“Okay.” She nods, and there’s determination in her expression now instead of fear. “Let’s do it. Starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
My phone rings again.
I pull it out and see my mother’s name for the third time tonight. The guilt intensifies. She doesn’t call this persistently unless something is important or she’s annoyed that I’m not answering.
I look at Kiera. “I should probably take this. My mom doesn’t usually call this much.”
“Go ahead.” She waves her hand. “I’ll keep eating.”
I stand and walk into the kitchen, swiping to answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“River.” Her voice is crisp, the tone she uses when she’s irritated. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know. Sorry. I’ve been busy.” I glance through the doorway at Kiera, who’s very deliberately focusing on her food and pretending not to listen. “What’s going on?”
“I’m calling to let you know I’ll be visiting next week.”
The words hit me like cold water. “Visiting? Here?”
“Yes, darling. I’m coming to Willow Shade Island. I thought it was time I saw where you’ve been hiding yourself away.” There’s an edge to her voice, that carefully modulated disappointment she’s perfected over the years. “I’ll arrive Tuesday afternoon and stay through the weekend. I assume you have room for me in that house you bought?”
I have five bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms. Of course I have room. But the thought of my mother here, on this island that’s become my sanctuary, inspecting my life and finding it wanting?—
“That’s fine,” I say, because what else can I say? “I’ll pick you up from the airport.”
“Wonderful. We have so much to catch up on. Your father and I are very curious about what you’ve been doing all this time.” A pause. “And whether you’re ready to come home yet.”
There it is. The real reason for the visit. Not because she misses me or wants to see the documentary I’m working on, but to assess whether I’m done with this “phase” and ready to return to LA and pursue a “real career.”
“We’ll talk when you get here,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
“Indeed we will. I’ll text you my flight details. See you Tuesday, darling.”
She hangs up before I can respond.
I stand there for a moment, phone in hand, feeling like the walls of my perfect evening just collapsed inward. My mother is coming. Next week. She’ll see the house, meet the people I’ve been getting to know, probably make comments about everything from my documentary to my life choices to?—
My gaze lands on Kiera, who’s still eating and definitely pretending not to have heard my side of the conversation.
To her. My mother will meet Kiera. And she’ll see right through me, see exactly how I feel about the pink-haired girl who cooks in my kitchen and makes me laugh and keeps all her walls up even though I can see the cracks forming.
This is going to be a disaster.
I return to the table and sit down, picking up my chopsticks with hands that aren’t quite steady.
“Everything okay?” Kiera asks quietly.
“My mother is coming to visit next week.” The words taste bitter. “Tuesday through the weekend.”
“Oh.” She sets down her chopsticks. “That’s... good?”
“That’s something,” I say, and I can’t quite keep the tension out of my voice. “She wants to check on me. Make sure I haven’t completely ruined my life by leaving LA and pursuing this ridiculous documentary career.”
Kiera’s eyes soften with understanding. “The same mother who never thought Kid Logic was a real career?”
“The very same.” I take a bite of galbi, but I’m not hungry anymore. “She’s going to hate everything. The island, the documentary, the fact that I’m happy here.”
