“Lainey, we need to discuss this. I’m sorry, but a firefighter? That is not the life I want for my daughter. He is not good enough for you.” Ann’s glare is aimed at both of us now.
“I am a grown woman, and you don’t get a vote. There’s nobody better for me than this man right here, and if you can’t accept that then you don’t accept me. I will not let you treat me like shit an—” Lainey is cut off with Ann’s anger.
“I have never mistreated you a day in your life, Lainey! I’m your mother. How could you say that?” She looks at Lainey like she is talking crazy, then looks to me and rolls her eyes, as if I am going to suddenly switch sides.Get fucked, lady.
“You have made me second-guess myself mywhole life. You have gaslit me into thinking that I am not enough as a person, as a daughter, as a partner in my other relationships. You are a terrible example of ‘do as I say, not as I do.’ If I was in a miserable relationship, like what you had with Dad, but the person had a fancy title or big bank account you’d rather me be with them? You’re finally free from Dad, and you still let him control you. I thought it was all him, but clearly you’ve had a big impact in the hurt that was caused. I refuse to let you damage any more pieces of my life ...” Lainey looks up at me, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. I nod at her, squeezing her hand hoping to give her a little more strength to finish what she needs to say. “I especially won’t sit here and let you insult and disparage the person in my life that means the most to me. If you cannot love and support me like a mother,a loving and kind mother, then I don’t have room for you in my life right now.”
We leave her mom gaping after us at the dining table, looking like Lainey’s words kicked her right in the gut. I hope they made a deep impact because I know that finally saying them out loud like that sure as hell will have left Lainey with wounds that won’t heal easily.
26
Lainey
I’m staring at the stunning bouquet of flowers on Remington’s coffee table. After the absolute disaster that was meeting my mother, I thought he was going to drop me off at my apartment and need some space from me. However, he took me to his house, wrapped me in his arms, and held me all night long while I cried.
Bright pink flowers are arranged in a round glass vase, their scent filling the house, and there is a card laid out next to it. Remington had to work today, so he must have gotten up early to leave this before going into the station. I was so emotionally exhausted from our dinner and all the crying that my body completely shut down. I didn’t even wake up or hear Remington leave. When I finally rolled over to an empty bed, my head throbbed painfully and my throat was dry. I felt hungover even though I barely had a few sips of the wine my mom paired with her terrible chicken.
I bring my cup of tea to the couch, wrap up in my favorite knitted throw blanket, pick up the card from the coffee table, and flip it open to see Remington’s distinct, blocky handwriting.
Good morning, beautiful,
I am so sorry that I had to leave you and go to work today. There is no place I want to be more than right next to you this morning. I know I told you this last night, but I will say it over and over again?—
I’m so proud of you for standing up for yourself.
Text me when you wake up.
XO, R
PS: These are hyacinth flowers. They are meant to represent comfort, and the scent is used a lot for aromatherapy and stuff. I guess it helps make you feel calm and relaxed when you smell them? I don’t know if it will help or not, but I thought it was worth a try.
Hugging the card to my chest I let out a shaky breath, tears I thought ran out last night slip past my lids and trail across my raw cheeks. I don’t bother wiping them away. Remington was unable to be here this morning when I woke up, but somehow managed to still find a way to take care of me. I shut my eyes and draw in a deep breath, really focusing on the scent of the flowers in front of me. I’m not sure the “aromatherapy” is the reason I feel calmness start to pool in the center of my chest. I think it has everything to do with Remington and the peace, comfort, and happiness he has brought to my life.
Last night was beyond horrible. Worse than any practice scenario I could have possibly role-played in my mind. I knew it was not going to be smooth sailing introducing Remington to my mother, that is why I wastrying to prepare so much beforehand. He thought I was going way over the top with all the questions and information dump I gave him, but in the end none of it mattered.
Ann Quinn took one look at my tall, rugged, tattooed boyfriend and turned her nose up. I saw it instantly. Remington had worn nice jeans, a pressed blue button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up, and of course his signature boots. He was so handsome I had to try not to drool when I looked at him. I had hearts in my eyes when I looked at him, but my mother had daggers.
Bringing a significant other home is always cause for anxiety, and this felt so different because Remington is more important to me than anyone I have ever dated in the past. I was deeply embarrassed by the way she was treating us, but when she started in on how Remington was not good enough for me, demeaning his job and his morals, I snapped. Never in my twenty-six years of life have I ever spoken to my mom like that. It ripped something open in me doing it, but at the same time it also set something free.
Living under the Quinn roof meant I was always expected to do as I was told, stay quiet, and mold my opinions to my parents’ whims. Calvin was the golden child that could do no wrong, would carry on the family name, and is my father’s pride and joy. When I was younger I dreamt of Cal being my best friend, but he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me. I was his annoying little sister, and he had much more important things to do than play with me, pay attention to me, or even try to be nice to me.
I was an extra burden that never lived up to the unrealistic pressure my parents placed on me. They wanted to make me into a replica of a robotic doll they could prop up at parties, have on the Christmas card, or bring up as a point of conversation to try and make my parents more relatable to other people in their circle. I wanted genuine attention and love, asany child does from a parent. What I received was constant criticism. Tepid warmth from my mother and cold disinterest from my father. It was a very lonely existence in their world. I often wished I would stumble upon secret adoption papers that would explain why I was sootherin the Quinn house.
One thing I have learned being around Remington and his family is how horribly dysfunctional my family truly is. I obviously have been working on myself and my issues in therapy for years, but sometimes it takes a major moment in life to unlock a part of your brain which allows you to see things from a different perspective. Once your eyes have been opened, you can’t go back. The excuses you made in the past and used as tourniquets can’t ever cover up the gaping wounds that are left behind from your trauma—the experience leaving you bleeding out and broken all over again.
That is how I felt last night. After we left my mom’s house I was numb the whole ride home, not saying a word. Remington just held my hand, his strong silence riding shotgun with us, holding me just as tightly. When we got to his house my entire body began to shake. He came around to my side of the truck, scooped me into his arms, and carried me inside. We went right to the bedroom where he gently changed my clothes and slipped one of his softest, most well-worn FGFD T-shirts over my head. Remington stripped down to his boxers, guided us to the bed, and wrapped me in his arms where I completely shattered. He held me for what felt like hours and let me cry, rubbing my back, running his hands through my hair, and whispering comforting words that only he could deliver to my heart in that moment.
Reading his card again, I have an overwhelming need to see him. Knowing that I would be useless at my own job today, I had already put in for a sick day first thing. I needed a mental health day, and I was not going to talk myself out of using it. I know Remington’s working today and I do not wantto be a distraction, but I was told by Chief and everyone else that I was always welcome at the fire station. I decide a quick visit will be good for both of us after last night.
A long hot shower, quick breakfast, and some extra time getting ready to my favorite ’90s country playlist has me feeling more like myself. I grab my things and head out the door, making sure to lock up properly with the fresh set of house keys that Remington gave me not long ago. My navy-blue SUV is parked in its usual spot in his driveway, the sun reflecting off the paint and ...
What the hell!
I race toward my car and see the driver’s side is sporting an extra layer of paint today. Bright red spray paint to be exact. It is offensive in its color and the nasty word written along the entire length of my car.
WHORE
Tears of anger fill my eyes, and fear has my hands feeling instantly sweaty. Why would someone do this? I can’t drive my car around town like this! And how much is this going to cost me to have fixed? Obviously I have insurance, but I don’t know what kind of vandalism is covered on my plan.
