“Reed, we need to discuss?—”
I hang up and switch my phone to silent. Then, thinking better of it, I power it off completely. Eliza will understand that I’m working. She runs her own business; she knows how consuming that can be.
Right now, I need to focus. Jennifer Martinez is my last chance to save Urban Forest Solutions, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to blow it this time.
I scratch out a rough calendar on my whiteboard. The gala is on Friday, four days away. Four days to create a presentation that could save everything I’ve worked for. A presentation that’s effortlessly cool while also impactful.
Four days to prove my father was wrong about me. To prove to Eliza and maybe even myself that my idealistic vision matters.
22
Eliza
By 8:00 pm, I’ve called Reed three times and sent four texts with no response. I feel like some sort of teenage drama queen. I’m not sure I’ve ever reached out to someone this many times in one day. This morning feels like a fever dream—the intimacy in the shower, his promise to see me tonight, the way he kissed me goodbye and meant it.
Maybe he got absorbed in his work. Reed’s the type to lose track of time when he’s focused on his trees. I tell myself this is normal, that entrepreneurs get tunnel vision, that I’m overreacting.
But the damaged part of my brain keeps whispering that rich boys always bail once they get what they want.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it eagerly, hoping to see Reed’s name. Instead, it’s another text from my mother.
Can’t wait to see my successful girls! I have so many exciting opportunities to share. What’s your address, sweetie? I want to surprise you!
I stare at the message, my stomach clenching. Emma wanting my address is never good news. She only shows up when she needs something, and the fact that she’s being coy about it means whatever she’s planning is big.
I power off my phone and shove it in a drawer. If Reed wants to ignore me, fine. If my mother wants to play games, she can do it without me.
I throw myself into evening chores with more aggression than necessary, mucking stalls and refilling water troughs as if I’m being watched by someone other than my animals. Chiron stares with what might be concern, or maybe judgment. Hard to tell with donkeys.
For dinner, I eat three cookies from the batch Reed and I made together, standing at my kitchen counter in the dark. If I turn my phone on, I might have a call from Reed, but I also might not and so I just keep eating cookies until my stomach hurts. The butter and vanilla taste like yesterday’s happiness, before everything got complicated.
I’m ankle-deep in morning goat manure, trying to work out my frustration through physical labor, when I hear a car door slam in my driveway. My heart leaps—maybe Reed came to explain himself.
But when I look up, it’s not Reed’s hybrid. It’s a silver taxi, and stepping out of it with a giant suitcase and an armload of boxes labeled “Diamond Elite Wellness Journey” is Emma Storm.
My mother looks exactly the same as she did six months ago when she tried to convince Eden to sell her beeswax products through some sketchy multilevel marketing scheme. Blonde hair in a perfect blowout, expensive-looking coat, and that smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
“Eliza, sweetheart!” she calls, waving like we’re old friends instead of a mother and daughter who haven’t spoken since June. “Surprise!”
I set down my pitchfork and walk toward her, hyperaware of the manure on my boots and the contrast between her polished appearance and my work clothes. “How did you find me?”
Emma laughs as the taxi bumps down my lane. Mom’s giggle is the tinkling sound she makes when she’s pleased with her own cleverness. “Property records, darling. Amazing what you can find online these days. I tried calling your sisters, but they seem to have changed their numbers.” Her smile falters. “Can you imagine?”
I don’t need to imagine. In fact, I know exactly why my sisters stopped taking her calls. The last time my mother showed up, she kicked over Eden’s beehives and melted her stockpile of wax. Everyone but me did a good job setting boundaries.
“What are you doing here, Emma?”
“Emma?” She presses a hand to her chest in mock hurt. “I’m your mother, darling. I’m here because I have the most incredible opportunity to share with you.” She sweeps a Vanna-White-style wrist, gesturing at the product boxes lined on my lane.
I frown, but resist stabbing them with my pitchfork.
“Come on,” Mom says, grabbing her suitcase. “Let’s get inside, so I can tell you all about Diamond Elite Wellness Journey. You’re going to love this.”
I don’t move. “You can’t just show up here unannounced.”
“Of course I can. I’m your mother.” Emma looks around my property with an expression somewhere between amusement and pity. “This is charming, Eliza. Very rustic. Like a hobby farm.”
The casual insult hits exactly where she intended. “This is my business.”
