 25
