Gemma's POV

AFTER DROPPING off the paperwork at the auto shop, I decide to head over to Audrey's. The kids are probably at school. So it's the perfect time to check in on her. I'd take Veronica with me, but I have a feeling that Audrey and I should have privacy.

I know that she has to be at the bakery. Where else would she be? And when I see her manning the counter, wiping it as though her life depended on it. I almost mistook her for her mother.

"Hey," I walk over. She lifts her head, and smiles, "how's my favorite lady?"

"Tired," she yawns against the back of her palm, "can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Yeah, coffee. And a muffin."

"Sure. Grab a seat, I'll join you in a sec," I nod and she heads to the back.

Grabbing a seat, she joins me, bringing my breakfast with her, "how are you holding up?" I ask.

Audrey leans forward and sighs, "Gemma, I appreciate you being here for me, for us. But I can't have you," she fumbles, "I really need you to stay away for a while. Go back home. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"What's this about?" I grip the handle of my coffee cup, "why are you—"

"I need time to figure out how to adjust on my own. Me and the kids, we need to figure things out on our own."

I'm confused, "did I overstep in some way? I never—"

"Gemma, I just, just let me take care of myself and my kids. I don't need you. I lived my life without you for over twenty years. And I'm capable of handling everything on my own."

She grabs a piece of folded paper from her pocket, and slides it over to me.

"What's that?"

"I can never repay you for all your grandfather did for us. But I can give you this."

I look at it and sigh. Picking it up, and unfolding it, I realize that it's a list of ingredients and directions.

"Wow," it's the honey banana bread recipe.

"I don't want you investing more money here either. I'm going to figure it out. Okay?"

"Are you sure? I—"

"Please, Gemma. I don't want to hold you here any longer," she gets up and continues to look at me, "it's on the house," she looks at my untouched coffee and muffin, "take care of yourself."

I watch as she walks away, and disappears into the kitchen. I'm not sure what just happened. Because it feels like I was just dumped.

She didn't even give me a hug—nothing. What did I do to fuck that up?

I HIDE out in my room for a few days. Veronica checks in on me, but I consume myself with going through my grandfather's files.

I realize that I don't know what my next step is. Sure, I talked myself into travelling. But do I really want to travel alone? Of course, I can meet women wherever I go. But that'll end without any significance the moment I'd leave.

I want something real. And I want to travel with someone by my side. Sure, I might pick up someone along the way. But, I'm just not confident that I'll get anything meaningful.

I thought that being there for Audrey and the kids would be the meaningful thing I'd do with my time. Now, that's out the window. And it doesn't seem like she wants to see me for a while.

I don't fully understand why. But I respect her wishes. I can't force someone to want me around. She made it very clear that she wants to be left alone.

Should I leave town because of that? Should I stay away completely? Audrey's the only reason I'm here—why I came back.

I down another shot of tequila, and gesture to the bartender for another. I decided to come out, and get a little drunk to wash down my sorrows. It's been that type of year.

"Gemma?" Jack sits beside me, looking concerned.

"Hey, buddy. What are you doing here?" Gosh, he looks so much like his mother. There's no denying.

"Same as you. You okay?"

I shrug, "yeah. Why wouldn't I be? I'm fantastic," I gulp another shot.

"Okay. Mind if I sit with you?" I bop my head side to side, "great. Thanks."

"You grew up so much. I feel like sixty," I laugh and look at him, "how old are you now? Like thirty?"

He laughs, "I'm twenty eight."

"Wow. It's like yesterday you were a kid. Now, what, you're married? You better treat her right? What's her name? Ellie?"

"Eleanor. And yes, I'm a gentleman."

If he's anything like his dad, Ellie's, I mean, Eleanor's better off single, or a lesbian.

"Ha, that's funny."

"What is?" He asks.

"Oh, nothing," I flip my hand, "you shouldn't be talking to me. Your mother's going to flip out."

"Yeah," he shrugs, "I'm grown. I can handle myself."

"You're not scared of her?" I try to fix my posture, "that woman makes me nervous. It's stupid."

He seems to be studying me, "yeah, she can be intense. Especially with the people that she loves."

I blow raspberries, "I'm sure it's because she doesn't like me."

"She likes you, trust me," Jack says. I want to roll my eyes.

"I loved her, you know. I guess liking me is enough." I fumble with some peanuts. They taste stale.

"You can talk to me about anything, Gemma," I look at Jack's approving nod. He seems to be a good listener.

"There's not much to," I burp, "talk about. I'm alone. My best friend doesn't want me around. I have no kids. No love," I sigh, "but, you know what, Jack?" I place my hand on my chest, "I've got memories."

"Do you remember when we used to go to that waterpark?"

"Yeah. You had fun," I mumble. I stare at the peanuts in my hand, and gulp. I feel sick.

Jack's talking about something. But all I can focus on is how badly I want to puke on these nuts. I've never liked nuts...

Jack's POV

IT DOESN'T take a scientist to realize that Gemma's drunk. It's barely six in the afternoon, and she just threw up all over my sneakers. And they were my favorite pair.

I keep replaying what she said in my head. I loved her.

She loved her. She loved my mom. What more confirmation do I need? I think, at this point, I have enough evidence from both of them to be sure.

Yet, why do I still feel uneasy?

Gemma's in no position to drive. So, like the good samaritan I am, I'll make sure she gets home safe.

"I'm taking you home," I tell her, as I strap her into the back seat of my car.

"Home? I don't live anywhere," she throws her hands up exasperatedly.

"You've got to give me directions to somewhere."

"I'm homeless. A gypsy. I'll take... my chances at a hotel. I don't want," she burps for the millionth time, "Veronica to see me like this."

I don't know who Veronica is. And frankly, I don't care. I do know that I can't take her back to my place. And I'm definitely not leaving her at a hotel.

So, who do I call? Maybe the last person that Gemma wants to see.

Sabrina's POV

I OPEN the door, and can almost see that same eighteen year old, that I once loved hanging out with.

Jack helps Gemma inside and onto the couch, "you told me you were, uh, taking me to a hotel," Gemma says.

I can see that crazed look in her eyes. The one that says I don't want to be here.

"I did. But this is the better option," Jack grabs the paper towels from the kitchen counter, and tries to wipe the vomit off of his shoes. He kicks them off, and seems to give up on the hopes of them ever being clean again.

I look at Gemma and sigh. Something's bothering her.

"Hey," I sit beside her, even though I don't want to. I don't want Jack to get any ideas. And if he's anything like his father, he'll assume the one thing I don't want him to.

"I'm sorry." Gemma places her hand over her face, "I'll go. I can call a cab or something."

"No, it's fine. You can sleep it off here. But you should take a shower."

I head into the bathroom, and grab a towel, "no, I don't—"

"Gemma, please. You're too drunk to go anywhere."

Jack looks between us with furrowed brows, "listen to her, Gemma. She won't kill you."

Gemma rolls her shoulders back, and closes her eyes, "fine, thank you."

"Mom," Jack walks over to me, "I'm sorry for doing this. But you know how Eleanor is."

I nod, "I know," Eleanor's not one to be comfortable with strangers in her house. I don't even stay over there. Because she goes into a fit if anything is misplaced. That's for my son to deal with, not me, "you can go. I can handle her."

"You sure?" He runs his hand through his hair, "I was just out for a drink with the boys. Eleanor's going to kill me for being so late. She's waiting to eat dinner with—"

"I understand. And just explain why to her. Tell her the truth."

Jack nods, "okay," he doesn't regard his soiled sneakers in the corner of my living room. I'll give him a lecture about that another day.

"You need shoes to head home? I think I have some flip flops of yours in the guest bedroom."

"Yeah?" He looks at me for confirmation.

"Yes, it's in the closet. Go get it," he heads into the bedroom.

"He's so grown up." Gemma mentions, her head leaned back against the couch, "it was just yesterday that he was running around with, with that water gun."

"Yeah. Time flew by," I shift my weight, and try not to stare at her, "let me get you some water."

I walk into the kitchen, and grab the bottle of painkillers from the cupboard above the sink. And grab the pitcher of water from the fridge.

"You don't have to be nice to me. Jack might get the wrong idea," Gemma says sarcastically. I roll my eyes, and pour her a glass of water, before walking over to her.

Handing her the water and pills, I sit beside her again, "don't be an ass. Just don't throw up on my rug."

"Fine," she mumbles, "I guess I deserve this after all the shit I did for you."

She pops the pill into her mouth, and downs the glass of water. I become even more uneasy than before. She's blunt when she's intoxicated. And it kinda hurts my feelings.

I know I probably deserve it.

"I should get you a toothbrush too. I think I have some extras under the sink."

"Yeah?"

I take the empty glass from her, and put it into the sink, "you can sleep in the guest bedroom."

I head into the bathroom to grab a toothbrush for her, "sorry, mom. I was on the phone with Eleanor. I'll get going now."

I look down at his feet, and notice the flip flops. He left that here ages ago. Good thing I kept it.

"Okay. Drive safe."

He smiles and walks to the door, "Gemma, I'll see you around."

Gemma raises her hand, "yeah, will do."

When he closes the door behind him, an uneasy feeling washes over me. We're alone. Nothing platonic happens when she and I have time alone together.

But that's in the past, right? It's not like she's still that girl who couldn't control herself around me. Gemma's probably not even attracted to me anymore. At least I hope she isn't. Or do I really?

"Here," I hand her the new toothbrush. She smiles and looks at the necklace around my neck.

"Is that," she stands and places her hand on my chest, "is this what I think it is?"

I swallow. Her being so close makes it hard for me to control myself, "yeah," she removes her hand, but continues to look at me, "I kinda forgot that you're the one who gave it to me."

"Of course, you did," is that hurt that I see in her eyes? Gemma grunts and looks away.

"Sorry. It's just been a long—"

"I know. I'll be in the bathroom," she heads in there, and shuts the door.

I sit down, and place my hands over my face. We just never seem to have a good conversation. She always ends up mad at me for some reason.

I just hope she doesn't throw up again. I hate the smell of vomit. Speaking of that, I grab a garbage bag, and pick up Henry's shoes.

Throwing them into the sink, I turn on the tap, and let the heavy water pour onto it, hopefully washing off most of the vomit. At least it isn't chunky. I then throw it into the washing machine, and give it a good powerwash.

"Hey," Gemma walks out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, "you got anything I can sleep in?"

I gulp. I haven't seen her that naked in ages, "yeah, sure. Give me a sec."

I walk into my bedroom, and grab the first pair of pajamas I find. She's going to need underwear. I sigh. I'm about two sizes larger than her. I grab the smallest pair I own, and hope it fits.

"Here," I hand the outfit to her, "let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks," she walks back into the bathroom, and I begin to panic.

Okay, Sabrina. It's just for one night. And then she'll be gone. And all these things that you're feeling will go away.

Gemma's POV

AS SOON as I see Sabrina, I immediately begin to sober up. I'm a little angry that Jack brought me here. I should just call a cab. But I'm still woozy, and might get lost trying to find the door.

Plus, it's nice to have Sabrina be nice to me. It makes me remember that there is someone good underneath all that evil.

Okay, I'm exaggerating. She's not that horrible of a person.

After I shower, and get dressed in the clothes that she gave me, I walk out to find her in the kitchen. She's changed into different clothes. Baggy clothes. Is she trying to derail me from making a move on her?

That's just great, "I really think I'm sober enough to get a cab."

"I could drive you. But it's not necessary. You're already here," Sabrina says, while she puts slices of bread onto a plate, "you still like turkey sandwiches?"

I rub the back of my neck with my hand, "yeah."

She grabs the deli meat from the fridge, "we ate these all the time, remember?"

I do remember. When Jack was little, he loved turkey sandwiches too. And I got fond of them.

I don't think I've eaten one since then. It might be because I have a tendency to reminisce. Just like I'm doing now.

"I really think that I should—"

"Gemma, please, just stay. It's nice having you around again," she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, "you think you can eat anything? Or is your stomach too—"

"I'm not hungry. But thanks, maybe when I wake up?"

Sabrina nods and smiles, "sure, the room's right over there," she points, "I'll be in mine having my sandwich and reading a book."

"Okay," I turn and walk into the room. I sit on the bed, and stretch my neck side to side.

I wonder what happened to their house. She loved that house. Now, she's living in this apartment. It must be a condo. I know that she likes owning things. I doubt that's changed.

I'm worried that I'm going to be up all night, wondering what she's up to in the room next door. Is she thinking about me too?

I crawl to the center of the bed, and get under the blanket. I'm so cold, yet so warm. Closing my eyes, my brain scrambles, thinking about things that I shouldn't be thinking about.

But, without realizing it, I drift off, hopefully without having a hangover when I wake up.

I'M NOT a morning person. But I always seem to wake up early when I'm not in my own bed. It happened when I first started staying at Veronica's. But, as we know, I'm quite comfortable there now. It's like my getaway home. Or my hideout.

I get up, make the bed, and try not to stumble into a wall. I'm so groggy. And my mouth is so dry. Thankfully, I haven't barfed again.

"Morning, you're up early," Sabrina's in the kitchen with a coffee cup in her grasp. I guess she's still an early riser.

I smile, "morning," I head over to the couch looking for my purse. Grabbing my phone, I look at the time. 5:41 am.

"How did you sleep?" I turn my attention to her and shrug, "breakfast?"

"No. It's okay. I should get going."

"There's no rush, Gemma," she shakes her head, "are you uncomfortable here?"

I bite on my lower lip, "it's just weird. I feel like I'm bothering you."

"I could use the company," she grabs another coffee cup, and pours coffee into it, "sit, I'm making pancakes."

"You don't have—"

"I want to. I have to eat too."

I nod, and try to keep my mouth shut. I feel frustrated with myself. I'm sure I embarrassed myself last night—showing up here drunk.

"Thanks," I say when she places the cup of coffee in front of me. I lean it to my lips, and inhale deeply. Nothing better than the smell of coffee.

"I was going to ask if you wanted milk. But you seem fine with it," she laughs.

"It actually could use some creamer. I'm just so used to being in a hurry that I usually forget to add anything."

"I remember that you hated coffee. Wouldn't touch it," she hands me the creamer.

"Well, I'm old now. And I need something to keep me up with the long hours I work."

"Right. How's your job? I love your work."

I shrug, "I'm not doing anything right now," I'm awaiting her disapproval of my unemployment. I remember that my ambition was an issue for her. I didn't do enough, or strive hard enough for anything. And it was true, yet it was harsh.

"Oh. Me neither."

"Really?" I'm surprised. She's always working on some new project, or stressing about some unnecessary thing. To think that she has any free time, is a surprise, "so Jack took over the construction business?"

"Yeah. I try not to interfere."

She combines ingredients into one bowl, and starts to make the pancakes.

"What do you do then?" I ask.

"I mostly invest in stocks now. Gives me the freedom to catch up on all the things I've wanted to do."

"I understand. I'm deciding what I want to do next. Real estate fell right into my lap. But I'm not sure that it's my thing."

She looks at me, "real estate is the best thing to get into. Property increases in value more than anything else."

"Yeah. It's good, I guess."

"You should think about investing in the stock market. I've made a lot in the past few years."

"I'm never sure what to put my money towards. But yeah, I'll look into it," I drink my coffee, "thanks for letting me stay the night. I really appre—"

"It's totally fine. You were passed out before nine. It's like no one was here."

"And thanks for making me breakfast."

She turns from facing the stove, "no problem. How many pancakes would you like?"

I hold up two fingers, as I look at that necklace around her neck. I remember that Valentine's day. She'd never celebrated days like those. But I wanted to get her something special, because she was special.

I swallow. I was such a sap. I cringe at how cheesy I was.

"How did you sleep?" I try to continue the conversation with something—anything. I like talking to her, even if it's small talk.

"Good. I ended up watching tv, and passing out before seeing the end of it. The tv watched me instead."

I laugh, "I do that alot too."

I realize that I have to get my car from the bar's parking lot. I'll just take a cab over there when I'm done here.

"Where are you staying?" She asks.

"Same place. The bed and breakfast," she hands me my plate, "until I find something more permanent."

"So, you're staying here for a while. What happened to—"

"Nothing's keeping me in Vegas. Thought I might as well spend some time here," we sit at the small table in the kitchen.

"We should catch up more then. We can be friends, right?"

I chew on my pancakes, trying to avoid the question. Friends. I seem to be making lots of friends these days. First Veronica, now Sabrina. Is it code for something?

"Uh," I lean the coffee cup to my lips, "sure?"

"It's okay if you don't want to be," Sabrina stares at me, "Gemma?"

"I don't know. I thought that you didn't want me around, you know, after our argument—"

"I know. I know. Can we at least not be pissed with each other? Call it a truce?"

I shrug, "yeah. That sounds good," I clear my throat, "I just don't need anything complicated in my life. And last night, I didn't intend to bump into Jack. It wasn't my best moment."

"It's okay. You two are bound to run into each other every now and then. Just don't show up here drunk again. Then, I'll know you're doing it on purpose," she giggles.

"Sabrina, I'm not here to bombard your life with anything. I didn't choose to come here last night."

"Okay," she mumbles, "I just don't know what I'm going to do about Jack. If he keeps bringing all that stuff up—"

"It wouldn't be the end of the world to tell him the truth," I stand up, "leaving out the details, of course. But he knows. And nothing you say will make him believe otherwise."

"You sure you didn't mention anything to him?" I raise my brow, "sorry. I don't mean to insult you," she sighs.

"No, I didn't. Maybe you did."

"I don't know. I still don't think that he needs to know. It's not something I want him to remember me by."

"You're ashamed?" I laugh, "who knew?" She nudges my shoulder, as we walk to the sink, with a frown on her face, "it's none of my business. But I'm pretty sure it's not a big deal."

"It is. You're gay, Gemma. But I'm not. I don't need to be labeled anything. It's not—"

"Acceptable?" We can never have a good conversation, can we? It always ends up like this, "I can understand why you're ashamed about what happened between us. But being a lesbian is not embarassing, Sabrina."

And this is why her and I can't be friends. She's homophobic. She pretends not to be, but she is.

"It's not that. It's—"

"No need to explain," I hold up my hand, "I can help you do the dishes."

"No, it's okay. I've got it," she turns on the sink's pipe, and rinse the dishes, before putting them into the dishwasher.

I watch her the whole time. Trying to come up with every reason to dislike her—to leave and never have the urge to speak to her again.

"I'll get going," I stand there, wondering if I should leave wearing her pajamas, or get my gross clothes from last night to wear.

"Your clothes are in the dryer. I forgot to take them—"

"Thanks for doing that. Where's the dryer?" Sabrina looks at me with a particular sadness in her eyes. I recognize that look. It's the same look that made my heart wrench for her. The sadness that I could never fix.

"I'll get it," she walks past me, and into the adjacent room, which I assume is the laundry room, "here," she walks out, and towards me, with my clothes in her arms.

"Thanks."