Regretting You

by Hoover, Colleen

  I can’t even believe I’m saying that. Miller Adams is my boyfriend.

  We’re both facing each other now, our bodies turned toward each other in the theater seats. It’s so quiet in here that we can hear the rumbling of the movie playing on the other side of the wall.

  I try not to think about everything he just said, because now I’m worried about all the times he stayed at Shelby’s house. All the times he slept in her bed. Will he eventually miss that? I’ve never had sex, and with the way my mother has been acting, I’m not sure she’ll ever allow Miller to come over. She might even put a stop to me going out altogether, just to try and break us up. I hope not, but with her behavior this past month, I wouldn’t put it past her.

  I feel like Miller has been completely honest with me, so I want to do the same. I pull the sucker out of my mouth and stare at it. “So. Just so you’re aware. I’m a virgin.”

  “I know a cure for that,” Miller says.

  My eyes flash up to his, but then he laughs. “I’m kidding, Clara.” He leans toward me and kisses me on the shoulder. “I’m glad you told me. But I’m not in any hurry. At all.”

  “Whatever. You’re used to getting it every weekend. You’ll eventually grow bored with not having sex, and you’ll go back to her.” I immediately cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh my God, why do I sound so insecure? Please pretend I didn’t just say all that.”

  He laughs a little, but then he looks at me intently. “You don’t have to worry. I already get more out of not having sex with you than I did during my entire relationship with her.”

  I like him so much. More than I thought possible. Every minute we spend together makes me like him more than I liked him the previous minute. “When I decide I’m ready . . . I hope it’s with you.”

  Miller smiles at that. “Trust me—I’m not going to talk you out of it.”

  I think about what our first time might be like. When it’ll be. I look over at him and grin. “Our first kiss was a cliché coffee shop kiss. Maybe losing my virginity should be cliché too.”

  Miller raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. They might ban us from Starbucks.”

  I laugh. “I’m talking about prom. It’s five months from now. If we’re still together, I’d like it to be a cliché after-prom deflowering.”

  My choice of words makes Miller laugh. He takes his sucker out of his mouth and grabs mine from my hand and sets them on the food tray. Then he leans in and kisses me, briefly. When he pulls back, he says, “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I haven’t even asked you to prom yet.”

  “You should ask me, then.”

  “You don’t want one of those elaborate promposals?”

  I shake my head. “Promposals are stupid. I don’t want an elaborate anything.”

  He hesitates, like maybe he doesn’t believe me. Then he nods once and says, “Okay, then. Clara Grant, will you go to prom with me and have cliché after-prom sex with me?”

  “I would love to.”

  Miller grins and kisses me. I kiss him back with a smile, but I can feel part of myself sinking.

  Aunt Jenny would have loved this story.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MORGAN

  My kitchen might be cleaner than it’s ever been. I’m not sure if it was because Jonah is an excellent cleaner (he cleaned the majority of it) or if it’s because he’s trying to erase any proof of that near kiss in the kitchen so that we don’t have a single reminder of it.

  My guilt has been palpable since Clara left to go to the movies. Jonah must feel the same, because neither of us spoke as we cleaned. And as soon as Elijah began to wake up, I offered to feed him because Elijah is the only thing I feel like I’m doing right in my life. It seems he’s starting to recognize me because he smiles when he sees me.

  I’ve been keeping him occupied in the living room for an hour now. Jonah cleaned the entire kitchen. I didn’t expect him to, and even told him not to worry about it at one point, but he kept cleaning. I would have done it, but I was honestly relieved when Elijah woke up. I’d rather not be in the same room as Jonah right now.

  Elijah is getting stronger. I’m sitting back on the couch and holding him up while he pushes his legs against my stomach. I’m making baby sounds at him when Jonah carries my kitchen door to the garage.

  Elijah yawns, so I pull him to my chest and pat him gently on the back. It’s past his bedtime, and despite the thirty-minute nap he took while Jonah and I destroyed the kitchen, Elijah still seems like he’s ready to pass out. He grows limp against my chest as he begins to fall into slumber. I press my cheek to the top of his head, wishing more than anything that I didn’t grow sad when I think about the hand he’s been dealt.

  He’s lucky to have Jonah. A man who stepped up, knowing there’s a huge possibility he didn’t father him. I hope, for Jonah’s sake, that Elijah doesn’t resent him if he ever finds out. I hope it makes Elijah appreciate Jonah even more.

  Jonah walks into the living room and smiles when he sees Elijah asleep on my chest. He sits down next to us on the couch and rubs a hand over Elijah’s back. Jonah releases a quiet sigh, and when I look at him, he’s staring back at me. He’s sitting so close our legs are touching.

  The feelings that came about unexpectedly in the kitchen earlier are being shaken awake. I was hoping that was a fluke and that this reaction Jonah elicits from me would remain dormant from here on out.

  “Scoot over,” I whisper.

  Jonah’s eyes squint, as if he doesn’t understand my direction.

  “You’re too close. I need space.”

  Jonah understands that. He almost seems a little surprised by my reaction. He moves to the other end of the couch in a dramatic display. Now I feel like I just insulted him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just . . . confused.”

  “It’s fine,” Jonah says.

  I crane my neck and look down at Elijah. He’s limp enough that I can probably move him back to the bassinet. I do that because I need fresh air. After placing him gently onto the mattress, I wait to make sure he doesn’t wake up; then I cover him up.

  I don’t even make eye contact with Jonah as I make my way to the back patio. I’m sure he’ll follow me, whether I ask him to or not. And honestly, we need to discuss what almost happened in the kitchen because the last thing I need is for Jonah to think there’s any kind of possibility there.

  Jonah slides the glass door shut after he follows me out. I’m pacing the back patio, staring at the stones beneath my feet. Chris installed them a few years ago. Jenny and I helped him, and I remember how much fun we had. We kept making fun of Chris because for some reason, he listened to John Denver while doing yard work and would sing at the top of his lungs. He never listened to John Denver any other time. Only when he did yard work. Jenny and I ridiculed him the entire time we were helping, so he locked us out of the backyard and finished the patio without us.

  I wonder if their affair started before then.

  I wonder, more often than I should, when it did start. I don’t know why I keep hoping it’s more recent. The idea that it’s been going on for years makes it feel even more personal. I guess if I work up the courage to read the letters we found earlier, I might find out some of the answers to all the questions I have.

  Jonah takes a seat in what used to be Chris’s favorite chair. Jenny bought it for him.

  My God, how can I be so stupid? What brother- and sister-in-law get along as well as they did? Why did I never see it?

  “Sit down,” Jonah says. “It makes me nervous when you pace.”

  I flop down into the chair next to Jonah. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to push all the memories back. I don’t want to think about all the things in this house that tie Jenny and Chris together. I’ve already destroyed the painting. I don’t want to have to destroy the patio furniture and anything else I actually use.

  When I open my eyes, I look over at Jonah. His head is resting comfortably against the back of the c
hair. It’s tilted in my direction, but he doesn’t say anything. He thinks a lot, but he doesn’t verbalize a lot.

  I don’t know why the silence is irritating me right now. “Say something. It’s too quiet.”

  As if he already had words on the tip of his tongue, he says, “If you never would have gotten pregnant with Clara, would you have left Chris?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve just always wondered. I wasn’t sure if you decided to stay with him because of Clara or if it was because you were in love with him.”

  I look away from him, because honestly, it’s none of his business. If he wanted to know how my life was going to play out, he shouldn’t have left without warning.

  His voice is quieter when he continues. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “Jonah, stop.”

  “You told me to say something.”

  “I didn’t mean . . .” I sigh. “I don’t know what I meant.”

  It suddenly seems too stuffy outside. I go back inside, wanting to put space between Jonah and me. But he follows me all the way to my bedroom. Again, he closes the door behind him so our conversation doesn’t wake Elijah. He seems a little annoyed that I keep moving from room to room to get away from him.

  The letters strewn out over my mattress feel like they’re staring back at me, taunting me.

  “Are we going to address what happened in the kitchen?” he asks.

  I’m pacing again, whether he likes it or not. “Nothing happened in the kitchen.”

  He looks at me like he’s disappointed in my inability to face this in a mature way. I grip my forehead with my hand, trying to massage away an oncoming headache. I don’t look at him when I speak.

  “You want to talk about it? Fine. Okay. My husband has only been dead for a matter of weeks, and I almost kissed someone else. And if that isn’t bad enough, it was you I almost kissed. It makes me feel like shit.”

  “Ouch.”

  “What if Clara had caught us? Would it really have been worth it?”

  “This isn’t about Clara.”

  “It is about Clara. And it’s about Elijah. It’s about everyone but us.”

  “I feel differently.”

  I laugh. “Of course you would.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shake my head, frustrated. “You cut ties with your best friends for seventeen years, Jonah. All you do is think about yourself and what you want. You never think about how your actions affect other people.”

  I feel the look he’s giving me deep in my core. He’s staring at me in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone. It’s a mixture of confusion and injury. He whispers, “Wow,” then turns and walks out of my bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Jonah Sullivan, running away again. Why am I not surprised?

  I’m angry now. I storm out of my bedroom, prepared to yell at him, but he’s walking out the door with Elijah. He sees me following after him, and he can tell how angry I am because our expressions match. He just shakes his head and says, “Don’t. I’m leaving.”

  I follow him outside anyway because I don’t feel empty yet. I still feel like an endless well, full of things I need him to hear. I wait until he buckles in Elijah’s car seat and closes the door before I start in on him.

  As soon as he faces me, waiting for me to speak, I can’t think of a single thing to say.

  I just stand in my yard with absolutely nothing left to say.

  I honestly don’t even know why we’re arguing. We didn’t even kiss. And I’ll never put myself in a position like that with him again, so I don’t even know why I’m so angry to begin with.

  Jonah leans against his car and folds his arms over his chest. He waits a moment, allowing calm to settle between us. Then he lifts his head and looks at me with so much emotion in his expression.

  “Jenny was your sister. No matter how I felt about you, I would have never come between the two of you. I left because unlike Jenny and Chris, I had respect for them. For you. Please don’t ever call me selfish again, because that was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my entire life.”

  He gets in his car, slams the door, and leaves.

  I’m left standing alone in my front yard, in the dark, full of information I’m not sure I wanted and feelings I’ve never allowed myself to confront.

  My knees feel weak. I don’t even have the energy to walk back to the house to think about everything that happened tonight, so I just lower myself to the grass, right where I’ve been standing since Jonah pulled away.

  I drop my head into my hands, feeling the weight the day brought with it. Everything that happened with Clara at the school. Everything that happened with Jonah in the kitchen. Everything he just said. And even though there’s a part of me that needed to hear all that from him, it doesn’t change anything. Because it could never work between Jonah and me, no matter how long Jenny and Chris are out of the picture. It would make us look like the bad guys.

  Clara wouldn’t understand it. And what would we tell Elijah when he’s older? That we all just switched partners? What kind of example is that?

  Nothing between Jonah and me is a good idea. It’ll be a lifetime of reminders that I so desperately want to forget. And now that he threw everything out there that he’s probably been needing to say for seventeen years, I want him to take it back. I want to go back to yesterday, when it was easier. When he could bring Elijah over without all the awkwardness that will be between us from now on.

  I feel like he said all that hoping it would solve something, but for me, it only created an even larger wedge. And I don’t know that it’ll ever get better.

  We were teenagers. We weren’t in love. What we experienced was attraction, and attraction is confusing, but it’s also not worth uprooting Clara’s life over.

  I glance up when I see headlights turning in my direction.

  Clara.

  She parks the car, and when she gets out, she doesn’t immediately say anything to me. I’m not even sure she notices me until she pivots at the sidewalk and comes to sit next to me on the grass. She pulls her knees up to her chin and hugs them as she stares out into the dark street. “I’m worried about you, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s late. And you’re sitting alone in the dark in the front yard. Crying.”

  I reach a hand up to my cheek and wipe away tears I hadn’t even acknowledged yet. I blow out a breath and look at her. “I’m sorry about today. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Clara just nods. I’m not sure if she’s accepting my apology or agreeing that I shouldn’t have said what I said.

  “Were you with Miller tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  I sigh. At least she was honest with me.

  “He’s not a bad person, Mom. I promise. If you’d just get to know him.”

  She’s defending him, but I get it. When you’re sixteen, you ignore all the warning signs. I blow out a breath. “Just be careful, Clara. I don’t want you making the same mistake I did.”

  Clara stands up and wipes the back of her jeans. “I’m not you, Mom. Miller isn’t Dad. And I really wish you’d stop referring to me as a mistake.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  I have no idea if she heard that, because she’s already walking into the house. She slams the door behind her.

  I’m too exhausted to run after her. I lower my back to the grass and stare up at the stars. What little I can see of them, anyway.

  I wonder if Chris and Jenny are up there somewhere. I wonder if they can see me down here. I wonder if they feel bad for what they turned my life into.

  “You suck,” I whisper to Chris. “I hope you can see us right now, because you’ve ruined a lot of lives, you fucking prick.”

  I hear footsteps in the grass and sit straight up, startled. I clasp my hand around my throat and release a breath at the sight of Mrs. Nettle standing a few feet a
way.

  “I thought you were dead,” she says. “But then I heard you call the Lord a prick.” She turns around to head back toward her house. When she reaches her front door, she waves her cane toward me. “That’s blasphemy, you know! You should probably start going to church!”

  Once she’s inside her house, I can’t help but laugh. She really hates me.

  I push off the grass and go inside. When I get to my bedroom, I look at the letters and cards spread out over my bed. My hands shake as I count them. There are nine total letters and three cards.

  I want to know what they say, but I don’t. I’m confident they’ll only upset me more, and I’ve had enough for one day.

  I stick them in the bottom of my dresser and decide to save them for a better day.

  If that ever comes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CLARA

  It was a long weekend. Lexie and Miller both worked late shifts. Other than sitting with Miller during his break Saturday night and spending two hours on the phone with him last night, I haven’t seen him. I haven’t seen much of my mother either. After Friday night’s weirdness, she spent all day Saturday on the computer applying for jobs. I spent most of Sunday in my room catching up on homework.

  I’m later than usual when I get to Jonah’s class. I’m the last one to arrive before the bell rings, so I’m surprised when Jonah approaches my desk and kneels in front of it. He usually doesn’t pay me individual attention in front of other students.

  “How’s your mother?”

  I shrug. “Good, I guess. Why?”

  “She didn’t return my texts this weekend. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  I lean forward, not wanting anyone else to hear what I’m about to say. “I came home Friday night, and she was sitting in the front yard, crying. It was weird. Sometimes I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown.”

  He looks concerned. “Did she say why she was crying?”

  I look around, and everyone is talking, not paying attention to us. “I didn’t ask. She cries more than she doesn’t, so I just stopped asking her about it.”