Chapter 49: Chapter Forty-Nine

RAE

There are very few things I hate more than feeling like I’ve inconvenienced someone. It’s up there with world hunger and my breakup.

Mom, who knows me all too well, drives to my apartment on Christmas Eve, fully aware that I’ll feel guilty she took an unnecessary trip, even though I never asked her to come.

Zoe crosses her arms. “Tell her you’re busy.”

“I can’t,” I sigh, angrily shoving a hat and gloves into my purse. My winter gear didn’t do anything to hurt me, but I need to unleash this rage on something.

“Technically, these cookies aren’t going to eat themselves,” Steven points out.

I force a laugh. “Aren’t you guys leaving soon anyway?” The cookies are for Steven’s family party they’re attending tonight. I’d bet my life savings it’s more enjoyable than this year’s Olson-Connelly bash.

“Yeah, but Kim doesn’t need to know.” Zoe’s arms remain crossed, which means she’s ~real~ pissed. “I’m serious, Rae-bae. You’re a grown-ass woman. If you don’t want to do Olson Christmas Eve, you don’t have to.”

If only it were so simple.

“She already drove all the way here,” I reply.

Zoe emits a growl that’s going to make a reappearance in my nightmares tonight. “Because she knows—”

“I know,” I interrupt. I’m already about to get a lecture from Mom. I could do without Zoe’s on top of that. “Have fun tonight, guys.”

Mom’s crossover is idling in front of Elmwood Square. “I knew you’d change your mind, sweetheart,” she says over the holiday playlist.

I grit my teeth, sick of everyone taking my weakness for granted and ~really~ tired of them winning. They always do.

“Rae, honey, what happened?”

Mom wouldn’t accept my I’m-too-sad-for-Christmas-Eve RSVP, but now that she can see my puffy, blotchy face, she cares. Appearances really are everything with my family.

They’re nothing if not consistent; I’ll give them that.

“I already told you,” I mutter.

“You never got this upset over Jake.”

~Yeah, well, Jake wasn’t the love of my life~. I shrug.

“Miles is dying to speak with you.”

“I’m not talking to him, Mom.”

“He’s your brother,” she reminds me with a sigh.

As if I could ever forget being so heartlessly betrayed by my own sibling. “Is he there now?”

“Yes. He and Nicole came over this afternoon.”

“Bring me home, please.”

“We’re going—”

“To my home, not yours. Please turn around.”

She doesn’t. She just locks the doors like I’m a toddler trying to escape. “No. I won’t have my children fighting on Christmas. We’ll put this behind us.”

“He ruined everything, Mom.” I dissolve into tears once again.

“He was just looking out for you, honey. I’m not saying he shouldn’t have gone about it a better way, but his actions came from a place of love.”

“You agree with him, don’t you?” I growl.

“I don’t agree with all of it, but Logan is a bit old for you, and I don’t know how much you’d enjoy his lifestyle. Fancy dinners, going—”

“Yes, because how could awkward little Rae handle a fancy dinner with her boyfriend?” I snap. “Wouldn’t want to put me in a room with important people, right?”

“Rachel, you’re misinterpreting,” she sighs. “We know you’re capable of doing anything you set your mind to, but be honest with me, honey, is that something you really want?”

“Yes! With Logan, yes.” I’m on the verge of screaming now.

Mom sighs for the millionth time. She must be terribly frustrated, not anticipating so much opposition from shy little Rae.

“I’ve heard things about his family—about the Quincys—that make me question if he’s the right man for my daughter. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Mom continues as if I never interrupted. “But, Logan’s father doesn’t seem to have been a very good man. He bequeathed quite a bit of wealth to his mistress.

“I’ve heard Lorraine Quincy has a drug habit. And his brother… You do know how he passed, right? It was in the—”

“Don’t talk about Zach,” I snarl. I refuse to allow Mom to speak about Zach so effortlessly when the mere mention of his brother tears Logan’s heart to shreds.

“I want my daughter to be with someone who shares her values. There’s no stability in Logan’s background. I don’t think he was raised in an environment where—”

“Logan ~does~ share my values,” I shriek. I could go on and on about what a fantastic freaking person Logan is, but it’s fruitless. Mom doesn’t know him. Mom doesn’t ~care~ to know him.

It’s not his values she’s worried about. It’s the lack of a cookie-cutter, perfectly stable upbringing. The Quincys don’t look perfect on the outside, so their son isn’t an acceptable partner for Rae.

“Logan’s mom has an addiction. That’s a mental illness. Are you really saying that Logan’s a villain because he’s related to a mentally ill person?

“By your own logic, being related to me makes you the bad guy. Maybe we should go warn Nicole what she’s getting into.”

“Rachel, you know that’s not what I mean.”

I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what she means. Maybe not on the surface, but deep down, she believes that Logan is guilty by his association with a woman who developed an addiction after she lost her son.

If I weren’t her daughter, she’d see me as equally shameful.

“Please turn around or let me out,” I growl.

She continues driving as if I never spoke. When we arrive at the house, Dad has to pull me out of the car. He nearly slips on the ice dragging me inside. I don’t care.

For once, my desire for revenge overpowers my anxiety. I’d love to cause a spectacle in full view of the neighbors right now.

That’s my parents’ worst nightmare, after all. They don’t know a thing about suffering. Embarrassment is a good start.

Miles waits for me in the kitchen, wearing a navy shirt that perfectly matches the hue of Nicole’s dress. His dark hair is slicked back, looking shiny and stiff and unnatural.

I know for a fact Nicole picked his clothes and styled his hair. I swallow a Zoe-like growl. How dare he criticize my happy, healthy relationship when his wife is so insanely controlling?

Nicole lets out a loud gasp as she takes in my appearance. It’s a bitchy thing to do, but I understand. I haven’t showered in three days. I don’t remember the last time I brushed my hair.

My eyes are practically swollen shut, and I’m pretty sure there’s snot on my face.

I move my eyes away. I don’t have the energy to waste reacting to her rudeness. Every last drop is reserved for Miles.

“Mom told me what happened. I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” my brother says, as if he isn’t the cause of ~what I’m going through~.

“Tell me what you said to him,” I demand. I know the gist of it.

I know Miles convinced Logan that his family is too damaged for me to become a part of, that the Quincys can’t give me what I need, whatever the fuck that is.

I know Miles seems to think I’m too shy, unsophisticated, and young to date a CEO.

“Why don’t you settle in first, Rae?” Mom tries.

“No. Tell me now, or I’m leaving.” It’s not an empty threat. I’ve got the Uber app up and ready to go.

Miles sighs. “He’s not the right man for you, Rae. Just because he’s some hotshot businessman doesn’t mean he’s a good person.

“You can tell a lot about a person’s character from the home they come from. His dad left money to—” His voice lowers “—the ~other woman~. I don’t want you to be on the other side of that someday. You deserve—”

“You’re worried about my inheritance?” I roar.

He groans. “It’s just an example. Logan comes from a broken home. It was only a matter of time before he started mistreating you.”

I stare, open-mouthed. Miles has had an easy life. Comfortable upbringing. Married his high school sweetheart.

Mental illness has never wreaked havoc on his mind or body. He’s known nothing but privilege.

And somehow, he thinks he knows what it’s like to undergo hardship. To suffer from mental illness.

To be raised in an unsupportive family. To lose a brother and a father.

“It’s true,” Nicole chimes in. “My cousin went out with a guy who came from, like, a ~really~ broken home, and he was ~awful~ to her.”

I scoff, and my heart pangs, because Logan and I used to scoff at each other. It was our thing. “Well, if it happened to your cousin…” I trail off, trying and failing to think of a sarcastic response.

And then it’s too late, because Nicole is talking again. “Miles did you a favor. You might not see it now, but you will when you’re older.”

Mom nods in agreement. Miles raises his eyebrows in an expression that screams “I told you so.” Dad rubs his temples.

Nicole is three years older than me. The only relationship she’s ever known is with my brother, the only home in the suburbs. She doesn’t know a damn thing.

The nearest Uber is ten minutes away.

“Excuse me,” I mumble, and I hide out in the bathroom until it arrives, trying not to listen to the things my family—and Nicole, who isn’t family, not to me—is whispering about crazy, confused little Rae.

“Going somewhere, Rae?” Miles asks, sounding amused.

“My Uber is here.”

“Rae—” Mom starts.

“Text me so I know you got home safely, okay?” Dad interrupts.

“Sure.”

Usually, I love the way SLC lights up at Christmastime. Wreaths dangle from streetlights, trees are adorned with ornaments, and colorful bulbs hang from balconies.

Tonight, the decorations are nothing but obstacles for what I want to see.

I catch glimpses of illuminated faces, people waiting by crosswalks, holding gifts and smiling brightly.

I know he isn’t out, but I study each face, hoping to see those teal eyes, the tiny bump near the top of his nose, the shine of his caramel hair.

None of the people are Logan.

***

I have a text from Dad waiting for me when I check my phone in my apartment.

Dad

We love you, Rae. Presents at ten tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.

Rae

Just got home. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

Dad

OK. I’ll call in the morning and you can let me know then.

Rae

Okay

I’ll definitely have to suffer through another family get-together tomorrow, but at least Dad’s nice enough to pretend I have a say in the matter.

I don’t text a lot, so when I exit out of our conversation, I still see the conversation with Logan in my history. No scrolling required. Minimal friends means minimal scrolling, I suppose.

I stare at the screen. I’m already broken into the tiniest pieces imaginable. It doesn’t matter what I do. I can’t feel worse.

And so I text Logan.

Rae

Miles was wrong. You know me better than he ever has, and you know that I love you.

Rae

Merry Christmas, Logan.

I start to type out that I wish I were spending the holiday with him, but I erase the message. It’s true, but I don’t want to remind him of my outburst at the family party.

My phone buzzes only a minute later.

Logan

Merry Christmas, Rae.

I wish he’d tell me that he loves me too. He doesn’t, of course. I shouldn’t feel disappointed, not after I watched him leave so effortlessly, but the message I don’t receive still burns a hole through my tattered heart.