Regretting You | Chapter 39 of 48

Author: Colleen Hoover | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 80429 Views | Add a Review

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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MORGAN

Clara’s comment cut deep.

I realize she drank an entire bottle of wine on her own. Two of them were completely empty. But sometimes drunken stupors make people more honest than they normally would be, which means she truly believes I’m disrespecting her father.

It kills me that she thinks I’m the one in the wrong.

I hope this passes. Her anger, her rebellion, her hatred toward me. I realize she’ll never fully get over it, but I hope in the coming days, she can somehow find it in herself to forgive me. I’m sure she will once we’re able to sit down and have a conversation, but she’s still reeling from the realization that Jonah and I are intimately involved. To be honest, I’m still reeling from the realization.

I open her door one more time to check on her before going to my bedroom. She’s out cold. I’m sure she’ll wake up with a raging hangover, but right now, she looks peaceful.

I kind of hope she does have a hangover. What better way to ensure your child doesn’t drink again than for their first time to be an awful experience?

I hear my cell phone ringing, so I leave Clara’s door cracked and go to my bedroom. In all the times Jonah has called me, this is the first time I’ve allowed myself to be excited to hear his voice. I sit down and lean back against the headboard and answer it. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice.

It’s quiet for a moment, and I realize he probably had no pressing reason to call me other than just to talk. That’s a first. It’s exhilarating, feeling wanted.

I slide down onto my back. “What are you doing?”

“Staring at Elijah,” Jonah says. “It’s so weird how fascinating it is just watching a baby sleep.”

“It doesn’t end. I was just staring at Clara when you called.”

“That’s good to know. So things were better when you got home?”

I laugh. “Oh, Jonah.” I press my hand to my forehead. “She’s wasted. She and Lexie drank two and a half bottles of wine while I was at your house.”

“No.”

“Yes. She’s gonna regret it in the morning.”

He sighs. “I wish I knew what advice to give you, but I’m at a loss.”

“Me too. I’m calling a family therapist in the morning. I should have done it sooner, but I guess it’s better late than never.”

“Should I expect her in class tomorrow?”

“I don’t know that she’ll be able to get out of bed.”

He laughs, but it’s an empathetic laugh. “I hope the years drag by before Elijah is that age.”

“They won’t. It’ll go by in a blink.” It’s quiet for a moment. I like hearing him breathe. I kind of wish I was there with him right now. I cover myself with my blanket and roll onto my side, resting my phone against my ear.

“You want to know one of my favorite memories of you?” Jonah asks.

I grin. “This sounds fun.”

“It was my senior prom. Your junior prom. You remember?”

“Yes. You went with Tiffany Proctor. I spent the whole night trying not to watch the two of you dance. I can admit now that I was insanely jealous.”

“Makes two of us,” Jonah says. “Anyway, Chris was excited leading up to prom because he’d gotten a hotel for the two of you. I tried not to think about it all night. When it came time for him to leave, he was drunk.”

So drunk,” I say, laughing.

“Yeah, I had to drive you guys to the hotel. Dropped Tiffany off first, which pissed her off. When we got to the hotel, the two of us had to practically drag Chris up the stairs. When we finally got him on the bed, he passed out in the center of it.”

I remember, but I don’t know why that’s Jonah’s favorite memory of me. Before I can ask him what was so special about it, he continues the story.

“You were hungry, so we ordered a pizza. I sat on one side of Chris, and you sat on the other. We watched Blair Witch Project until the pizza got there, but we didn’t have anywhere to set the pizza so that we could both reach it.”

I smile at the memory. “We used Chris as a table.”

“Sat the box of pizza right on his back.” I hear humor in Jonah’s voice. “I don’t know why I had so much fun that night. I mean . . . it was prom, and I didn’t even get kissed. But I did get to spend the entire night with you, even though Chris was passed out between us.”

“That was a good night.” I’m still smiling, trying to think of one of my favorite memories with Jonah. “Oh my God. Remember the night you got pulled over?”

“Which time? I got pulled over a lot.”

“I don’t remember where we were going, or if we were coming from somewhere, but it was late, and the highway was empty. Your car was a piece of shit, so Chris wanted you to see how fast it could go. You got all the way up to ninety when you got pulled over. When the cop came to your window, he said, ‘Do you realize how fast you were going?’ You said, ‘Yes, sir. Ninety.’ And then the cop said, ‘Is there a reason you were driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit?’ You paused for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t like for things to go to waste.’ The officer looked at you, and you waved toward your dash. ‘I have this entire speedometer, and most of the time, I don’t even use half of it.’

Jonah laughs. Hard. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget? You pissed the cop off so bad he pulled you out of the car and frisked you.”

“I got community service over that ticket. Had to pick up highway trash every Saturday for three months.”

“Yeah, but you looked cute in your yellow vest.”

“You and Chris used to think it was hilarious to drive by and throw empty soda cans at me.”

“All his idea,” I say in defense.

“I doubt that,” Jonah says.

I sigh, thinking about all the good times. Not just with Jonah but with Chris too. And Jenny. So many with Jenny. “I miss them,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I miss you,” I say quietly.

“I miss you too.”

We both bask in this feeling for a moment, but then I can hear Elijah starting to fuss. It doesn’t last long. Jonah must have soothed him back to sleep somehow.

“Do you think you’ll ever take a paternity test?” I ask him. I know Elijah looks just like Chris, but it could be a coincidence. I’ve been wondering if Jonah wants valid proof.

“I thought about it. But honestly, it’d be a waste of a hundred bucks. He’s mine, no matter what.”

My heart feels like it rolls over in my chest after that comment. “God, I love you, Jonah.” My words shock me. I know we said it earlier, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud just now. I was just feeling it, and then it came out.

Jonah sighs. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that.”

“It felt good to say it. Finally. I love you,” I whisper again.

“Can you just say it like fifteen thousand more times before I hang up?”

“No, but I’ll say it one more time. I am in love with you, Jonah Sullivan.”

He groans. “This is torture. I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was too.”

Elijah starts to cry again. He doesn’t let up this time. “I need to go make him a bottle.”

“Okay. Give him a kiss for me.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “We’ll play it by ear.”

“Okay. Good night, Morgan.”

“Good night.”

When we end the call, I’m amazed by the ache it leaves in my chest. I successfully fought these feelings for so long, but now that I’ve opened myself up to him, I want to be near him. I want to be in his arms, in his bed. I want to sleep next to him.

I replay our entire conversation in my head as I try to fall asleep.

A noise startles me, though. The sound came from the direction of Clara’s bedroom. I jump out of my bed and rush down the hallway. She’s not in her bed, so I open her bathroom door. She’s on her knees, gripping the toilet.

Here we go.

I take a washcloth out of the cabinet and wet it, then kneel down next to her. I hold back her hair while she pukes.

I hate that she’s experiencing this, but I also love it. I want it to hurt. I want her to remember every terrible second of this hangover.

It’s a couple minutes later when she falls against me and says, “I think it’s over.”

I want to laugh because I know it isn’t. I help her back to bed because she’s still very drunk. When she lies down, I notice she’s just using a sheet to cover up. I go to the spare bedroom, where I put all the things I confiscated. I grab her blanket and her sequined pillow, then grab a trash can and take them all to her.

While I’m tucking her in, she mutters, “I think I have vomit in my nose.”

I laugh and hand her a Kleenex. She blows her nose and drops the Kleenex in the trash can. Her eyes are closed, and I’m stroking her hair when she says, “I don’t ever want to drink again.” Her words are slurred. “I hated the pot too. It smelled so bad. I don’t want vomit in my nostrils again, it’s the worst.”

“I’m glad you hate it,” I say.

“I hated sex too. I don’t want to do that again for a long, long time. We weren’t even ready. He tried to talk me out of it, and I wouldn’t listen.”

I know she’s drunk, but her words surprise me. What does she mean he tried to talk her out of it?

That was her idea?

I’m still stroking her hair when she begins to cry. She presses her face into her pillow. I hate that whatever happened between them is making her feel this guilty. “He obviously loves you, Clara. Don’t cry.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not why I’m crying.” She lifts her head from the pillow and looks at me. “I’m crying because it was my fault. It’s my fault they died, and I try not to think about it, but that’s all I think about when my head is on this pillow. Every single night. Except one time I fell asleep wondering why teddy bears are made to be cuddly, when real bears are so mean, but besides that one night, all I can think about is how it’s my fault they had the wreck.”

“What are you talking about?”

She drops her face back into her pillow. “Go away, Mom.” Before I even move, she lifts her head again and says, “No, wait. I want you to stay.” She scoots over, patting the bed next to her. “Sing me that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

I’m still trying to catch up to what she said about the wreck being her fault. Why would she think that? I want to ask her about it, but she’s too drunk to hold a real conversation right now, so I just climb into bed with her and appease her. “What song?”

“You know, that song you used to sing to me when I was little.”

“I sang you a lot of songs. I don’t think we had any one particular song.”

“Sing something else, then. Do you know any Twenty One Pilots songs? We both like them.”

I laugh and pull her against my chest.

“Sing the song about the gold house,” she says.

I run my hand soothingly over her head and start to sing quietly.

She’s nodding as I sing, letting me know that’s the right song.

I continue singing the song, stroking her hair, until the song is over and she’s finally asleep.

I gently slip out of her bed and stare down at her. Drunk Clara is kind of funny. I’d prefer to have seen it for the first time when she was twenty-one, but at least it happened here, where I’m the one who gets to make sure she’s taken care of.

I tuck her blanket around her and then kiss her good night. “You’re driving me crazy right now, Clara . . . but my God, I love you.”

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L. Lewis
It is becoming interesting. I can't find the next page!. It is very frustrating
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L. Lewis
It is becoming interesting.
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Salma Al-kilany
That’s probably the most creative book I’ve ever read my entire life.
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