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"I have you," I said. "Your mother is..." I let out another harsh breath. "She's difficult. You know that. I can't just pick up the phone and talk to her, you know? But with you—"
"You've never called me before," she blurted, her face staining pink.
"I can start."
Her hazel eyes flicked between mine as she nibbled her bottom lip. I wanted to pull it free from her teeth. Instead of reaching for her, though, I tightened my grip on my bottle.
I needed to change the subject. I needed to get away from this conversation and pretend like last night hadn't happened. It would be the best for both of us.
"Have you heard back from your yoga retreat?" I asked. She swallowed her mouthful of wine as she shook her head.
"Not yet," she said, resting her head against the back of the couch. "Maybe Mom's right. Maybe I should just find something else." She pinched between her eyes.
"Have you thought about opening your own studio?" She barked out a humorless laugh, and I frowned. "What?
"Could you honestly see me as a business owner?" She laughed again, shaking her head.
"I don't know what you think is so funny," I said slowly. She blinked at me, her smile slowly falling. "I think you're more than capable of running your own business."
"You clearly don't know me," she said.
"No," I shook my head, "you clearly don't know yourself."
"I do." Her fingers turned white around the neck of her bottle as she stared at me. "I know that I'd fuck it up before the first week was over. I know I wouldn't have even one person interested in coming to my studio. And I know Mom would laugh in my face."
"That's what you're afraid of," I said, pointing at her. "You're afraid of your mother."
"I am not," she huffed. "I'm afraid of going into severe debt over a stupid studio."
"No." I shook my head, eyeing her. "You're afraid of failing in front of Cora. But you know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're even more terrified of succeeding."
She blinked again. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "Why would I be afraid of that?" I grinned around the mouth of the bottle as I took a sip. Her eyes dropped to my throat as I swallowed.
"Only you can answer that," I shrugged. "But I think you know you'll be successful at whatever you choose to do—"
"I'm not the successful one," she scoffed. "That was always Meredith. She was good at school. She was good at her job. She was a good daughter. She was good at being a wife and mother." I couldn't hold in my bark of laughter.
"You think she was good at that shit?" I shook my head, a sarcastic smile on my face. The warm buzz of alcohol was flowing freely through my veins, letting truths I’d wanted to hold hostage come tumbling out. "I can promise you, her success started and ended with work."
"But—"
"We were about to get a divorce," I admitted. Her eyes widened.
"What?" she breathed, leaning forward.
"The night she died," I sighed, shoving the glass aside and putting the bottle on the table beside me. "We got into a huge fight. She admitted she'd been cheating on me for nearly a year and said she wanted to take Emma from me."
"But you were so happy," she said, sounding shocked. "You had the perfect marriage." I smiled sadly.
"If only that were true," I muttered. "I told her I'd already been looking at divorce lawyers, and boy did that piss her off. She wanted to be the one to leave me, not the other way around." Reagan shook her head as I spoke, like she couldn't believe it. "When we first got together, she said I wasn’t a forever kind of guy. I was just someone to have fun with until she met her forever man. At the time, I’d laughed it off and agreed with her. But then she got pregnant, and I asked her to marry me—”
“Wait,” she said, holding her hand up. “I thought she got pregnant after the wedding?”
"Before," I shrugged. "We weren't even exclusive at the time." She blinked.
