But who the fuck am I? Mr. Goddamn perfect? I’m such a fuckin’ beaming bag of sunshine that I got the right to say I’ve earned a perfect partner?
“I didn’t think I would, but I do. I like her a lot.”
Mom nods as if she expected that answer. “So date her, Atticus. Make her your girlfriend.” Her face grows serious, like in a matter of seconds, I’ve become the enemy. Her eyes tighten in warning, and when I look up, I’m met with a similar expression from my Dad.
“But if you don’t want to get serious with her, son, you hear me when I tell you, I’ll handle you myself if you hurt that sweet girl.”
“Jesus, Mom,” I gruff, studying her for a second. But her face doesn’t grow soft, and her expression doesn’t change.
“I’m serious,” she says, and Dad tips his head in solidarity.
“She’s been through things that turn my stomach,” Dad says, surprising me. Because Dad never talks about the real things. Hell, we’ve only ever talked about what happened with Mere twice in seventeen years.
I take my jaw in my hand and think hard about what I know about Goldie. Her mom’s a piece of work, and she lost her job while suffering a breakup with a douche. That’s a lot, but it doesn’t warrant their big reaction. I’m confused.
“What happened?” I ask, feeling like I have to know now that they’ve put ideas in my head. I have to fuckin’ know.
“Mom,” I say when she casts a hesitant glance toward my Dad. I drag my knuckles up my sternum, trying to smooth the ache from my chest.
She clears her throat, and Dad, pushing off the counter, drops a consoling hand on Mom’s shoulder before he kicks off his boots and heads down the hall.
Dad doesn’t wanna hear it, and that’s not a good sign. Iron gut, that’s how I’d describe my pop.
“Promise me you won’t do anything that adds to her stress, okay?” She pats my hand soothingly. “I know your big reactions stem from what happened to your sister, that you need to protect everyone because you feel you were unable to protect her,” she says, hitting the nail on the head far more than even she knows. My eyes sting, but I clear my throat and push the emotion down. “But Goldie doesn’t need a big reaction. She needs someone to be there for her, and that’s all.” She pats my hand again. “It’s that easy.”
“Tell me,” I say through clenched teeth.
For the next fifteen minutes, all of my goddamn muscles flex and torque as I force myself to sit in that chair and stay fuckin’ calm. Mom talks, telling me everything that happened with Goldie and the Brutes, with Reynold fuckin’ Porter, and the way it all shook out. The way they threw her away like a piece of trash when she needed the organization the most. How they chose him over her.
But that ain’t even what has me at the sink, splashing cool water on my face, struggling to breathe. Mom smooths her hand up my back as I cup my palms under the stream, drinking water so I don’t get fuckin’ sick.
She said no.
She told him no, over and over.
And still, he didn’t listen. He took her, put his body inside of hers while she begged him to stop like she was nothing more than a vessel for him.
I stare down into the sink basin. “I want to kill him.”
Mom pats my back. “I know.”
I turn the water off and pat my face on a dish towel, Mom’s hand still on my back. “But if she likes you son, and I think she does, then complicating her life will only ruin your relationship.”
Turning my head, I rest my chin on my shoulder and stare down at my Mom. “For someone that’s been married to the same man her whole life, you sure do know a lot about fixin’ problems.”
She smiles. “How do you think we’ve stayed married so long?”
I can’t think back to a time where my parents didn’t get along, or where they argued more than a couple of minutes. But of course they have. Everyone does. I’m realizing now, though, that they are really a standard to look up to.
“Ask her out if you like her, but for God’s sake, Atticus, don’t stop her from being happy unless you’re prepared to make her happy,” my Mom’s parting words haunt me as I steer my truck back toward my place in the crisp night air. Ice forms on the windshield as I make my way across town.
I consider going by Goldie’s. My bones ache for her. All I wanna do is pull her onto me and hold her, keep my fingers dug into her so tight that no one can get to her. No one can fuckin’ hurt her or make her feel bad.
But she ain’t a doll and she sure as fuck ain’t a damsel in distress. My Mom told me Goldie only ever told Beck what happened. She could have blown the world up by telling her story to the press. She could’ve ruined Reynold Porter after the sick fuckin’ things he did to her.
She didn’t.
And that simple fact does some shit to my insides that I’m having a hard time controlling.