Page 49 of Commit

“What’s going on with you and Matt anyway? You looked pretty cozy last night.”

I drop my eyes, picking up a tube of lipstick. “Who wouldn’t get cozy with a sunset like that?” I say, trying to dodge answering her question.

Jana leans forward, catching my gaze. “So, you’re not back together?”

“Um…” I shrug.

“Rem, you can’t do this to him. He’s not just some guy you can toy with. He’s Matt, and he loves you.”

“I know. I’m not trying to hurt him. We haven’t talked about what last night means. We kind of skipped all of that.”

Jana smirks. “You skipped to the good parts?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, be gentle with him. He’s a good guy, and you two deserve to be happy.”

I shake my head. “Why are we even talking about me? This is your wedding day. We should be talking about you and Reece.”

“It is my wedding day, isn’t it?” She squeals with delight.

“Yep, and you look beautiful.”

I lean forward to the mirror and apply the lipstick, wondering if I will ever get over my crap so that I can be a happy bride someday too.

But it seems like every time I get close to picturing a future with Matt, the floor drops out from under me.

CHAPTER 31

REMI

TWO MONTHS AGO

If a funeral doesn’t make a person cry, they must have a heart of stone. I dab at my eyes again, trying to stay composed. It’s not like she was my mom. I barely knew Marilyn Johnson. I’d met her a handful of times. Once at Christmas and twice when she and Paul came to Houston to visit Matt. She was such a nice woman, but as I sit here and listen to her children talk about the type of mother she was, I realize I didn’t even scratch the surface with what I knew about her.

I’m sad for Matt’s family that she died, but at the same time, I’m sad for me. At least they had a mom that loved and cared for them. My mom wasn’t like that.

Matt’s sisters mentioned things in their funeral talks that I can’t even fathom.

The wise advice? My mother once told me not to worry if a guy was taken. She said, “Don’t let a little thing like a wife stop you. We’ve all been with someone who’s already taken.”

The one-on-one time that made them feel so loved? My mom dropped me off at a park when I was eleven years old and told me she had a date. She gave me five dollars and said she'd be back in eight to ten hours.

The magical birthday parties and holidays? My mom was supposed to pick me up from my foster family on Christmas Eve when I was thirteen. The foster family left for a party. I told them not to wait, that my mom would be there any minute, but she never came. I sat in front of the window for five hours until I eventually cried myself to sleep. The next time I talked to her, she told me she’d forgotten and went to Cabo for Christmas with her new boyfriend.

The point is, I can’t relate to Matt or his upbringing. I knew we grew up differently, but it wasn’t until this moment, sitting in the pews of his church, that the reality of it hit me. How could two people with such different experiences ever come together?

The familiar pit in my stomach opens up. I try hard to shove my insecurities and childhood wounds back down inside, but it’s like they won’t fit anymore. They’re too big to be swept away.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing myself to focus on Matt’s eulogy. What kind of a person zones out during their boyfriend’s funeral speech?

“I grew up with the greatest example of a mother there ever was,” he says.

You can say that again.

I shake my head, unsure why my bitterness is flaring to life right at this moment.

Be nice, Remi.