The faint scent of tobacco smoke tickles my nose under the peppery cologne used to cover the smell of his habit. He loosened the tie around his neck and rolled up the sleeves of his button up, exposing the tattoos on his arms. Teller is rugged sophistication.
“You know how to make a guy feel used.” His mouth curves into a smirk. A beer bottle hangs between his fingers, and going by the haziness in his eyes, it’s not his first.
“I had a plane to catch,” I reply.
He laughs out, dropping his head back. Humiliation pours over me like warm wax, and despite the anger it ignites inside of me, I know I deserve the burn.
But I won’t admit it.
“Don’t be a prick,” I say.
Teller’s parents, Husher’s folks, our friends, and the man who’s going to marry Maby and Husher tomorrow evening are running around, looking for their places in preparation for the event. Emerson’s the first to slow down and stand idly by in case Teller and I turn the venue upside down with our inability to resolve conflict.
“You do realize you can’t keep running from me, right?” He reaches out and sweeps my bangs out of my eyes.
I take a step away from his touch and his power of persuasion. He’s unaffected, and most likely thrilled, over my retreat. This cat and mouse game is grueling and familiar.
“Maybe you should take a hint,” I retort.
His smirk bends into a full smile, challenging me to a duel. “Maybe you should hurry up and get over this shit you’re trying to prove and come home.”
“Teller, you lied to me.” My voice comes out an octave higher than I wanted. Nicolette stands next to my brother and crosses her arms.
Mili elbows Theodore, whispering into his ear. Their gazes fall on us, no doubt waiting to see if we’re going to ruin their daughter’s wedding rehearsal.
“And you fucked me and left. I think we’re even.” Teller finishes his beer and laughs out again, snatching Maby and Husher’s attention now. “You’re good, Smella. I can’t believe you have me pissed about a one-night stand.”
I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t a one-night stand.”
His eyebrows rise. “Then what was it?”
“A mistake.”
Teller turns his back to me for a moment, patting his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When he rights himself, he’s composed and expressionless. “Wow.”
Heavy sadness settles in my stomach. I know my actions and words hurt him. It’s in the way his smile disappears, and how his hand tightens around the beer bottle. When two people are attached as Teller and I are, emotions are transferrable. Anger makes us say things we don’t mean, and reactions determine what we feel. We’re chaos times two, empathy times two, or passion times two. There’s no in-between. Teller and I lack rationality, and we didn’t come equipped with self-preservation. This is why I left.
We shouldn’t be those people anymore.
“Tell,” I say, releasing resentment. “I didn’t mean that.”
Dizzying confusion radiates off Teller in waves, and he presses his lips together to keep from sinking his teeth into me.
The stronger reaction chips away at my compassion, and before I get the chance to take back my apology, Teller lifts his middle finger to my face and says, “Fuck you.”
Silence replaces the noises of celebration and anticipation. Like we’ve pressed pause on a movie, everyone stays in place, frozen in what they’re doing. How many times have Teller and I done this? How many times have we stood in this exact situation in a different setting, ruining birthdays, anniversaries, or low-key nights? A wedding will be a first for us.
“We’re not doing this right now,” Emerson says. He stands behind me, and I finally fall back against him.
“Whatever you say.” Teller holds his hands up; beer drips from the neck of the upside-down bottle. “But we belong together, Gabriella. The sooner you accept that again, the sooner we can get past the bullshit.”
He’s right. I feel it because he feels it.
“The sooner you realize that we don’t, Tell, the sooner we all can move on,” I snap back.
My brother pulls me from the trenches, but it does nothing to lessen the tension we’ve subjected everyone to. We take our places, learn our steps, and perform a practice run of tomorrow’s nuptials. Smiles are passed back and forth with polite pleasantries. Congratulations are said with pats on the back. Expectations of a beautiful ceremony for a beautiful couple are expressed. But Teller and I have tainted it. No one breathes when it’s our turn to walk down the aisle arm-in-arm like they’re waiting for us to quit any preconceived notions and blow the top off this place.
“This could have been us,” Teller whispers, leading me down the aisle.
Husher stands patiently at the end, but he looks ready to pounce if his best man decides to scoop up his soon-to-be wife’s maid of honor and make a run for it.
“It could have if you weren’t such a—” We part before I can clarify how maddening he is to me. Then again, he already knows.
Dinner proceeds in the same fashion as the rehearsal, but Teller and I remain on our best behavior. We even manage to give a small toast to the couple without turning it into something about ourselves. When we hold up our glasses, sip, and take a seat, the sound of everyone’s relief is audible.
Teller sits at the opposite side of the room with his mom, who probably pities her only son and his failure to put Maby’s happiness before his misery. His half-hearted attempt ended with the toast.
“Look at that sorry son of a bitch,” Maby says. She pulls the chair out beside mine and takes a seat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d never guess he’s educated, rich, and one of those most caring people I know. He’s acting like a wretched fool.”
“He is a wretched fool,” I counter, leaning against her to rest my head on her shoulder.
“You’re both fools, Ella.” She pats my hand. “Don’t ruin my wedding tomorrow until after I’ve said I do, okay?”
I catch a ride with the mother of the bride; Nic and Maby follow behind us. There’s nothing traditional about planning an entire wedding in six weeks, but very traditionally, Maby doesn’t want to see Husher until it’s time to exchange vows. She sent him packing with Teller, and we have a night of face masks and teeth whitening strips ahead of us.
“So,” Mili starts not-so-subtly. “Teller tells me you’re selling your dad’s house up north.”
“My realtor called me yesterday and said we received an offer. I accepted this morning.” There’s no point in hiding the disappointment that burns my eyes.
“That was fast,” she replies. Her caring, motherly tone leaves me uncomfortable. Mili Reddy has never treated me like anything less than a member of the family, but even after all this time, I can’t fully accept maternal affection. Dysfunction forced on me by my absentee mother fills the empty spaces with awkwardness and strain. “Did you think it was going to sell that quickly?”
“No,” I answer.
She nods her head. “Did you want to sell the house, Ella?”
“No,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve admitted the truth to anyone, let alone myself. My decision to return to St. Helena and sell the house was rash, and one I made without thinking. “But it’s probably for the best.”
“I heard you saw your mom,” she says thoughtfully.
A gunshot of disappointment and grief blasts through me, leaving me full of holes that expose my every fear. I’m taken back to the moment I saw the woman who brought me into the world for the first time since she abandoned her family. She looked the same but rougher around the edges. My mother, Karen Mason, has more gray hair than brown, which used to match my own. There are lines around her eyes and a filter on her face that all former drug addicts wear.
For years, I thought about what I would say if I ever saw her again, but when the moment came, I was wordless. Time stood still, and the only thought that crossed my mind as I stopped face-to-face with the past was that I wanted Teller.
“That won’t happen again now that the house sold. I won’t go back there,” I say.
Mili takes my hand, amplifying my level of freaking out. I could open the car door, jump, and run for the sake of my state of mind.
I’m messed up.
How broken does a person need to be to risk road rash than face emotional honesty?
“I can’t begin to imagine how painful that was for you, sweet girl. But do you think a conversation with her might give you closure?”
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
She squeezes my hand. “Yes.”
“How does a mother leave her kids?” That’s what it comes down to. I don’t have kids, and I don’t know if I can bring myself to have them after what I’ve been through, but from what I know, it’s a crime against nature to abandon the lives a person forces into the world. I didn’t ask to be born, and I didn’t ask for abandonment. I’m a victim of circumstance, and it royally screwed me up.
“Well,” she starts, letting go of my hand and returning hers to the steering wheel. “As a mother, I don’t know if I can give you the answer you’re looking for. My children are complicated beings, and I don’t always like them, but I will always love them. They could never do anything to change my mind about being their mom despite their complications.”
We come to a slow stop at a red light, and I chuckle because said complications are the understatement of the century. Maby is mad, and Teller is layered.
“I am not a perfect parent,” she continues. “I’ve contributed to the people they’ve grown to be, and I have a lot of guilt every time Maby locks herself in her room for a week at a time, or when my son chases the girl of his dreams across the state when all she wants is to be left alone.”
I scoff, and she smiles.
“There have been plenty of times when I wonder if they’d be better off without me. I understand your mother’s thought process.” Mili parks the car in front of Maby’s place. “All parents think about running away from their families during the hard times. What I don’t understand is how she decided to do it. I can’t even begin to imagine how she felt about herself to truly believe you would be better without her influence.”
“She was on drugs,” I say. “She wanted her habit more than she wanted Em and me.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Mili takes my face in her hands. “But don’t ever question her love for you, Ella. Love for a child is not something a mother can turn off. You’re loved by so many, and I, for one, am thankful to have you in my life. I’ve watched you grow into a caring, intelligent woman who loves so hard and completely you don’t know what to do with it. That’s not a bad thing, Ella.”
“I don’t know how you can say that.” My tears run through her fingers. “With everything Teller and I have been through—”
Mili tilts her head back and laughs in the same exact way her son did earlier tonight. “Honey, my kid means the world to me, but that boy will drive the sanest person insane. I don’t think anyone blames you for slapping him around sometimes.”
“You can’t be serious.” I roll my tear-filled eyes.
She unbuckles her seat belt and opens the car door, letting in the cold night’s air. With one foot on the pavement, she looks over her shoulder and says, “I’m only half-serious. You guys drive me wild. Get it together.”
We spend the rest of the night in a blur of exfoliations and girl talk. I cringe when Nic gossips about her sex life with Emerson and swoon with Mili when she reminisces romantic moments with Theodore, who’s normally a hard ass. As they talk about how much they adore the men in their lives, substantial longing lodges my heart into my throat. It drowns out our conversation to a low hum, and I am restless.
Mili pats my thigh and whispers, “Are you okay?”
Nodding slightly, I’m claustrophobic under my charcoal face mask and blocked between Maby and her mom.
“I’ll be right back.” I grab my cell phone from the coffee table in front of me, knocking over my champagne flute, and escape to the backyard.
I can breathe under the stars, but I can’t escape the reality of what I’ve done: overreacted. Teller should’ve been honest with me, but I shouldn’t have destroyed the life we were only beginning to create together. If there’s one thing Teller has given me since the first moment we met, it’s unconditional devotion. In return, I accepted him no matter what.
Until I didn’t.
My hands tremble as I pull up his number, and my heart doubles, triples in size as it rings.
And it completely stops when he doesn’t answer.
Now
“What the heck was I thinking?” Maby fans her face with both hands, pacing back and forth from one side of the bathroom to the other. “I can’t get married. My parents were a terrible example. I’m going to be a horrible wife.”
After locking the door so no one walks in on Maby’s meltdown, I hold my arms out and squeeze until I feel her melt against me. I slide my hands up and down her bare back, hoping to reel her in from the edge of absurdity.
“Husher won’t care if you’re a bad wife, Maby,” I say, hoping to make her laugh.
The makeup artist did a beautiful job hiding hints of the bride’s imminent panic attack. She used concealer to cover blotches on her face and neck and brightened Maby’s eyes with shadow to complement her green irises, even though her false eyelashes are lifting. Everyone will be too captivated by the shimmer across her cheekbones to notice the neutral lipstick staining her unsmiling lips.
Unfortunately, no amount of makeup will suppress the pandemonium going on in Maby’s head.
“He deserves someone better than me, Ella.” Her fingers clutch the back of my shirt.
“There isn’t anyone better than you,” I reply sincerely.
We turn the air conditioner on high, shut the curtains, and lower the music to help Maby relax. It does nothing to help me recover from a sleepless night wondering why Teller didn’t answer my call, or why he hasn’t called back since. My cell taunts me, daunting and silent at the bottom of my bag. I check it every fifteen minutes, cracking open a little wider each time his name doesn’t flash across the screen.
His silence is warranted but blaring after weeks and weeks of receiving his calls in spite of how I treated him. There was a comfort knowing he was within reach, but this feels … this feels final.
I turn to my trusty friend champagne to dull the pain.
When the time arrives to help Maby into her dress, I need help in mine, too. Now I’m the one with lifting eyelashes, clutching my phone because the son of a bitch across town doesn’t want me anymore, unsteady on my own two feet.
“You’re going to ruin your eyeliner if you cry.” Nicolette plucks the phone from my fingers and tosses it to the corner, unconcerned with the glass screen. She drags me to the restroom where I held Maby together only an hour ago. “What’s going on with you?”
“Someone bought the house.” I hold my arms up so Nic can pull a silk slip down my body.
My brother’s wife is stunning and always so put together. Her dark blonde hair is curled, and it doesn’t look like she needed to use fake lashes like the rest of us. She has an easy marriage with my brother; she leads a privileged life.
I slap her hands away, but she continues to dress me like it didn’t happen. She’s buttoning me into my gown when I start to cry, and Nic is faster than me when I reach for my glass of champagne.
“Give it to me.” I trip over my dress—my gorgeous, life-changing dress.
“No.” Nicolette pours the champagne down the sink. “I’m going to be honest with you because you’re my sister-in-law, and because I love you.”
“Don’t bother.” I grab toilet paper from the roll and blot under my eyes. “I don’t need advice from someone who has a perfect life, okay? Because people like you don’t know what it feels like for the rest of us who have to work so goddamn hard for simple things.”
Nic’s eyes widen before narrowing. “Have you lost you
r mind?”
“No,” I answer. I slide down the wall, bunching my dress around my waist and using the hem to wipe my eyes.
“You’ve always been a selfish brat, Gabriella.” She blows her bangs out of her face, exposing a pimple above her eyebrow that I’m grateful for. “Today isn’t about you, so get off the bathroom floor before you wrinkle your dress. The least you can do is give your best friend twenty-four hours to get married peacefully, and then tomorrow we’ll tune back to The Ella and Teller Show.”
His name sends a spasm of loss through my chest, and I cry harder. “What does Teller have to do with anything? Didn’t you just hear me say that the house Emerson and I grew up in sold? It’s not ours anymore. That’s why I’m upset.”
She blinks, blank-faced and gapping. “Don’t be so dramatic. Teller told us he bought the house, Ella. You and I both know he won’t do anything more with it than use it as a shrine in your honor. I don’t know who you thought you were fooling when you sold it to him in the first place, but you’re both demented.”
Wait.
Did Teller buy the house?
Teller. Bought. The. House.
These four words race through my head over, and over, and over, not becoming any more believable as I attempt to process them.
Teller bought the house.
Teller.
Bought.
The.
House.
My house.
“What do you mean Teller bought the house?” My question is jumbled and mispronounced like these words don’t belong together.
“I can’t do this with you.” Nic sweeps past me to leave the bathroom that’s contained nothing but insecure girls trying not to ruin their makeup all day.
“Stop.” I grab her ankle.
“Knock it off.” She shakes my hand free, chastising me like I’m an unruly child. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this today.”
I feel zero shame as I climb on all fours and stumble to my feet. My dress is past being unwrinkled in time for the nuptials. I rip the fake lashes from my eyelids and repeat the thought burning a hole in my soul. “Tell me what you meant, Nicolette.”
Sever (Closer Book 2) Page 8
