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And there’s that too. I married my crush against what common sense dictates. I blame my fragile state of mind . . . and well, that fucked me seven ways to Sunday. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.
Ever.
Anyone who meets me thinks I have my shit together and I don’t have any issues at all. I’m good at pretending I’m doing amazingly, and life couldn’t be better. Though, deep down, I’m pretty broken.
Did I learn from my past?
I want to think that I did, yet, when the moment to make one of those lifetime choices comes knocking on my door, I can’t turn them away because I know better. It’s in my nature to deal with them so I don’t live with regrets.
I don’t regret anything I’ve done in my life. Not even my marriage to the asshole.
Even when, at the end, I hated him.
Correction, I still hate him with all my heart.
And knowing that I have to do this, to go see Izzy, I click to search for plane tickets, nibbling anxiously on my lower lip.
“Think red-eye flights might be cheaper?” I ask Gideon, squinting at the screen as I wait for the fares to load.
“You can’t just leave everything because your estranged sister summoned you,” Gideon says, his voice carrying over the sound of coffee pouring into his mug.
I glance at the ticket rates, my heart sinking at the astronomical prices for a round trip to Seattle. A thought flickers in my mind—what if I just buy a one-way ticket? Maybe Isadora might be willing to cover the return fare. The least she can do is pay for my hotel accommodations or let me stay at her place while I’m visiting, right?
“It’s important,” I insist, my gaze shifting to him, silently pondering if he’d be willing to lend me a couple of hundred dollars.
But if I ask him he’ll lecture me about how I have to stop using my salary on my clients. Pro bono doesn’t mean I have to also pay for their past due bills, food, and other expenses. I’m not in the mood to explain why it’s important to me that I help them in every possible way, or that not everyone is as lucky as he is. He’s obviously never had any financial problems.
“When was the last time you spoke to your sister?” Gideon asks, leaning back against the counter, one arm folding across his chest, the other holding the steaming mug. “You think she deserves your time?” He’s unable to hide his skepticism.
“It was during junior year of college,” I mumble, my voice trailing off as I nibble on my thumbnail. My mind races with thoughts. If I discreetly use the business credit card for the purchase, would accounting even notice before I manage to pay it back?
Gideon levels me with an incredulous stare. “Should I remind you what happened the last time a sick relative summoned you out of the blue?”
I open my mouth to retort but then close it. A part of me wishes I had never shared those details about my past and my family with Gideon. Though, in truth, he only knows a fraction of the story. And yet, he’s not wrong.
This does feel eerily similar to when my estranged mom called us, and I was the only one of my siblings who responded. Dad was furious, and he threatened me in many ways—cutting off my tuition, taking away my studio apartment, and the most hurtful one: “You’ll be dead to me.”
I dismissed them as just empty threats, but they weren’t. He not only disowned me but also, I found out that he wasn’t my biological father. To this day I still grieve the loss of my family. Maybe this is why I want to see Izzy. It’ll give me some closure and a new perspective on how things went down. I might even forgive her for abandoning me.
But will history repeat itself?
Glancing at Gideon, I muster a playful smile. “Are you telling me that if I go, you’ll stop talking to me?”
“No, silly girl.” He sighs. “I’m just concerned. You don’t need this kind of trouble. What if it ends badly, just like before?”
What if . . .? I repeat in my head.
The last time brought nothing but heartache. There are countless reasons to stay away from Seattle and my family. Yet, the thought of Isadora needing me persists. Eleven years ago, I was in her place, wanting—no, needing family. Though she ignored my pleas, I won’t do the same as her.
There’s more reason for me to go to her. What if she pissed dear old daddy off and Cedric is not talking to her either?
She needs her family. Me.
“It’ll haunt me if I don’t at least check on her. It’s probably not even her actual deathbed,” I reason out loud.
Gideon frowns. I can see those gears moving, the questions popping. Though he knows Mom died, he’s not aware it happened around the same time. My past is too complicated, so I usually keep it simple. No one wants to hear that my mother died right when my father stopped talking to me while I was fighting for my life. It sounds too gloom and doom and I’ve worked hard to focus on the positive and avoid the pitying looks.
I hate pity.
