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“Stop.” I hold a hand up and halt him from approaching. “I don’t want to hear your words because while I know what you say is the truth, it’s the words you don’t say that I want to hear. Like, why I had to learn that my daughter might have a deadly genetic disease from your father? Why did I have to meet your sister to understand? Why won’t you ever tell me why you pushed me away before you even knew about the pregnancy? And why the hell did you tell me to get rid of the baby, and now, you are playing Father of the fucking Year?”
His mouth parts, and his eyes glisten with dampened emotion. There’s an arch to his stance, as if I hit him in the gut. He lays a hand on his chest and rubs it in circles.
Tears spill down my cheeks. I curse their presence, and yet I can’t stop them.
Today has been too much. Too many revelations, more questions, and a heart that’s currently shattering on the street because Luke is still standing there, staring—pensive and passionate with a frown of remorse. His mouth though says nothing.
After all that, still, he givesnothing.
The Uber pulls up to the curb, and I stare at him another moment, giving him one more chance to, please, tell me why he continues to push me away, just like everyone else in my life has.
Just as I’ve been trained to do to others.
It’s a vicious cycle, and there’s no ending it.
I do my best to pick up my own pieces and carry them with me as I step back toward the curb.
Luke finally takes a step forward, his hand outstretched. “Please, don’t get in. I’ll drive you back. It’s safer.”
I shake my head. “I have to get home to my daughter. Good night, Luke.”
As I slide into the car, I push the tears back into my heart. I’ve only cried four times in the last decade. Sadly, I dare to look out the back window and see him still on the curb, his fists tight and his head down. I doubt these are the final tears I’ll ever cry for Luke.
twenty-two
“YOU SHOULD CUT HISballs off,” Tara demands from her place around the firepit in Melissa’s backyard.
“You should drink more wine.” Melissa holds the bottle up and refills my glass.
It’s been a fun day since I left Luke on the curb and drove away from him. I slept in way too late this morning, buried myself in work, and then played with Ainsley in the park. I needed some girl time, and my beautiful daughter and I went on a scavenger hunt. She even put on a show for me, belting out her favorite songs fromMoana.
My head has been a mess, so I asked the girls for a get-together. Melissa and Tara were quick to respond with a place and time—Melissa’s house, seven p.m.
I stare at Ainsley through the window. She’s watching a movie with Hunter and eating popcorn on the couch in the living room while I’m outside in an oversize sweater and an undersized attitude.
“She has no idea her entire life could be plagued.” I hug my sweater as I curl my feet under me. “You wouldn’t believe what this disease does to people, and the thought of her losing her mind and control of her body to thisthingis frightening.”
“Is there a cure?” Melissa asks with her most worried mama-bear expression on her face.
I know she’s thinking of her own children and how she’d react if this were a possible reality for them.
I shake my head and sigh. “Not even close. But there is research in gene therapy, stem cell therapy, deep brain stimulation, medications, supplements … organizations raising awareness and fundraising for a cure. Maybe by the time she shows signs, there will be one.”
Melissa places a hand on my thigh and gives it a squeeze. “There will be a cure. You have to believe that. Until then, you can’t get ahead of yourself. Right now, you don’t even know if Luke has it, and if he does, Ainsley still has a fifty percent chance of evading it.”
“She has the same chance of getting it as she does evading it.” I droop down with the thought. “You’re right though. I have to just focus on the moment. I can’t mourn what’s not even happening. Still, the anxiety of the unknown is overwhelming.”
Melissa places a hand on my back and rubs deep circles. “Luke needs to get tested.”
“I know.”
“Hell no,” Tara states from her seat. “That kind of information could mess with your head more than wondering. At least not knowing, you have hope.”
“Ninety percent of people with a parent with Huntington’s disease don’t get tested for that reason. I keep thinking, if they did and tested positive, they’d be able to be part of research and clinical trials. Instead of thinking about dying, you could help find a way to live.”
Tara twists her mouth. “You can’t undo that knowledge. If there’s no effective cure, why riddle yourself with that? I couldn’t do it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I could either,” Melissa admits.
