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Authors: Colleen Hoover

Regretting You (22 page)

BOOK: Regretting You
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What she’s saying about Aunt Jenny isn’t true.

And even if it were . . . even if my mother was the one to relay most of the advice Jenny gave me, why would she ruin that for me? Jenny is never coming back thanks to me, and my mother just took the one thing I cherished most about my aunt and threw it in a blender and fed it to me.

I hate that I feel like I’m about to cry. I’m so angry with her. At myself. I turn around to walk away before I say something that will get me grounded, but my mother grips my arm.

“Clara.”

I yank my arm from her hand. I spin and take a lunging step toward her. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you for taking one of the things I loved the most about my aunt and
ruining
it for me!”

I really want to call her a bitch, but I don’t want to make her angry. I want to make her feel guilty. I want her to feel as guilty as I’ve felt since the accident.

It works, because she immediately looks ashamed for taking credit for the close relationship I had with Aunt Jenny.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I walk away, leaving her standing alone in the hallway.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MORGAN

Why did I say all that? Why did I feel the need to take the credit now that Jenny is gone?

I know why. I’m upset and hurt by what Jenny did to me, and it hurts even more to know that Clara still considers her a saint. I wanted Clara to know that Jenny had no clue how to offer mature advice and everything she learned from Jenny, Jenny learned from me. For some reason, I wanted credit for that. Credit I don’t need. I’m taking all the anger I have toward Jenny and Chris, and I’m wanting Clara to feel anger toward them too.

I feel terrible. She’s right. I hurt her and ruined a memory she had of Jenny, and it was all for selfish reasons. Because I’m mad at Jenny. Because Jenny hurt
me
.

This is all the more proof that I can’t let Clara find out about what Jenny and Chris did. Just finding out this one small thing absolutely gutted her. She almost started crying right when I said it.

God, this hurts. It all hurts so much that I just want out of here. Out of this building. I want to go home. I should have never even considered applying for a job here. What teenager wants to spend all day, every day with their mother?

I turn and rush down the hallway, attempting to hold back tears until I make it outside. I’m ten feet from the door.

“Morgan?”

I freeze at the sound of my name. I spin around on my heels, and Jonah is standing in his doorway. He can tell immediately that I’m not okay. “Come here,” he says, motioning me into his empty classroom. A huge part of me wants to keep walking, but a small part of me wants to take refuge somewhere, and his empty classroom seems like a good place to do that.

He presses a hand to the small of my back and ushers me to a seat. He hands me a Kleenex. I take it and wipe at my eyes, pressing back the tears. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s as if the last few weeks of feeling like I’m losing control of Clara hit me, and I’m forcing Jonah into being my temporary therapist. I just begin to ramble.

“I always thought I was a good mom. It’s been my only job since I was seventeen. Chris worked at the hospital, and my job was to raise Clara. So every time she did something good or surprised us in some way, I felt a sense of pride. I cultivated her into this wonderful little human, and I was so proud of her. Proud of myself. But since the day Chris died, I’m starting to think maybe I had nothing to do with all the good parts of her. She never acted out before he died. She didn’t do drugs or lie about having a boyfriend or where she is. What if all this time, I thought she was so great because I was a great mom, but this whole time, Chris is the one who brought out the best side of her? Because now that he’s gone, she and I just bring out the worst in each other.”

Jonah was leaning against his desk when I started saying all that, but now he’s seated in the desk across from me. He leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Morgan, listen to me.”

I suck in a breath and give him my attention.

“You and I are in our thirties . . . we expect a fair amount of tragedy in our lives. But Clara is only sixteen. No one her age should have to
deal with something this damaging. She’s lost in grief right now. You just have to let her find her way, like you did with me.”

Jonah’s voice is so gentle right now I actually find a semblance of comfort in his words. I nod, appreciative he pulled me into his classroom. He reaches out and squeezes one of my hands reassuringly in both of his. “Clara isn’t struggling because Chris is no longer here. She’s struggling because he’s never coming back. There’s a difference.”

A lone tear slides its way down my cheek. I wasn’t expecting Jonah to actually make me feel better, but he’s right. He’s right about Clara, and it also makes me think what he’s saying applies to me. Chris’s presence wasn’t nearly as affecting as his absence has been.

Jonah still has both of his hands wrapped around one of mine when the door to his classroom opens. It’s Miller. He walks into the classroom and stops a few feet from me. He’s looking at me like Clara might have gotten hold of him and told him how much I upset her in the hallway.

I raise an eyebrow in warning. “I hope you aren’t about to tell me how to raise my daughter.”

Miller takes a sudden small step back. His eyes dart from me to Jonah. He looks uncomfortable when he says, “Um. No, ma’am? I’m just . . .” He points at the desk I’m sitting in. “You’re in my seat.”

Oh. He’s here for class.

I look to Jonah for confirmation. Jonah nods and says, “He’s right. That’s his seat.”

Can I mortify myself any more today?

“It’s fine, I can sit somewhere else,” Miller says.

I stand up, motioning toward the chair. Miller hesitantly walks to it and sits down. “I’m not crazy,” I say to Miller, excusing my behavior just now. And maybe even my behavior in the hallway earlier. “I’m just having a really bad day.”

Miller looks to Jonah for confirmation. Jonah nods and says, “She’s right. She’s not crazy.”

Miller raises an eyebrow and sinks into his chair, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, wanting out of our conversation completely.

More students begin to file into the room, so Jonah walks me toward the door. “I’ll be over later to finish taking the door off the hinges.”

“Thank you.” I start to walk out but realize how much I dread going home alone to think about the embarrassment of the day. The only thing that could get my mind off everything is Elijah. “Do you mind if I get Elijah from day care? I miss him.”

“He’d love that. I already have your name on the pickup list. I’ll be over as soon as school lets out.”

I smile, tight lipped, before turning away. I walk to my car, regretting that I didn’t hug Jonah or give him more of a thank-you. He deserves it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CLARA

Miller slides his tray onto the table next to me. “Your mother hates me.” He casually opens a can of soda and takes a drink.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell him he’s wrong. “That makes two of us.”

He swings his head in my direction. “You
both
hate me?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No. My mother hates both of
us
.” I mindlessly spin my water bottle on the table. “We got into an argument after you walked away. Not about you. Just about . . . stuff. She kind of hurt my feelings.”

Miller isn’t so casual now. He can see I’m bothered by it, so he turns toward me, ignoring the food in front of him. “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. We’re just in a rut.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to the side of my head. “I’m sorry this year sucks for you.” He plants a quick kiss on the side of my head and then pulls back, grabbing the pickle spear from his plate and putting it on mine. “You can have my pickle. Maybe that’ll help?”

“How do you know I like pickles?”

Miller smiles a little. “I’ve spent three years trying not to stare at you while you eat lunch. Creepy, I know.”

“But also sweet.”

He grins. “That’s me in a nutshell. A sweet creep.”


Such
a sweet creep.”

Lexie drops her tray onto the table across from us. “I want a sweet creep. Found me a boyfriend yet?”

“Not yet,” Miller says. “It’s only been four hours since you put in a request.”

Lexie rolls her eyes. “Listen to you, talking about time like it matters. You’re the one kissing my best friend within minutes of dumping a girl you dated for a year.”

I groan. “Be nice, Lexie. Miller doesn’t know you well enough yet to be the butt of your sarcasm.”

“It’s not sarcasm. He literally dumped his girlfriend and jumped right into a relationship with you.” She looks at Miller. “Is that inaccurate?”

Miller doesn’t look like she’s pushing any of his buttons. He pops a chip into his mouth. “It is quite accurate,” he says. He looks at me and winks. “Clara knows what’s up, though.”

“Well, I don’t,” Lexie says. “I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know your middle name. Is it also a brand of beer?”

I turn to Miller when her question sinks in. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize your first
and
last name are brands of beer.”

“It wasn’t intentional. Miller was my mother’s maiden name.” He faces Lexie. “It’s Jeremiah.”

“So
normal
,” Lexie says, seemingly disappointed. She eats a spoonful of pudding and sucks on the spoon for a second. She pops it out of her mouth and points at Miller. “Who’s your best friend, Miller Jeremiah Adams? Is he hot? Single?”

“They’re all hot and single,” Miller says. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Lexie shrugs. “I’m not picky. I prefer blond men with blue eyes. Someone with a dry sense of humor. A little rude. Hates spending time
with people. Doesn’t mind a girlfriend who has a shopping addiction and likes to be right about everything. Athletic. Taller than six foot. And Catholic.”

I laugh. “You aren’t even Catholic.”

“Yeah, but Catholics are strict and have to confess a lot, so he might sin less than, say, a Baptist.”

“Your reasoning is so, so flawed,” I say.

“I know just the guy,” Miller says, standing up. “Want me to go get him?”

“Right now?” Lexie asks, perking up.

“I’ll be right back.” Miller walks away, and Lexie looks at me, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Maybe I do like your boyfriend. He cares about your best friend.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to refer to him as my boyfriend yet.”

“There was a pause when I said that word,” she states. “I like your boy . . . 
friend
.”

We watch Miller as he takes a seat at his usual lunch table. He’s talking to a guy named Efren. I know him from theater, but he doesn’t match any of Lexie’s requests. Or
demands
, rather.

Efren has black hair, he’s shorter than Lexie, and he’s certainly not athletic. He moved here from the Philippines before starting high school a few years ago. Efren smiles at Lexie from across the lunchroom, but she groans and lifts a hand to her face, hiding her view of him.

“Is he serious right now? Efren Beltran?”

“I was in theater with him. He’s really nice. And cute.”

Lexie’s eyes widen, like I’m betraying her. “He’s like five seven!” She peeks through her fingers and sees Miller walking Efren over to the table. She groans and drops her hand but doesn’t hide her disappointment with Miller’s selection.

“This is Efren,” Miller says. “Efren, this is Lexie.”

Lexie’s eyes narrow in Miller’s direction before she drags them to Efren. “Are you even Catholic?”

Efren takes a seat next to her. He seems more amused by her reaction than insulted. “No, but I live half a mile from a Catholic church. I’m not opposed to converting.”

I already like him, but I have a feeling it’s not going to happen so easily on Lexie’s part. “You look kind of inexperienced,” she says, almost accusingly. “Have you even had a girlfriend before?”

“Does online count?” Efren asks.

“No. It most certainly does not.”

“Then . . . no.”

Lexie shakes her head.

Miller pipes up and looks at Efren. “I thought you and Ashton dated for a while. That counts, right?”

Efren indicates it doesn’t count with a shake of his head. “Fizzled out before it even started.”

“Bummer,” Miller says.

“How tall is your dad?” Lexie asks him. “Do you think you’re finished growing?”

“I don’t know,” Efren says, shrugging. “My dad left when I was three. I have no idea what he looks like.”

I can see Lexie’s eyebrow rise, albeit very subtly. “Mine too. Christmas Day.”

“That explains the attitude,” Efren says.

Lexie shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I had this attitude before I was three. It’s probably why he left.”

Efren agrees with a nod. “Probably. If we start dating, don’t get used to me being around, because I’ll probably get tired of your attitude and leave too.”

Lexie tries not to smile at that, but I’m pretty sure Efren’s sarcasm is sexier to her than his height would be, if he were tall.

I honestly didn’t expect this to go anywhere, but they’re on equal ground when it comes to the jabs. Maybe she’ll actually let him take her out on a date.

I turn away from them and face Miller. He smiles mischievously before crunching on another chip. “He’s a really good guy,” he whispers. “She might be surprised if she’d just give him a chance.” He takes a chip and holds it up to my mouth. I eat it, and then he leans in and kisses me.

It’s just a peck—lasts maybe two seconds—but it’s two seconds too long because a moment later, someone is tapping us on the shoulder. We both look up to see the lunchroom monitor glaring at us.

“No PDA in the cafeteria. Put up your trays and come with me. Lunch detention.”

I look at Miller and shake my head. “I’ve been dating you fourteen hours, and you’re already getting me in trouble.”

Miller laughs. “You were doing illegal things with me long before fourteen hours ago. You forget about the sign?”

“Let’s
go
,” the lunch monitor says.

BOOK: Regretting You
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ads

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