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“But this is my family’s home,” I say. “If I move away, there’ll be nothing left.”
Plus, there’s Stacey. How can I leave her?
“Your parents would’ve wanted you to live your life well,” Hazel says. “They wouldn’t want you to stay in this dying town if your heart is pulling you away.”
She doesn’t know about Brennon and me, yet her use of the word heart is spot on. It is my heart that’s pulling me away. Very strongly.
She pauses in the pruning and turns to me, a very serious and kind of remorseful look in her eyes. “Your mom felt a lot of guilt for asking you to come back here after your father died to take care of her, you know.”
“I was happy to do it.”
She smiles. “And she knew that too. She was very grateful to you for being with her in her final days. She told me you were the perfect daughter, any mother’s dream, and she felt so blessed for having you.”
A painful lump forms in my throat at hearing that. They’re exactly the same words my mom spoke to me shortly before she died, and the memory of that day is painfully vivid in my mind right now.
“Where are you thinking of going if you do decide to leave?” Hazel asks. “Back to New York?”
I’m very grateful to her for the tactful change of subject.
“I was thinking somewhere closer and much warmer,” I say. “LA, actually.”
She drops the branch she was holding in preparation to cut off the dead flower and beams at me. “But that’s just perfect. Brennon . . . my son, has lived in LA for years. He could show you around and help you find a place to live in a nice neighborhood.”
I feel my cheeks heat up, and I try to kind of hide behind the bushy branch I’m inspecting for wilted flower buds. “I know. I spoke to Brennon during the party.”
“I could give him a call and ask him to welcome you when you get there.”
My whole face feels like I’ve been standing in the sun too long, even though we’re actually in the shade. Hazel looks at me funny, but then a realization makes her eyes go very wide before she nods her head and smiles.
“Oh, yes, I saw you guys talking at the party. I remember now,” she says. “You seemed to really be hitting it off. I won’t try to butt in.”
I almost say, “Thanks”, but stop myself just in time.
We continue to prune the roses for a while in silence. I know she knows about me and Brennon, and I have no idea what to say next. Tell her everything? Change the subject?
Brennon should be the one to break the news about us to his mother, though. I know that much.
“I think you should go to LA and see what happens,” she finally says. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. And a life of regret is not worth living.”
That resonates with me in a way few things have lately.
I will regret not pursuing whatever Brennon and I have started. I know that in the deepest parts of my heart and my soul. Even if nothing else makes much sense, and I have no idea how to make it work, I know that.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Sarge
The last time Luna was here, I took her down to Grand Central Market, and we ate a variety of the different foods that the stalls had. One of the places I didn’t take her to was called Eggslut. It’s a stall that really focuses on everything eggs, thus the name. I’m out here getting a massive order for the club, which consists of sausage egg and cheeses, bacon egg and cheeses, gauchos, and my personal favorite, the fairfax.
I ended up ordering three of the fairfax for myself. It’s a scrambled egg with chives and caramelized onions, cheddar cheese, and sriracha mayo on a brioche bun. The perfect way to start the day if you ask me.
The order consists of thirty-seven sandwiches and then a variety of sides which include truffle hashbrowns, caramel chocolate chip cookies, and side salads. I’m not eating any of that, but I’ll scarf down my sandwiches as soon as I have the opportunity.
The woman working behind the counter shoves everything the club ordered in two large bags. I hand her my card, and she rings me up, then hands it back. As soon as the transaction is finished, I’m on my way, walking back to the clubhouse. It’s one of the many perks of living in downtown LA. You have access to everything.
I haven’t even made it up to the crosswalk yet when my phone begins ringing, so I move the bags over to one hand and then answer it. “Hello.”
“Brennon, what in the actual hell, dude?” I don’t know what’s gotten into my sister, but it’s something.
