Page 23 of The Hang Up
“Inside,” she says quickly. “It’s colder than I thought.”
I lead the way, stepping aside to let her enter first. She slows in the doorway, taking in the space.
It’s nothing fancy; open living room, worn leather couch, a few framed photos on the wall. The place smells like pine, coffee, and the lemon cleaner I used this morning.
I set the food on the coffee table and gesture toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She shrugs off her coat, draping it over the back of the couch before she sinks onto the cushions. I sit beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, but not touching.
We unwrap the burgers and dig in. For a few minutes, only the crinkle of paper and the sound of fries being dipped in ketchup break the silence.
“This is good,” I say around a bite.
She grins. “Told you Sandbags Burgers has the best burgers in town.”
“You were right. Always are.”
We fall into an easy rhythm. It reminds me of before everything went to hell. We did this all the time, at burgers and drank milkshakes as we sat cross-legged on my grandpa’s couch while some old movie played in the background.
I don’t turn on the TV this time. I just watch her.
When she sets down her milkshake and leans back, I see her shoulders sag.
“Rough night?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer right away.
Then she says, “I confronted my mom.”
I sit up straighter. “Yeah?”
She nods, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “I asked her about what you said. What she told you before you left.”
My chest tightens. “And?”
“She admitted it,” Lena says, her voice small. “She didn’t even apologize. Just said she was doing what was best for me. Like she gets to decide.”
I reach for her hand before I can stop myself. “Lena…”
She lets me hold it, and that small touch is everything.
“I’ve spent so long trying to be the perfect daughter,” she whispers. “Putting her first. Taking care of everything. And for what? So she could tear apart the one thing that made me happy? There’s no way she didn’t know how I felt about you. I mean, everyone knew I was in love with you. She ruined that and never felt an ounce of remorse.”
I squeeze her hand gently. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“No,” she agrees. “I didn’t.”
Her eyes meet mine, raw and open. “You should’ve told me, Holden. Back then. You should’ve talked to me.”
“I know.” My voice is thick with regret. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought if I left, it would make your life easier. That you’d be free to do all the things you wanted. I didn’t realize I was making everything worse.”
She swallows hard, her throat bobbing. “You hurt me.”
“I did,” I whisper. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and I reach up to wipe it away. My thumb brushes her soft skin, and she leans into the touch like she used to.
“I missed you,” she says, voice trembling.
