The rage pops. I get in her face, breathing heavily. “Change the past!”
She stares back at me, her face is impassive, but the look in her eyes. Oh, that look. I know it so well. It’s her temper flaring.
“You know I can’t do that,” she snarls, her Brooklyn accent emerging with brute force.
“Then I guess you’re shit out of luck, Mom.”
“When did you become so cold-hearted?” Her face twists into this wounded expression.
“When?” The muscles in my shoulders tense. “Maybe it was in prison. Or maybe it was when I came home and realized that not a single thing had changed during the three and a half years I was away. Or, maybe it happened the second you asked me to give up everything. My future, my girl, my life.”
“Were those three things synonymous?” she asks grudgingly.
“It doesn’t matter if they were; they’re all gone now.”
“You’re a fool.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“And why is that?” “You’re still pining over some stupid girl.”
“Well, excuse me for missing someone I love.”
“I did you a favor. That girl wasn’t going to do anything but break your heart. You should thank me.”
Her words rip my emotions wide open.
“Well, I guess I’ll never know if that’s true, will I?” I tighten my fists. “You want a thank you? Here it is. Thank you for always making me wonder. Thank you for destroying the little bit of hope I ever had. Thank you for every single pitiful, painful second of my miserable life. It’s all because of you,” I rave vindictively. Twisting the knife as far as it can go.
She glowers at me, her bottom lip quivering. “I can’t change the past, Ryan, I can only regret it.”
“That makes two of us,” I growl.
I storm off. I am done with this conversation. Done with her. And done with... no, not Sean. I want to be, but I’m not. I just have to distance myself. Stay exiled on Manhattan. Close, but just far enough away.
I slam through the double doors at the end of the hallway, wishing I could blow them right off the fucking hinges.