Page 69 of Fighting Fate

“Nope.”

“Mom!”

As good as her intentions are, she’s pushing, and I don’t know how much further I can go before I snap. She knows this too, because her face tightens into that don’t fuck with me expression that says she’s not backing away. With a shake of her head, she stands taller.

“This is typical Rory. Sabotaging your happiness. Pushing everyone away that could mean anything to you. Anyone that cares…”

“That’s not true!”

“Hell it isn’t!” She grasps my chin tightly, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger as she rises onto the tips of her toes, levelling herself with me, ready to let me have it because it’s what she does and who she is and how she keeps us all grounded. “Unless you need them around for your career, they’re disposable to you.”

“Not true.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, because I need her and I—”

Soft hands grip my face tightly as she asks, “Then what are you doing here? What are you doing?”

“What’re you doing here, Mom? Why are you still keeping Dad’s traditions?” Confusion pinches her face, making the faint lines around her eyes deeper. “You never moved on…never tried to either…”

“Rory…your father and I…” She lets out a long sigh, releasing my face only to grasp my hand and tug me to the small couch by the window. When we’re seated, she takes a moment as if to gather her thoughts. “We are from a different generation. Ronan was the only man I knew. We dated and married young, and I devoted my entire life to him. I made him a promise that I would love him and only him to my last breath before God and in front of our families…to myself.”

“But he died.”

“Love isn’t a debt, Rory. It doesn’t get wiped away because of death. And I know that even if I found someone else, it would always be a shadow of what we had. Besides, I have you and your sister. The two of you keep him alive.”

“It’s lonely, Mom, and I don’t want that for anyone. Not you or Willow…I…I don’t want it. Especially not for a kid. It’s not fair on them, and it’s not fair on her and—”

“Hold up!” Mom slaps my thigh as a way of bringing my focus back to her.

But all I can see—all that I’ve been able to see from the moment I set eyes on the pregnancy test—is my father collapsing in front of the whole fucking world while I watched his last fight on TV. The last time I saw my dad, he was lying unconscious on the floor, and an hour later, they told us he was dead.

One bad hit, and he was gone. Our entire life changed in that one moment. I didn’t know whether to be angry or sad. I had no idea how to make any of it better for anyone or myself. And I can’t do that to Willow. There’s no way I can allow for our kid to go through anything like this. Even if the chance is minimal, I just can’t.

“Why are we talking about a kid here?” Her eyes widen at my silence. “Oh.” She smiles softly. “That’s wonderful news. You shouldn’t be upset, and it certainly shouldn’t be a reason for you to push Willow away.”

How can she be so blasé about it? How does she not see how terrifying this is?

“I can’t do it,” I whisper, letting the words hang between us as I focus back on the hair tie. “Not right now.”

“But maybe God’s plan is for right now, Rory…”

“Really, Mom? God’s plan? That’s how you rationalise it? God’s plan…” I’m pretty certain if fucking out of wedlock is a sin, a kid outside marriage isn’t God’s plan. Besides… “God? Really?”

“Fine. Fine…fate, then.”

“Well, fate took big steaming shit on its own plan with all this, didn’t it?”

“Same way you have on your happiness.”

Without another word, she stands and heads for the door. It’s obvious she’s mad, and it’s only adding to the shit I already feel. I never wanted it to be like this, and fixing it seems impossible, anyway. There is no way to fix it. Someone is always going to be hurt.

“Why are you so mad?” I call after her as she’s about to leave the room.

“Because I have a daughter!” The echo of her voice shatters the silence completely. “And if a man did to her what you’re doing to that girl… You think I was lonely, but you don’t realise that I didn’t have the chance to be lonely. I was busy raising my children on my own. Do you have any idea how hard that is?”

“You chose to be on your own.” It’s a shitty thing to say, but it’s the truth. She made her choices, and I have to make mine.