“Of course I do.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.
“No, you don’t. You hate what went down, but not her personally. You hate that you lowered your guard. You hate that she made you feel replaceable when you tried so hard not to makeherfeel that way.”
My jaw clenches and unclenches as I process his words. I mean, he has somewhat of a point, but still ...
I hate her.
Don’t I?
“Look, I get what you’re going through, but do what I told you to. Ignore her.”
After my talk with Chase, I feel slightly better. My feelings were out of whack, but he set me straight.
It feels weird to admit that.
My body aches from sitting in the same place for hours, but slight relief comes when I see the big sign that says, “Welcome to Los Angeles!”
Though, dread settles in as I get closer to the address Mom sent over. It’s only thirty or so miles to the event, but due to a couple of accidents, there’s a thirty- to forty-minute delay. I mutter silent expletives at the thought of sitting here. The long sleeves of my white shirt bother me after a bit, so I roll up the cuffs.
I unbutton the first couple of buttons of my shirt, letting out a deep breath. One thing I’ve always hated is being late. I promised I would be there by at least three, but that came and went. I bang my hand on the steering wheel, as for twenty minutes, all I’ve moved is about two inches.
Ugh, can this day drag on any longer?
Answer: Yes, it definitely can.
After about an hour, I get out of the traffic jam, but am still a little way away. I pull off to the side of the road and type a quick text to Mom, letting her know that I would be late, but the message stays on delivered. I sigh at that and get back on the road. Pulling into the fancy venue, it looks as if the event is in full swing. I get out as the valet asks for my keys and hand them to him. The ballroom looks like it costs an arm and a leg to rent. Some guests linger outside, and so do their stares, causing me to shift the cuffs of my shirt nervously. Taking a deep breath, I walk in, trying to look for someone that I know, ignoring the whispers.
I look around as I go over my game plan. Ignore Bianca, avoid the Crystal Pines subdivision at all costs, and lastly, don’t let my heart get in the way.
I can do this.
Nodding, opting for a small smile as I pass by another group of men in what looks like golf attire, not taking notice of their expressions, I walk toward another huge set of doors, my mind swimming with thoughts.
She hurt you.
She ignored you. Ignore her back.
What’s the deal with that girl you’re always drawing?
You don’t hate her. You hate what she did to you.
Maybe it was a misunderstanding.
I blink rapidly, the low symphony of the live orchestra coming at me. Guests all over are having animated conversations as I try to look for my parents. Warmth comes over me as I twist my head to the left. Squaring my shoulders, I walk closer as my eyes bounce to everyone. Mom smiles when she sees me, and I return the sentiment while she meets me halfway.
She glances up at me with a look that says, “This is it,” and I nod, reassuring that I’m okay. I lock eyes on the woman who was like a second mother to me growing up. She looks at me awkwardly, mixed with confusion, and I don’t blame her.
She probably doesn’t even recognize me, considering that I was a little scrawny teenager the last time she saw me. Embarrassment washes over my face as she stands there. To mask it, I stick out a hand, but she shakes her head. With shame, I put it down, but then she wraps her arms around me.
The nostalgia practically rips me apart.All the times that I would go over and she would teach me how to make her famous hot chocolate, or even how to read my favorite chapter books—she was there for it all, and my inner child is so happy as her scent wafts through my nostrils.
“I’m glad we got to see each other again. You’re all grown up,littleman.”
I pull back, nodding as emotionlessly as possible, not trusting my voice when she mentions the nickname she used to have for me. Someone comes closer to her, and I recognize him from orientation. Mom always said that since I was little, I had a weird sixth sense about people.Of course, it’s pretty much advanced intuition.
I haven’t had that feeling in over a decade. But this guy—
This guy right here is not a good guy.
