Page 127 of The Love Playbook

“You know what? You’re right.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m the problem. Because after Dad left, it was just you and me, and every time you went into a depressive episode, I set everything aside to try and pull you out of it. I got good grades. I cleaned the house and did the laundry. I never lied to you and always followed the rules, even the ones you never thought to give me. I even gave you my car for fuck’s sake. Yet, for years, I’ve blamed myself, thinking I wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough, gifted enough, funny enough, or dedicated enough to make you happy. Just like I wasn’t enough for Dad to stay, either.”

“Charlotte . . . I . . .” My mother brings a hand to her throat, and her voice is a strangled cry. Reaching out, she takes a step toward me while I take one back.

“I’ve worried myself sick for years over how to help heal you. When I went to school last year, and you were okay, I was thrilled, but too afraid to hope it might last. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop so that when it did, I was ready. And here we are.” I motion around us. “I’ve run myself ragged theselast few weeks trying to accommodate you and help you out, dropping everything to come to your aid. And just for once, I want to be first.” I choke on a sob, my words garbled as they spill from my lips like sand.

The floodgates have opened, and there’s no stopping what comes out.

“I want to be the priority.” I point to myself. “Me. I want to be the one who’s cared for, instead of always fucking giving and getting nothing back.”

My shoulders slump, and my emotions feel drained. My back hits the wall and I crumple, sliding to the floor like a doll.

“And I had a chance at that with Chris . . .” I mumble, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “But then I went and ruined it.” My eyes lock with hers, and I release a gut-wrenching sob. “All because I don’t know how to let you go.”

Chapter 32

CHRIS

After a night of tossing and turning in my bed, I’m back in Lockport, standing on Tiffany Baker’s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn. Nerves dance in my chest as I raise a fist and knock, waiting for her to answer. I have approximately one hour before I need to be back on campus for morning conditioning, but I can’t go the day without talking to Lettie.

I spoke with my mom yesterday and explained to her that Charlotte told me firsthand Garry had zero intentions of paying Tiffany Baker’s bills after they were married. In fact, the only reason he helped her in the first place was because Charlotte begged him to. This was a deal between father and daughter, nothing more. And even though he should have told her about it, she would have done the same thing for her kids given the same situation; he was probably afraid she’d take it the wrong way. Noone wants to get married to a spouse with baggage. By evening, she was back at his place, making amends.

If only my problems were so simple . . .

My mind drifts to thoughts of Charlotte and my stomach sinks. All I can do is pray she’s still here because I don’t know what to make of our fight. Even though I’m upset with her for twisting the truth, I can’t say I blame her for outing her father. She was hurt, and Garry was out of line. Marriage should be laid on a foundation of trust, and my mom deserved to know the deal he struck with his daughter. The only reason I’m not more pissed about it is because I know Garry loves my mom. I see it in the way he looks at her, the subtle things he does for her, and the little sacrifices he’s made to be there for my brothers in a way I can’t while I’m at school. Whatever his reasons are for the wedge between him and Charlotte, I have a feeling they’re intertwined with the complicated situation with her mother. But it isn’t Lettie’s father that’s the problem. It’s her. Because until she believes she’s worth loving and that she won’t turn into her mother and drive the people in her life away, she’ll never fully put herself out there. How can you be a priority if you don’t believe you’re worth it?

Which means I have to show her that I’ll love her enough for the both of us, that nothing or no one could possibly push me away.

I lift my hand to knock again when it suddenly swings open. Tiffany Baker stands in the doorway, her dark eyes ringed with shadows. There’s a sadness on her face that wasn’t there yesterday.

“Charlotte’s not here, is she?” I ask.

Tiffany shakes her head, her chin wobbling. “Want to come in?”

I nod, stepping inside even though it’s the last place I want to be. I like Tiffany; I even feel bad for her. I can’t imagine spendinga lifetime so unhappy, especially when you have a daughter as amazing and devoted as Charlotte just begging to be loved. But Tiffany isn’t my priority, and she never will be. Charlotte can put her mother’s needs above her own, but I won’t.

I follow as she crutches her way into the kitchen, remembering the time I spent here with Lettie when she motions toward the coffee pot. “Would you like a cup?”

“Sure.” I scratch my head, unsure of why I’m still here.

Tiffany sets about the kitchen, leaning her weight against the counter as she grabs a mug out of the cupboard and fills it with coffee. Then, abandoning her right crutch, she leans heavily on her other side while she carries it to me.

I accept the offered cup, surprised at how efficient she seems when the few times I’ve been here, she’s relied on Lettie for practically everything.

The heat soothes my palm as I bring it to my lips and take a sip as an awkward silence stretches between us. “Sorry,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I thought Lettie would still be here.”

“She went back to school yesterday, shortly after you left.” Tiffany drops down onto one of the stools at the island, avoiding my gaze as she asks, “Do you think I’m awful like she does?”

I swallow, having no idea what the hell to say because I’m not sure the truth is that cut and dry. On one hand, I don’t think she’s been the best mother. From what Charlotte’s told me, she’s been more of the parent in the relationship. On the other hand, I know enough about mental illness and chronic depression to respect the fact her mind is a constant battleground. I have no doubt Tiffany Baker doesn’t want to feel this way.

“She doesn’t think you’re awful,” I say. “But if you want to know what I think . . .” I allow my words to linger in the air, and when Tiffany nods, I finish them. “I think you’re sick. I think you’ve allowed your mental illness to control you so muchit’s destroyed Charlotte in the process. I think you’ve leaned on her more than any mother should lean on a child for happiness, especially in the last few years. And I think Charlotte doesn’t know how to build a life for herself where she can thrive and be happy while you’re not.”

I’m not sure how I expect Lettie’s mother to respond. A biting remark? A denial of sorts? Instead, she huffs out a laugh. “Well, that’s an accurate statement if I’ve ever heard one,” she says.

My eyes widen, waiting to see where this goes as she takes a sip of her coffee. “I know this is hard to believe, but I had no idea how much my depression affected her. It’s not an excuse. I realize now how much I’ve hurt her, and I know she hasn’t been the same since the divorce. When Garry and I split, it took a little piece of her she never got back. I knew it at the time, but I was drowning in my own pain, so it was easier to ignore hers. She was always closer to Garry, and so when he left her with me without a fight, I think that sent her a message. One she’s never recovered from.”

She shakes her head, releasing a tremulous breath. “She’s pretty, has friends, and never had a problem getting a date if she wanted one. She’s always gotten good grades and got into a great college. She has direction and knows what she wants to do with her life. On the surface, everything seemed fine. I had no idea on the inside, she was struggling, that she felt this . . . this obligation toward me, like she was the one responsible for holding me together. And it’s my fault for not noticing. My fault for being so self-absorbed. Instead of a mother, I’ve been a burden.”

“She loves you,” I say, feeling like I need to say something, and knowing it’s the only truth I have to give.

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