28th December.

The single bed in my old room, still adorning posters of One Direction and Justin Bieber, is not ideal sleeping for one adult, let alone an adult and a child.

I'm in pain, literal pain from a night of knocking back tequila shots and then sleeping next to Lydia who shoves her elbows into me over and over again.

I peer over at her, my vision still blurring from being half asleep and hungover as hell. Her little mouth is parted on soft snores and her light brown curls are a mess on the pillow under her head.

She's so beautiful. The best part of me. My heart thuds in pain and anger when I think about the fact that Josh could walk out on her.

His daughter, the sweetest, fiercest little girl in the world. His little girl. It fucking astounds me to no end that he could turn his back without a second thought.

There's a soft knock on the door and I'm a moment too late to pretend I'm sleeping when momma puts her head in the gap and widens her eyes at me. Slightly gesturing her head, still covered by her silk night cap, at the living room.

I'm fluent in facial gestures and I've been summoned to the follow her. The last thing I feel like doing is getting out of bed but I'm just pro longing the inevitable.

I'm still wearing last nights black slip dress, memories of me hoisting it up around my ass come flooding back and I feel like the flames of hell unfurl on my cheeks. Humiliating. It's all a bit of a blur but I don't forget Nathan hauling me out of the situation. Not that I'll thank him. I'm sure he was being his usual over bearing self.

From what I remember, he's still as gorgeous as he used to be. Ugh. His jacket hangs on the end of the bed frame and I wonder how I'm going to get that back without having to talk about last night.

Sliding my feet into a pair of cheetah print slippers and wrapping the matching robe around my body, I drag my feet along the thread bare carpet and find momma waiting in the living room for me, sitting in her favourite arm chair, a coffee on the television unit.

Thank goodness because this is going to be hard enough, even with the strength of caffeine.

"We're not doing this," she says, straight into it as I pick the coffee up. "You can stay here for as long as you want. But we are not doing this. I'm not raising that little girl while you drink your problems away."

I slowly swallow the bitter liquid, she forgets the sugar every time, and force myself to rein in the temper brewing. "I never asked you to raise her."

"One night back here, you're straight on the booze. That's not how we handle our heartbreak."

"Don't speak for me. I'll handle it how I want."

Her lips press into a hard line, her brown cheeks turning an almost crimson shade of fucked off. I'm sure I'm not too old for a smack if she sees fit. Not that she ever gave me those when I was a child. It was more a threat. Except for the time I stole one hundred dollars from the til at her work. Yeah, I never made that mistake again.

"You need to get your shit together," she points at me, her fingers covered in rings passed down from her ancestors. Heirlooms, one day they'll be mine. "Be whole for that girl. Be better. She needs a strong mother. And you don't need that boy. He left. His loss. Imagine if I had spent nights out drinking instead of caring for you?"

That one got me. Momma had done it alone for as long as I could remember and she never let me down.

"Yeah, fine," I relent, not having the strength to argue. Turning to leave, I stop and raise the cup at her. "Thanks."

Her smile is knowing, she definitely forgot the sugar on purpose. A punishment of her own sorts I'm sure. She stands up, the pink robe around her thin figure falls open to reveal her legs in shorts.

"Momma," I say. "Your legs look incredible."

She looks down, examining herself with a bashful grin. "I've been doing those spin classes with the girls."

I almost forget sometimes, that momma has a life of her own now. I've been gone since Lydia was a baby. In some strange way, it's easy to think of your parent becoming dormant when she's no longer taking care of you. I smile, knowing that she's living for herself. I mean, we caught up on the phone and during Christmas but seeing it like this is different.

"Are we going to be disrupting things here?" I ask. "Your independence?"

She walks past me, into the kitchen and I look down on her head. Momma is so little. I imagine I got my height from dad.

"Of course not, baby. You and my granddaughter are welcome here for as long as it takes to get back on your feet."

I lean on the kitchen door frame and sip the coffee again, wincing. It's awful. Momma sets about putting dishes in the dishwasher and quickly slides the sugar tin across the countertop toward me. I lightly laugh and wander over, dosing one spoonful into my cup and stir.

"You need a job," momma says when I slide the sugar back to her.

I sip again, much better. "Yeah, I know."

"Is he paying child support?"

"I haven't even talked to him since he left."

Josh was the one paying for our little two bedroom house in Denver. But when he split, I was the one left covering the expenses. Lydia had only just started kindergarten, I hadn't found a job yet and I couldn't cover it all on my own. It was a good thing his name was on the lease. I packed up and left him to deal with the landlords chasing him for the rent.

"You can come and work at the bakery with me," she says, sliding her silk cap off and stuffing it into her pocket. Her braids sit tight and beautifully patterned on her head.

"I'm not working for that fucking sleaze of a manager, momma."

"Language!"

Leaning back on the bench top, I resist the urge to roll my eyes and let the cup hover in front of my mouth when I say, "my bad."

"It's a job and if I can handle him, so can you."

"I don't want to handle him," I have a thought and straighten off the bench. "Where's my phone?"

"I don't know. How did you get home last night?"

"I walked."

The outrage on her face terrifies me. Perhaps it isn't smart to wind her up right after I spent the night drinking.

"I got an Uber, momma," I say, heading for the hall. I'll leave out Nathan's involvement.

Lydia is still asleep when I nudge the bedroom door open. To be fair, it's only eight in the morning. I hadn't slept well at all last night, I never did when I had alcohol coursing through me, giving me the spins. She doesn't stir when I perch on the end of the bed and pick up my cellphone, discarded along with my purse.

Most of the contents are strewn on the bed cover. Tampons, a pen, lip balm, hand cream and a few receipts. The morning sun peeks through the closed curtains, illuminating streaks of dust floating on the air.

Taking another gulp of the coffee now that it's cooler, I open a message from Dallas.

Flight just landed, Nathan is picking me up. Can you come over and see me soon? I'm so excited we're both in town at the same time. I haven't seen you in forever. Hope you're doing okay x we need a big catch up.

That's code for 'you need to tell me what the hell went wrong with Josh so I can decide if he needs to be six feet under or not'. I'd sent her a text the other night to let her know he and I were over and I was coming back to Castle Rock. It was accompanied with a 'Merry Christmas'.

There was also a vague recollection of Nathan telling me she was going to be spending New Years here last night. The last place I want to be, is in a room with Nathan after what went down at the bar. But Dallas is in town and we never see each other, it's been over six months and right now, I need my best friend.

              When I return to my room from a shower, Lydia is gone. Her voice carries through the house, bright and beautiful, so far not impacted by her father up and disappearing from her life.

It won't be long before she asks when we're going home though. We've spent enough holidays with mom for her to note the Christmas tree still erected in the living room and think nothing of the trip.

Dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a large hoodie, I wander into the living room and find Lydia sitting next to mom on the floor, Clifford slippers on her feet and the candle making kit she got for Christmas in front of her.

"Mommy," Lydia springs from the floor, her love squeezing me, as well as her arms as she throws them around my waist.

"Hi baby," I kiss her head, lots of little kisses as I inhale the fresh scent of her strawberry shampoo and de tangler. "You sleep okay?" 

"Yes, I had the whole bed to myself."

She'd been asleep when I got home and alone when she'd woken up. It makes me feel awful, neglectful even. More so when momma raises a brow as if to tell me I should feel awful for going out. The guilt is there, but at the same time, I've spent the last five years taking care of Lydia alone.

Josh went to college and then Josh went to work and then Josh met the friends and spent the nights out and Josh got to walk out of the house at seven in the evening and not once make sure I didn't mind looking after our daughter. He never had to ask, it was just assumed that I was fine constantly being left behind.

On the few occasions I left him at home with Lydia, it required me to ask if he didn't mind watching her, as if he was a fucking baby sitter and not her other parent. I'd had to prepare the meals and get her dressed for bed and bathed and then I spent the entire night concerned about her, checking the phone every five minutes instead of enjoying the time I had with the few friends I'd managed to make through parenting classes.

In the end, it wasn't worth it. I could barely trust him to manage alone and I resented him for it. Especially because whenever I returned, absolutely nothing was done. He couldn't load the dishwasher or fold the washing or put the toys away. When I asked why he couldn't help out while I was gone, he said "I was busy watching Lydia."

Did he never wonder how the fuck I managed to keep on top of it all?

Yes, I felt the mom guilt for going out but I'd earned it, hadn't I? Momma took such good care of Lydia, I didn't worry about her well-being while I was gone, it was a fucking relief.

There was a time when I wasn't going to leave Castle Rock at all. Leaving momma? I couldn't do it. But Josh was offered a place in a programme he'd dreamed of doing since he was a child and it only took a few weeks of living with momma after Lydia was born that I realised I couldn't deal with her stepping in to be the parent all the time. Her knowledge and help was a blessing but she took it too far.

My fingers sweep through Lydia's hair as I look at momma. "You mind if I go and see Dallas?"

"She can't come here?"

"I want to see Aunt Dallas," Lydia looks up at me, her neat little brows pulled in with defiance. She's the sassiest kid I've ever met and I adore it.

"You will see her," I promise before looking at momma again. "I just want to catch up and chat about a few things."

Giving momma a pointed stare, I hope she realises that I want to talk about Josh without Lydia listening in.

Her face softens in understanding. "You go ahead. Lydia and I will make some candles."

"I will make some candles," Lydia tells her, marching back to her spot on the floor. "You watch me."

Momma lightly laughs but doesn't argue. That's Lydia. She's independent and has been from the moment she could hold her own head up. As soon as she gained awareness about any of her milestones, she refused assistance. Being fed, carried, dressed. She's a do it herself sort of girl. It's encouraging. I hope she never loses that part of herself.

"I'll see you both later," I walk to the door and slip on a pair of gum boots, lifting the hood of my jersey up. I can feel the cold winter draft coming in from under the door before I've stepped outside.

Momma gives me a tight smile, as if she doesn't trust me to come home once I've walked outside. It's insulting to be honest.

"Home for dinner?" She asks.

"I'll text you."

"Bye mommy," Lydia says, not looking at me.

She's busy reading the instructions for her candles, her face scrunched up like it's outrageous it hasn't come written in the same big clear font her school books are written in.

Momma tries to take the leaflet. "You want some help?"

"No," Lydia says. "Step one. Ta-taaay— take! Take. The—"

"Good sounding out baby," I smile.

"SSH."

I laugh and snatch my keys from the bowl beside the door. She's not worried about whether I'll return because she knows I'm her number one. The fact momma even thinks I might fall off the deep end is hurtful. I've just watched my daughter's father disappear. As if I would abandon her too.

            The front door to Dallas' childhood home is unlocked when I get there. I open it, straight into their open plan living space and find her and Nathan facing the other way. Dallas' phone is propped up on the TV cabinet, filming themselves.

"Why do I have to do this?" Nathan grumbles. He's wearing a tight t-shirt and sweat pants, his light brown hair is cropped short on the sides and a bit longer on the top, sitting in a mess.

Ugh he's so—

Dallas slaps his shoulder and I admire her ass in leggings. She's so fit. Dancing will do that.

"Because my followers love you," she laughs and I realise she's forcing him to do a TikTok dance.

She has a decent following on the app, posting dance videos for fun. She's not wrong about her followers loving Nathan. And Drayton. Her comment section is always littered with requests for either two to make an appearance.

Nathan waves his hand at the little phone screen. "I'm not a dancer."

"They don't care."

I drop Nathan's jacket on the arm chair and let the door swing shut behind me, they both spin around.

"You're here," Dallas launches herself at me and we embrace, a tight, warm hug that fills a little bit of that ache in my chest. Her soft blonde bun smells like pomegranate and peach, her arms are firm. Most of her is firm and defined actually.

We rock side to side and I look at Nathan, his face impassive as he sits on the sofa and puts his hands behind his head. I ignore the less than impressed expression. If he's still judging me for last night, he can eat shit.

Dallas pushes me back at the shoulders and smiles. She's always been more passive than I am, less than inclined to get overly emotional, but I swear her gaze glistens.

"You're so beautiful," she says, giving me another hug.

We step apart and I scoff. "I'm hungover."

"I know," she laughs and I shoot daggers at her smug brother.

"How's it going, Gabrielle?" He asks, his voice bored.

Dallas looks between us, the exchange likely confusing her. Nathan and I got along just fine when I was in high school. We had a decent gap between us and he was my best friends older brother, there wasn't much reason why we wouldn't get along.

"Fine," I feign a polite tone and smile. "You?" 

"Fucking tired from dealing with some bullshit last night."

My gaze withers.

Dallas looks between us. "What's going on?"

"I already told you," Nathan palms the stubble on his jaw. He suits that stubble. Ugh. "Had to deal with your drunk friend last night."

Dallas rolls her eyes and let's out a dismissive laugh. "Get over it weirdo."

He scowls at her.

"I thought Drayton was coming," I say, following Dallas over to the kitchen, which is separated from the living room by a breakfast bar.

The same one Dallas and I spent hours and hours at after school, during the weekend, in the middle of the night. The conversations and plans that happened here fill me with nostalgia.

The whole house seems to be frozen in time. The same photos on the faded wallpaper, with the exception of some newly added portraits of Drayton and Dallas. The couch is new, so is the television. But the curtains, the walls, the carpet, the kitchen. Nothing has changed. Dallas did say that she'd offered Nathan a loan to renovate but he didn't care enough to accept it.

Dallas gets a jug of OJ out of the fridge. "He's coming. He detoured his trip by a day or two," she looks at me, getting two glasses down from the cabinet above the breakfast bar. "He went to see Josh."

I can't help the way my face scrunches up in disapproval. I don't disapprove, it's just a reflex to hearing that Josh might actually have time for someone other than his new group of childless buddies.

"He just wants to see what's going on," Dallas explains, pouring a drink, the liquid hits the bottom of the glass too fast and splashes up over the edges. "Find out if there's another reason for this. . . behaviour."

Drayton is a step up or get stepped the fuck out sort of man. It doesn't surprise me that he's gone to do his own investigation. Plus, he loves Lydia. Adores her as if she were his blood. I'm sure he's not impressed to hear that her father has abandoned her.

Dallas slides a glass over to me, pours her own and then gestures for me to follow her down the hall. As we walk out of the living room, I peer over to where Nathan was quickly forgotten at my arrival, and see him sunken back into the sofa, his legs spread and his phone in his hand, the other behind his head. His gaze flicks up and meets mine, curiosity searing into me.

He can mind his own business and I convey that with a narrowing glare.

Dallas' bedroom is much the same as it used to be. A double bed under the window, cheer trophies, trinkets from her childhood and her old cheer uniform hanging on the closet door. We settle onto her bed and she looks around.

"I keep telling Nathan he should clear this room out and do something with it."

"Like what?"

She shrugs, her bun pressing against the window frame behind her. "Whatever he wants. It's good to have when I come into town I guess, but it wouldn't matter if we had to stay at a hotel if the bed was unavailable."

"What would you do with all of your stuff?"

"Keep the sentimental shit and donate the rest I suppose."

I hum in agreement and look around. It really does feel like we're back to being two teenage girls who had no idea what the world had to offer us. I sat on this bed and cried over the fact that I was going to be a teen mother. Cried but felt safe and assured knowing I had Josh.

What a joke.

Dallas looks at me, her kind brown eyes falling with sadness. "What happened, Gabby?"

I tell her everything. The distance that began to grow when Josh started working for the animation design company he'd been scouted for during college. The lack of help around the house, the constant late nights out, the weekends he spent barely coming home, the apparent nagging I did that made him feel like nothing he ever did was good enough. All I'd wanted was an equal, someone who wanted to be a father and partner.

And then the break up. The brutal way he tore out my heart and left it bleeding at our daughter's feet. He'd packed up his bags two nights before Christmas, told me he wasn't happy anymore, that this life wasn't what he'd ever wanted for himself and left.

I'd spent Christmas in denial, pretending Josh had been called away for work when Lydia asked where he was. I couldn't even phone mom and talk about it because it was unbearable and part of me hoped he'd walk through the door and apologise for losing his mind.

It wasn't until I got a photo of him drinking at a nightclub from an unknown number, presumably one of his friends that wasn't the scum of the earth and disapproved of his choices, that I decided to go home and stop waiting for him to show up.

If he ever decides he's done being an asshole, he won't find forgiveness with me.

"I can't believe he would do that," Dallas stares at the white comforter in front of her, clutching the juice. "I just— I don't understand."

I quirk my brows in agreement.

"I'm going to be interested in finding out what he tells Drayton," Dallas says. "I honestly can not see him forgiving Josh for this."

I don't expect Drayton to ostracise Josh over this, I wouldn't begrudge him if he remained friends with him. But Drayton doesn't hold back when it comes to being honest about bullshit behaviour. If he tells Josh he's a piece of shit, it won't surprise me in the least.