The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

twenty-seven

Emyln

I wake the next morning with a killer headache.

You'd think I'd learn my lesson about drinking too much when I'm out with my friends, but apparently not. I guess I just get caught up with living in the moment. Speaking of last night...I prop myself up on my elbows and yawn, the faint smell of stale tequila burning my nose. Damn, that's disgusting – definitely should have brushed my teeth last night. And I would of if I hadn't been so drunk. I have a faint memory of Hains driving me home and getting me out of the passenger seat, but that's it. However, using my common sense, I can piece the pieces together fairly well. He must've carried me up to my bedroom. I make a mental note to thank him after hockey tonight.

It's almost noon by the time I shower, get ready, and brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash, so when I make it into the kitchen for something to eat, I'm surprised to see my mom making pancakes and the boys sitting at the kitchen table. I actually have to blink a couple times to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

"Morning, Emyln," Mom says over her shoulder.

I frown to myself, and then shoot a glance at the boys. Miles is focused in on his iPad, probably playing some stupid video game. Joel has his iPhone in one hand and a fork in the other, which he uses to bring oversized mouthfuls of maple syrup-slathered pancake to his mouth every three seconds. I try not to wrinkle my nose in disgust – how can boys eat that much so fast? That aside, they don't seem to notice anything off about this situation.

"Uh...morning," I reply. It comes out as more of a question. This is the first time my mom has really greeted me without it sounding forced or remotely fake. It's...strange.

I walk into the kitchen and help myself to a mug and the freshly brewed coffee that's sitting on the countertop. Through the whole process, it feels as though Mom is trying to catch my eye so she can lure me into a conversation. I'm not in the mood for a conversation with her right this second, so I do my best to avoid her. I go as far as spending an extra two minutes looking for the cream in the fridge, when it's on the top shelf, right in front of my face.

When I'm sitting at the kitchen table just to the left of Miles, Mom sets down a plate of steaming pancakes in front of me. A bottle of maple syrup makes a small thumping noise when she sets it down.

I watch my mother cautiously as she sits down across from me, a big, warm smile on her face. The view makes my sense of defense strengthen. What the hell is she up to? I narrow my eyes at her. This is weird – even for her.

But I still go for the pancakes. Who cares if they're poisoned? At least I'll die because of something I love. Though I'd rather have Hains be the death of me due to too much love and affection. But pancakes are second on the list. So I guess that's that.

After slathering them in butter, which instantly melts into an oily mess, I drench them in maple syrup and take a bite. I could almost groan. There's nothing better than the sweet sugariness of pancakes to cure a hangover.

"So," Mom says after a sip of coffee. "How was your night out?"

I almost drop my fork. Where the hell is this coming from? Mom usually doesn't give a shit about what I do. She never has. Obviously. I don't want to answer her and give her the satisfaction of having a civil conversation with me, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I want to understand why she's doing this.

"It was good," I reply after another bite. Fuck. I don't remember her pancakes being this good. Were they ever this good? "Thank God for Hains. Don't know how I would've gotten home without him around. I mean, Val wasn't drunk, but the house is out of her way. Didn't want to bother her."

Mom nods in agreement. "Hainsey is such a sweet boy."

I grind my teeth together. If she thinks that, then why the hell did she ruin our family and give me no other choice than to move away and break his heart? If he's such a sweet boy, then why did she make me hurt him?

"How's Rosa doing, by the way?" she asks.

Aaaand...there it is. The underlying reason as to why she wants to talk to me.

The frustration and suspicion that's been building up inside me for the past few minutes finally breaks free like water bursting through a dam. I slam my fork down on the table, causing the boys to jump. "Is that what I am to you?" I demand. "A fucking messenger?"

"Emyln!" Mom exclaims. "Watch your language."

"Please," I scoff. "As if they haven't heard that word before." I glance at them – both are staring at us. Good. Let them see what their stepmother is really like when she's not hiding behind her glossy image. I avert my gaze back to my mother. "If you want to know how Rosa is doing, you're not going to get any information from me. I'm not a messenger. If she wants nothing to do with you, then that's that. I don't interfere with any relationships but my own. So let me spell it out for you: The decision is going to be Rosa's; she will decide if she ever wants to speak with you again or not. Don't drag me into your turmoil again, Mom. I can't take it anymore." A tear slips down my cheek. Shit. I must be getting my period soon or something – I never cry in front of people (minus Hains, he's always the exception). Goddamned hormones. I don't want to talk about anything with her, but something about the vulnerable, helpless look on her face spurs me on. "You never apologized to me. Once. And I guess that's why I'm a fucking idiot, right? You never apologized for the shit you said; yet I still tried to mend the broken relationship so I could come back and see the man I love every day. Do you understand the extremities of what you took from me? I lost my best friend, my boyfriend, and the only person I know I can trust with my life that's not a family member. He needed me and I left him and I will never forgive myself for doing that to him." I let out a shaky laugh and run a hand through my damp hair. "But you know what's so ironic about this whole thing? I didn't cause the problem – you did. Yet I still paid the price for it. Which is so fucking unfair that it almost drives me insane. You replaced Dad. You replaced me and Rosa. You got a happy lifestyle while the rest of us suffered."

By the time I'm done, I'm sobbing silent tears. Shit times two.

Mom reaches for my arm. I pull it away and get to my feet.

"Emyln," Mom says, "please. I'm trying to fix this."
"No," I say, shaking my head. "If you want to repair the broken bond between us, you have to do more than make me food. It may make my stomach happier than a pig in shit, but it does nothing for the rest of me."

Mom's eyes fill with despair. "How can I fix it?"
I look at my feet. How can she? I prod my brain for the answer, but come up short. "I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you for what you said about me and Rosa. I only agreed to come here because of Hains – I had to see him. I needed to get my friend back. And you know what, Mom? He may have pushed me away for a while, but he eventually gave up the act and we talked. That's how things have gotten better between the two of us; we were both willing to face our demons. I tried to do that with you, and you were persistent with ignoring my efforts. I think you've missed your chance with me."

And with that, I turn back to my bedroom to gather my purse and any other necessities. Before I go watch Hains play hockey, I want to do a little shopping around The Village.

Which is exactly what I'm going to do. I'm tired of having to live by the consequences of the decisions other people make.

The cycle ends once and for all.