Regretting You

by Hoover, Colleen

  “Staring at Elijah,” Jonah says. “It’s so weird how fascinating it is just watching a baby sleep.”

  “It doesn’t end. I was just staring at Clara when you called.”

  “That’s good to know. So things were better when you got home?”

  I laugh. “Oh, Jonah.” I press my hand to my forehead. “She’s wasted. She and Lexie drank two and a half bottles of wine while I was at your house.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. She’s gonna regret it in the morning.”

  He sighs. “I wish I knew what advice to give you, but I’m at a loss.”

  “Me too. I’m calling a family therapist in the morning. I should have done it sooner, but I guess it’s better late than never.”

  “Should I expect her in class tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know that she’ll be able to get out of bed.”

  He laughs, but it’s an empathetic laugh. “I hope the years drag by before Elijah is that age.”

  “They won’t. It’ll go by in a blink.” It’s quiet for a moment. I like hearing him breathe. I kind of wish I was there with him right now. I cover myself with my blanket and roll onto my side, resting my phone against my ear.

  “You want to know one of my favorite memories of you?” Jonah asks.

  I grin. “This sounds fun.”

  “It was my senior prom. Your junior prom. You remember?”

  “Yes. You went with Tiffany Proctor. I spent the whole night trying not to watch the two of you dance. I can admit now that I was insanely jealous.”

  “Makes two of us,” Jonah says. “Anyway, Chris was excited leading up to prom because he’d gotten a hotel for the two of you. I tried not to think about it all night. When it came time for him to leave, he was drunk.”

  “So drunk,” I say, laughing.

  “Yeah, I had to drive you guys to the hotel. Dropped Tiffany off first, which pissed her off. When we got to the hotel, the two of us had to practically drag Chris up the stairs. When we finally got him on the bed, he passed out in the center of it.”

  I remember, but I don’t know why that’s Jonah’s favorite memory of me. Before I can ask him what was so special about it, he continues the story.

  “You were hungry, so we ordered a pizza. I sat on one side of Chris, and you sat on the other. We watched Blair Witch Project until the pizza got there, but we didn’t have anywhere to set the pizza so that we could both reach it.”

  I smile at the memory. “We used Chris as a table.”

  “Sat the box of pizza right on his back.” I hear humor in Jonah’s voice. “I don’t know why I had so much fun that night. I mean . . . it was prom, and I didn’t even get kissed. But I did get to spend the entire night with you, even though Chris was passed out between us.”

  “That was a good night.” I’m still smiling, trying to think of one of my favorite memories with Jonah. “Oh my God. Remember the night you got pulled over?”

  “Which time? I got pulled over a lot.”

  “I don’t remember where we were going, or if we were coming from somewhere, but it was late, and the highway was empty. Your car was a piece of shit, so Chris wanted you to see how fast it could go. You got all the way up to ninety when you got pulled over. When the cop came to your window, he said, ‘Do you realize how fast you were going?’ You said, ‘Yes, sir. Ninety.’ And then the cop said, ‘Is there a reason you were driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit?’ You paused for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t like for things to go to waste.’ The officer looked at you, and you waved toward your dash. ‘I have this entire speedometer, and most of the time, I don’t even use half of it.’”

  Jonah laughs. Hard. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “How could I forget? You pissed the cop off so bad he pulled you out of the car and frisked you.”

  “I got community service over that ticket. Had to pick up highway trash every Saturday for three months.”

  “Yeah, but you looked cute in your yellow vest.”

  “You and Chris used to think it was hilarious to drive by and throw empty soda cans at me.”

  “All his idea,” I say in defense.

  “I doubt that,” Jonah says.

  I sigh, thinking about all the good times. Not just with Jonah but with Chris too. And Jenny. So many with Jenny. “I miss them,” I whisper.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “I miss you,” I say quietly.

  “I miss you too.”

  We both bask in this feeling for a moment, but then I can hear Elijah starting to fuss. It doesn’t last long. Jonah must have soothed him back to sleep somehow.

  “Do you think you’ll ever take a paternity test?” I ask him. I know Elijah looks just like Chris, but it could be a coincidence. I’ve been wondering if Jonah wants valid proof.

  “I thought about it. But honestly, it’d be a waste of a hundred bucks. He’s mine, no matter what.”

  My heart feels like it rolls over in my chest after that comment. “God, I love you, Jonah.” My words shock me. I know we said it earlier, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud just now. I was just feeling it, and then it came out.

  Jonah sighs. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that.”

  “It felt good to say it. Finally. I love you,” I whisper again.

  “Can you just say it like fifteen thousand more times before I hang up?”

  “No, but I’ll say it one more time. I am in love with you, Jonah Sullivan.”

  He groans. “This is torture. I wish you were here.”

  “I wish I was too.”

  Elijah starts to cry again. He doesn’t let up this time. “I need to go make him a bottle.”

  “Okay. Give him a kiss for me.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ll play it by ear.”

  “Okay. Good night, Morgan.”

  “Good night.”

  When we end the call, I’m amazed by the ache it leaves in my chest. I successfully fought these feelings for so long, but now that I’ve opened myself up to him, I want to be near him. I want to be in his arms, in his bed. I want to sleep next to him.

  I replay our entire conversation in my head as I try to fall asleep.

  A noise startles me, though. The sound came from the direction of Clara’s bedroom. I jump out of my bed and rush down the hallway. She’s not in her bed, so I open her bathroom door. She’s on her knees, gripping the toilet.

  Here we go.

  I take a washcloth out of the cabinet and wet it, then kneel down next to her. I hold back her hair while she pukes.

  I hate that she’s experiencing this, but I also love it. I want it to hurt. I want her to remember every terrible second of this hangover.

  It’s a couple minutes later when she falls against me and says, “I think it’s over.”

  I want to laugh because I know it isn’t. I help her back to bed because she’s still very drunk. When she lies down, I notice she’s just using a sheet to cover up. I go to the spare bedroom, where I put all the things I confiscated. I grab her blanket and her sequined pillow, then grab a trash can and take them all to her.

  While I’m tucking her in, she mutters, “I think I have vomit in my nose.”

  I laugh and hand her a Kleenex. She blows her nose and drops the Kleenex in the trash can. Her eyes are closed, and I’m stroking her hair when she says, “I don’t ever want to drink again.” Her words are slurred. “I hated the pot too. It smelled so bad. I don’t want vomit in my nostrils again, it’s the worst.”

  “I’m glad you hate it,” I say.

  “I hated sex too. I don’t want to do that again for a long, long time. We weren’t even ready. He tried to talk me out of it, and I wouldn’t listen.”

  I know she’s drunk, but her words surprise me. What does she mean he tried to talk her out of it?

  That was her idea?

  I’m still stroking her hair when she begins to cry. S
he presses her face into her pillow. I hate that whatever happened between them is making her feel this guilty. “He obviously loves you, Clara. Don’t cry.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not why I’m crying.” She lifts her head from the pillow and looks at me. “I’m crying because it was my fault. It’s my fault they died, and I try not to think about it, but that’s all I think about when my head is on this pillow. Every single night. Except one time I fell asleep wondering why teddy bears are made to be cuddly, when real bears are so mean, but besides that one night, all I can think about is how it’s my fault they had the wreck.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She drops her face back into her pillow. “Go away, Mom.” Before I even move, she lifts her head again and says, “No, wait. I want you to stay.” She scoots over, patting the bed next to her. “Sing me that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

  I’m still trying to catch up to what she said about the wreck being her fault. Why would she think that? I want to ask her about it, but she’s too drunk to hold a real conversation right now, so I just climb into bed with her and appease her. “What song?”

  “You know, that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

  “I sang you a lot of songs. I don’t think we had any one particular song.”

  “Sing something else, then. Do you know any Twenty One Pilots songs? We both like them.”

  I laugh and pull her against my chest.

  “Sing the song about the gold house,” she says.

  I run my hand soothingly over her head and start to sing quietly.

  She’s nodding as I sing, letting me know that’s the right song.

  I continue singing the song, stroking her hair, until the song is over and she’s finally asleep.

  I gently slip out of her bed and stare down at her. Drunk Clara is kind of funny. I’d prefer to have seen it for the first time when she was twenty-one, but at least it happened here, where I’m the one who gets to make sure she’s taken care of.

  I tuck her blanket around her and then kiss her good night. “You’re driving me crazy right now, Clara . . . but my God, I love you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CLARA

  Never in my life have I felt this terrible.

  I probably shouldn’t have driven to school, because my head hurts so bad I can barely keep my eyes open. But my mother took my phone last night, and I wanted to talk to Miller. I need to talk to him. I don’t really recall much that happened after Lexie arrived, but I certainly remember everything that happened with Miller before he left. And I regret all of it.

  When I see his truck pull into the parking lot, I get out of my car and walk over to it. He turns it off and then unlocks the passenger door. I have no idea if he’s still mad at me, so the first thing I do when I’m in his truck is scoot across the seat and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry I’m crazy.”

  Miller hugs me back. “You aren’t crazy.”

  He pushes me away, but only so he can readjust our position. He scoots toward the middle of the seat and pulls me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him and can look him in the eyes. “I felt bad after I left your house, but I was upset. I’ve wanted to be with you for a while now, but I want our time together to be meaningful to us and not related to or in spite of anyone else.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I feel terrible.”

  Miller pulls me against his chest and rubs a soothing hand over my back. “I don’t want you to feel terrible. I get it. You’ve been through a lot, Clara. I don’t want you to stress out even more because of me or us. I just want to be part of everything that makes your life better.”

  God, I feel like such an asshole. I’m relieved and lucky that he’s as understanding as he is. I kiss him on the cheek and look at him. “Does that mean you don’t want to break up with me anymore?”

  He smiles. “I never did. I was just upset.”

  “Good.” I kiss the inside of his palm. “Because it’s really gonna hurt when it happens someday. Just thinking you were breaking up with me for two seconds hurt like hell.”

  “Maybe we’ll never break up,” he says, his voice hopeful.

  “Sadly, the odds aren’t in our favor.”

  He drags a thumb across my bottom lip. “That’s a bummer. I sure will miss kissing you.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m a great kisser. The best you’ll ever have.”

  He laughs, and I drop my head to his shoulder. “What do you think will be the cause of our future breakup?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, entertaining my distracting thoughts. “But it’ll have to be way more dramatic than last night because we’re in too deep.”

  “It will be,” I say. “It’ll be extremely dramatic. You’ll probably become a famous musician, and you’ll fall in love with the fame and leave me behind.”

  “I don’t even play an instrument, and I can’t sing for shit.”

  “I’ll probably become a famous actress, then. And I’ll introduce you to one of my costars who is more famous than me, and you’ll find her more attractive, and you’ll want to touch all her Academy Awards.”

  “Not possible. That kind of person doesn’t exist.”

  I sit up so I can see his face. “Maybe they’ll colonize Mars, and I’ll want to move there and you won’t.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll still love you from a different planet.”

  I pause.

  He said, “I’ll still love you.” I know he didn’t mean it that way, but I grin teasingly. “Did you just admit that you’re in love with me?”

  He shrugs, and then his lips spread apart in a shy smile. “Sometimes I feel like I am. I’m sure it’s not all that deep yet. We haven’t been together that long. We argue a lot more than I’d like. But I feel it. Right below the surface. Tingling. Keeps me awake at night.”

  “That could just be restless leg syndrome.”

  He smiles with a slow shake of his head. “Nope.”

  “This could be the cause of our dramatic breakup. You telling me you might be falling in love with me way too soon.”

  “You think it’s too soon? I kind of thought it was the perfect moment.” He leans forward and kisses me softly on the cheek. “I’ve waited three years to be with you. If falling in love with you too soon will ruin that, then I don’t even like you. In fact, I hate you.”

  I smile. “I hate you too.”

  He threads our fingers together and smiles. “Seriously, maybe we really won’t break up. Ever.”

  “But heartache builds character. Remember?”

  “So does being in love,” he says.

  What a great point. It’s such a good point I kiss him for it. I only give him a peck, though, because I don’t think he wants his tongue in my mouth after last night.

  “Me and Lexie got drunk after you left. I’m pretty hungover, so I think I’m just gonna go back home. I have a headache the size of Rhode Island.”

  “Rhode Island is actually pretty small,” he says.

  “Nebraska, then.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, you should definitely go home and go back to bed.”

  I kiss him again, on the cheek. “I’ll give you a better kiss next time I see you. But I’ve been puking all night.”

  “When will I see you next?”

  I shrug. “I’ll be at school tomorrow, but I’m probably grounded for a really long time.”

  Miller tucks hair behind my ear, hugs me, and then says, “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  “Thank you for putting up with me.”

  When we get out of his truck, he gives me one final hug. It’s comforting, and on the drive home I think about his hugs. My dad’s hugs. Jonah’s hugs. They’re all great.

  But if I’m being honest, nothing really compares to my mother’s hugs. Or her kisses. I don’t really remember a lot about last night, but I do remember her helping me in the bathroom. And for some weird reason, I remember she was in my bed
, singing me a random Twenty One Pilots song.

  And I remember her kissing me on the forehead, right before she told me she loved me. Even at seventeen years old, I still feel all the comforts of childhood when I’m sick and my mother takes care of me.

  I woke up with my blanket and my sequined pillow. It made me smile, even through the headache. Even through my anger.

  I wonder if I can somehow separate the anger from the love. I don’t want her actions with Jonah to have an effect on the way I feel about her. She’s my mother. I don’t want to hate her. But what if I won’t be able to forgive her?

  But how do I even know that Jenny and my dad aren’t happy for my mom and Jonah? What if they somehow set this in motion from wherever they are?

  What if my anger is interfering with that somehow?

  I have a lot of questions. Most of them I know can’t be answered. It’s making my head hurt even more.

  When I finally walk into the house, my mother is awake. She’s sitting on the couch with her laptop. Probably still applying for jobs. She glances up at me as I shut the door.

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “I thought I could do school, but I was wrong. I have a Nebraska headache.” I point toward my room. “I’m gonna go back to bed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  MORGAN

  I googled Nebraska headache when Clara got home this morning but couldn’t figure out what it meant. I thought maybe it was slang, but if it is, it must be brand-new slang.

  I feel fairly productive today. I have a job interview for a secretary position at a real estate firm next week. Not ideal, because the pay is low, but it’s a start. I find the idea of selling real estate appealing, so I thought if I could get the job, I might get a taste for it and see if that’s what I want to study. I’ve been looking up ways I can somehow work and go to college at the same time. There are so many more options now than there were when I was eighteen. If I had the opportunity to take night classes and online classes when Clara was younger, I probably would have finished my degree.

  I’ve been feeling sorry for myself, but in reality, this isn’t all Chris’s fault. I knew he wasn’t invincible. I could have easily gone to college part-time to prepare myself if something were to ever happen to him. And I’m honestly lucky he had a life insurance policy that’ll give me time to figure it out.