Page 59 of The Best I Never Had

She pops the top of the jewelry box and gasps when she sees the dark blue teardrop gemstone. Her hand covers her mouth as she blinks back tears. “Tia, this is too much.”

“It’s really not,” I say with a laugh. “I always thought it was a sapphire, but I took it to a jeweler a couple years ago, and it’s blue topaz. Still pretty, but not worth much.”

Not that I’d have ever sold it. I’d fought to keep it hidden over the years, to keep it safe for a moment like this.

“Always thought?” Addy asks, meeting my eyes in the mirror as she blinks in confusion.

Tears fill my eyes again, and I swipe them away. “It was Mom’s. I saved it for us.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping it out of sight so none of our foster parents or siblings nabbed it, making sure it was with us on every move. It’s the only thing we have left of our mother besides a few ratty pictures stuffed in a box in my closet, and I was determined not to lose it. Determined to have her be a part of this moment, even if she can’t be here.

The snap of the jewelry box shakes me out of my thoughts. Addy’s expression slides into that serene, fake smile I’ve seen pointed at so many others, and my stomach turns to lead. In the twenty-three years of Addy’s life, she’s never looked at me like that. She does a weird little curtsy bob as she hands it back to me over her shoulder.

“This is so sweet, but I already have my jewelry picked out,” she says, turning her focus back to the lines of her dress.

I laugh a little, just as forced as Addy’s calm expression. “Yeah, but that was before the gift. That’s how surprises work.”

“It’s pretty, but the other jewelry goes better with my dress,” she says, still not meeting my eyes.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go. When I told her who it belonged to, she was supposed to tear up, too. She’d ask me to put it on her, and while I did, I’d tell her my favorite stories of Mom. Of her helping me give Addy a bottle for the first time. How she taught me every word to “Bohemian Rhapsody” so we could sing it together, her gently setting baby Addy down so we could head bang during the guitar solo. Her making up wild, elaborate stories based on a handful of random things I’d ask her to include. She wasn’t a perfect person—I know that better than most—but she’s a part of us. I just need to help her see that.

“This would go perfectly! It looks like it was made for this dress. Here, let’s just try it on.” I pop the jewelry box back open. “You need to see it with the dress.”

“I really don’t need to, Tia,” she says, her tone sliding from the calm, fake one to something more clipped.

“Yes, you do. You can’t imagine it without see—”

Addy twirls to face me, the lace and tulle swishing around her legs like a whip primed to lash me. “I don’t need to see it to know I’m not going to wear it, Thea.”

My grip on the jewelry box tightens, forcing it to clap back closed. The sound echoes in the room around us while we stand off.

“But,” I start before the words grind to a stop. I have no idea how to finish that sentence. “But this is for you.”

“I don’t want it,” Addy says. There’s a flash of something—almost pain—across her face, then she lifts her chin.

“Why wouldn’t you want it?” I ask with a bit of desperation. “It’s perfect with your dress, and you’ll have a part of Mom walking down the aisle with you.”

“I don’t want her going down the aisle with me,” she says.

I rear back. “Why not? She was our mother.”

“No,” Addy yells, finally breaking. “She was your mother. I never knew the woman. All she is to me is the junkie who got knocked up but cared more about her next hit than her daughters. Why would I want to honor a woman who didn’t even care enough to stay alive for us?”

The question lands like a slap to the face, and I rear back. “She was sick, Adelaide.”

I knew she didn’t feel the same connection to Mom that I’ve always had. How could she when she doesn’t even remember her? But I didn’t know it was this extreme. That she’d have this visceral reaction to the idea of her being a part of her wedding day.

Addy flinches at the use of her full name. “Fine, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s given me nothing but a difficult life and an uncomfortable backstory.”

“And a sister,” I yell, and she has the audacity to rub her forehead like I’m the irrational one here.

Our mother is what ties us together. She’s what kept us from being separated all those years, and Addy wants to pretend like she never existed?

“This doesn’t need to be a fight. Please. She’s nothing to me, and I’d rather spend this day focusing on my future family than the one that I could never rely on.”

It doesn’t escape my notice that she said “family” and not “mother.” I’m fuming. I didn’t make the best choices as a kid, and yes, there was a lot she lost because of me, but I’ve been by her side for everything. I made it clear to everyone in our homes that if they wanted a piece of Addy, they’d have to go through me first. If she wanted to leave her family—leave me—in the past, who was I to stop her.

“I’m fucking out of here,” I say, stomping to the door.