Me: LOL. Kidding. No. It’s not weird. Call me crazy, but I miss you too.
Hudson:Well, Crazy. Maybe I’ll see you around.
Me:Maybe you will.
But probably not.
ChapterFourteen
WILLA
“Willamina,”Spencer snaps angrily from the entrance to my cubicle.
He startles me so much that I knock over my brand-new cup of coffee from the expensive coffee place down the street. I treated myself because, a) It’s Monday and I needed the caffeine, and b) I felt I deserved to treat myself after the weekend.
The birthday party on Saturday was only the first of many things that turned my usually relaxing weekend into something far more stressful.
First, Barney somehow got into my oatmeal raisin cookies. I thought they were secured in the cupboard, like always, except I must have left it ajar. He ate one too many of those and proceeded to vomit all day Sunday. I was so worried that I nearly took him to the emergency veterinarian, but by about five last evening, he stopped puking. After which, he flopped onto his window seat and slept until this morning. Thank God.
Of course, he woke up hungry for his breakfast.
The second thing that happened was that I called my mom. Ordinarily, I phone her every Sunday, but I missed it last weekend. Not that she cares. She doesn’t. Not really. Ever since dad was killed, she’s done her best to forget everything related to her past. I guess I can see why, but I’m included in that past and it’s painful knowing she wants to forget me too.
She’s mourning; I get that. We all mourn differently. Some people keep their homes exactly the same as the day their loved one died. Dust and all. Not my mom, though. She couldn’t get away fast enough. She cut off everyone and everything back here in Chicago, changing her phone number, email address, and deleting her social media accounts. She wanted no reminders.
ExceptIcan’t be deleted. Iwon’tbe erased. I love my mom. She used to be my best friend, and I have to hold out hope that, someday, she’ll wake up and see what she’s missing.
Me.
Her phone rang twenty times. I’m sure she’s got caller ID; she knew it was me. When she finally picked up, I did my best to sound cheerful. Not easy when the woman says things like, “Hello, Willa,” in the most monotone voice ever. There’s no, “How are you, honey? I miss you. What have you been up to? Want to visit? Go shopping? Have lunch at the fun little diner downtown? Have you met any boys?”
She always referred to guys as ‘boys’ even after I graduated from high school. It made us both laugh.
That’s not how our conversations are anymore though. Now, they’re stilted, dry. I talk three times more than she does since I’m concerned about her. I ask if she’s eating, seeing a therapist, meeting friends, things like that. She always answers with “yes” even though I know she’s lying.
Our conversation last night was no exception. It lasted about seven minutes, which is a record. Five minutes is usually the max. At the end, I said something I probably shouldn’t have because I felt like shit afterwards. I said, “I think I’ll fly down and visit for Fourth of July.”
Sure, Phoenix will be hotter than the depths of hell at that time of year, but I figure we’d spend the majority of time inside her condo.
I don’t have to worry about that though because do you want to know what she said? What her response was?
It was “No.”
No.
Just one big fat “No”.
She didn’t make an excuse that she was busy or had other plans. She told me flat-out. “No.”
God, it hurts. Even today, sitting in my tiny cubicle, the pain is real. And now, I’ve got an angry Spencer at my door. An irate Spencer who startled me so much that I knocked over my seven-dollar coffee. And do you want to know something? It pisses me off.
“What?” I snap right back.
“In my office,” Spencer growls. “Now.”
Geesh. What now? “After I clean up this mess.”
“Now.”
