“Yeah,” I say, stirring my cocktail, which I’ve hardly sipped from. For some reason, the taste of it is making me sick to my stomach. “We’ll see what happens.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Mom says, crossing her long, tan legs and raising her hand to a server gracefully. When he comes over, she gives him a long explanation of the drink she wants and how she wants it, and he hurries away to bring it to her.Imight look out of place here, butshecertainly doesn’t.
When they’re gone, she finds my eyes again, going on, “You were always more like me in that way. Driven—I wish your sister was more like you.”
“I broke up with my boyfriend,” I say, and the moment the words come out of my mouth, I blink in shock. There’s a reason I never brought Evan up to my mom. She never would have understood why I liked him. What could possibly be appealing about his way of life.
For some inane reason, I think she might comfort me. Ask about what happened. I realize for the first time that I’mdyingto talk it through. That some advice from someone older and more experienced than me might actually be the balm I need to come out of this strange, numbing funk.
But Mom waves her hand absently, “Boys are a waste of time, Amy.”
Of course she thinks that. She never made her relationship with my dad a priority. One of the reasons their story ended in divorce.
“I mean,” I swallow, looking away from her for a moment, my gaze settling instead on some sort of high-end cowboy painting on the wall. “It’s not like I have forever, if I want to have kids.”
“Oh, that’s an easy answer,” my mom snorts, leaning forward and touching her hand to mine briefly. “Don’t.”
I glance back up at her, hurt piercing through me. She must realize a second later that she is, in fact, talking to her child, because she says, “Oh—I mean, obviously I love you, Amy. But I mean, if I had a time machine, I’d go back and give myself some much-needed advice. That I didn’t need to be a mother to feel whole. Didn’t need marriage and all that just because society made me feel like I did. Andyoudon’t either.” She squeezes my hand, then pulls hers back, taking a sip from her drink when the server brings it over. “I see myself in you. And if you keepworking this hard, imagine how much further than me you could end up going.”
My heartbeat is in my throat, soft palate suddenly ice-cold.
Is that what I want? To be like my mother? Career over everything, to the point where my own children might send each other warning texts?
She tells me about her trip to Italy, and I stare at her, trying to swallow down the pain of her admission. She never wanted kids but felt pressured to do it.
How it has changed. For me to want that life, but feel, for some reason, like I shouldn’t go after it. I wait to feel bitter toward her, to wish that I’d gotten a mother who might actually care about me, but it’s not her fault things worked out the way they did.
And, in a way, she’s given me just as much value by showing me what I could become.
At the end of the night, she gives me her usual quick, one-armed hug, her Armani perfume drifting over me and reminding me of my childhood, her rushing out the door early in the morning while Dad got us ready for school.
“Love you, Amy,” she says, then pulls back. “You’re looking kind of pale, love. Maybe try a tanning bed.”
With that, she blows a kiss in my direction before turning and walking down the street, her phone already to her ear as she goes, heels clicking every step of the way.
“Love you, too,” I whisper, feeling something bright start to grow in my chest.
Then, I turn, step to the large round trash can just outside the bar, and throw up everything I’ve had since breakfast that morning.
CHAPTER 27
EVAN
I’ve gotten used to ignoring the knocks at the door.
At first it was Gramps, having come back and berating me for hiding away. Then, Brendon dropped by and tried to lure me out with an offer of pizza croissants, and I could smell the damn things through the door.
Beverly tried to threaten me, and even Kendra made the trip, her sharp voice coming in muffled through the door. I could picture her standing there on the other side, looking just like an English teacher, the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Evan,” she said, sounding frustrated. “You can’t make me like you then disappear. And we need Amy back to finish the renovations on time, before the spring tourist season completely passes us by.”
I’d opened my mouth, like my body wanted to respond, but forced it shut. She stayed for a few more minutes, the floor creaking under her feet, and before she went, she left with some parting words.
The nice thing about getting used to the knocking is that I don’t have to put too much energy into ignoring it.
But the bad thing is that I’ve started to block out all the noise coming from the hallway, so I genuinely don’t even hear when something jingles outside the door. I don’t hear the key turning in the lock, or the jostle of the handle before the door flies open, letting in light from the hallway and illuminating my lodge room.
Two figures reveal themselves on the other side of the door, scaring the shit out of me.
