At some point. I love that clause; I’ve been clinging to it my whole life. At some point, I should tell someone. At some point, I should face it head on. That point doesn’t have to be anywhere near this point. Shouldn’t I get to decide when my life is turned upside down again? I want Spence and I to be stronger before that happens—for me to have got through uni so everyone on campus isn’t looking at the girl with the broken childhood.
“Do you think you can speak to Spencer about your parents? Did you give it much thought after our last session?”
I dip my chin and clench my teeth.
“Indie?” she prompts, leaning forwards.
Come on, just say the words.
“Indie, please will you talk to me.”
“My dad is dead,” I whisper.
Anya gasps and gets up. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I watch her out of my peripheral as she crosses the room to kneel in front of me.
“Um…” I scratch my jaw and raise my eyes. “It was last month. He…”
Anya passes me a box of tissues before she sits on a high-back chair next to me. “It’s okay. Take a breath and talk when you’re ready.”
I wipe my eyes and try to ignore the growing ache in my chest. “I came down in the morning, put the kettle on, and then I went to check on them. Mum was breathing deeply, so then I turned to Dad. He was… still. His skin was soft, but his body was hard and cold,” I say.
“Indie.”
“Mum was a total mess. She blamed me.”
“It was not your fault.”
“If I’d checked one more time, maybe…”
“Don’t do that. No child should ever have to check to see if their alcoholic parent is alive. Your mum doesn’t blame you. Not really.”
“She’s in rehab.”
Anya’s brows rise at the news. “She is?”
“After Dad was taken away, I found Mum on the floor by his sofa, drinking. I went mad, threw it at the wall, and told her it was enough. She tried going cold turkey at home, but it wasn’t working. She agreed to get help. Maybe she’s scared of dying after all.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to leave you.”
I shrug. “I want to believe that. I’m visiting her this afternoon.”
“Is she responding well to treatment?”
“Seems to be. Her therapist is happy with her progress.”
“How are you?”
What a question. “Depends on the moment. Dad hadn’t been a father for a very long time, but losing a parent is like being lost. The house is quiet, I miss them both, and I’m terrified of rehab not working. Then when I’m with Spencer, which is almost all of the time, I feel happy. And that makes me feel guilty.”
“That’s a lot to process. I wish you would have called me.”
“I didn’t want to talk. Still unsure if I do now, to be honest.”
She smiles. “It’s important that you do.”
“So you keep telling me.” I sit back in the chair. “I don’t know how to have the life I want.”
“It starts by talking to those you love.”
My stomach drops.
Thirty-Nine
Indie
Anya wants me to talk to Spencer about everything. Or she wants me to consider it, which basically is her way of telling me that I need to do something without actually telling me to do it.
Spence already wants to take care of me, buy me houses, and treat me like a princess. What happens when he finds out I’m only this perfect person he’s created in his mind?
I pull into the car park at rehab and head inside. The building is lovely, with clean lines and lots of glass allowing light in. It looks more like a posh library. I’m emotionally raw after telling Anya about Dad, and now I have to see my sober mum.
“Hi, how can I help you?” a petite lady with prematurely greying hair asks.
I lean on the desk. “I’m here to see my mum, Jessica Croft.”
“Of course,” she replies. “I’ll just sign you in and print your pass.”
She takes my name and car registration then prints a visitor sticker for me to wear.
“If you want to take a seat, I’ll let Elliott know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
I look around the lobby. There are a few large fern plants in the corners, blue chairs along one wall, and a water dispenser by the door.
“Indie Croft?” Mum’s therapist calls.
I swing around and nod at Elliott. “Yes.”
“Your mum is waiting in the conservatory.”
“Okay.” I nod again but my legs don’t move.
He smiles. “If you’d like to follow me?”
Move! I take a step towards him. “How is she doing?”
“Very well. It’s been tough, but she’s determined.”
“What about with my dad’s death?”
He smiles sympathetically. “Her counselling sessions are going well. She’s very brave for being here while grieving. It’s hard enough battling addiction, let alone when your husband has just passed. She speaks very highly of you.”
I almost trip. “Does she?”
“You mean a lot to her.”
He leads me through a large space that looks like a massive living room with sofas, TV, bookcases, and board games. We pass through it to go into a glass conservatory. The heating is blowing so it’s not at all cold.
Mum is sitting on an armchair, staring out into the frosty garden area. She looks quite good, considering. There is a little colour in her cheeks, and her hair is freshly blow dried.
“Hi, Mum,” I say as Elliott leaves us to it.
She looks up, startled, as if she wasn’t expecting me to actually be there. Lying in bed this morning, I did consider calling to cancel. I wouldn’t have done it, but I was tempted.
“Indie.”
Mum gets to her feet, and I think she’s going to hug me until she hesitates.
The only physical contact we’ve had in about ten years is me rolling her onto her side after a long session. Besides the hug when Dad died.
She’s your mum. Go to her.
I take another step closer, and I hug her.
She
