I shake my head, voice finally losing its snide lilt. “I’m all she has, Declan. I’m sorry but I can’t rely on you. That’s what she did. I won’t be making the same mistake.”
I walk away before he can stop me. I hold the image of my mother’s face in my head as I rush down the staircase, out the front door, and into my car. I didn’t realize Gwen was standing in the garden until I shoved my keys in the ignition. I look down sheepishly at the sight of her and put the car in drive. I let the inability to conjure my father’s face fuel me all the way home.
Chapter 12
The second my eyes open to the bright sunlight peering through the guesthouse, the memory of crying in front of Declan last night bombards me. I have to shove my face deeper into the bedsheets to endure the physical cringe cascading down my body.
This, I realize, must be what people refer to as a vulnerability hangover. Obsessively, I replay the moment my eyes welled with tears, and I feel the persistent, nagging shame of… of what? Why did it have to be so embarrassing? Lottie died days ago. But it wasn’t my deep-seated hatred of displaying emotions that was the problem. It was the fact that Declancould see through my attempt at being okay. It was the fact that being in his presence again made me not okay.
On instinct, I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe open my messages.
APARTMENT 302
Roshi
This girl in our incoming class is trying to get us to sign up for some janky app her brother made to connect us before the semester starts. Has she not heard of Facebook??
Faye
LMAO. Isn’t that like the exact origin story of Facebook
Roshi
Okay housewife! Didn’t know you knew so much about Zuckerburg’s origin story
Faye
Ever heard of Netflix?
Our group chat has been dying. The time between responses has slowly grown longer since we parted ways on that gloomy May evening in our apartment building’s parking lot. From text messages ping-ponging back and forth like apickleball match to a few hours between stilted jokes and updates to a day or two before a single reply comes through.
We’ve never ventured through the murky waters of long-distance friendship, so a period of adjustment is to be expected, but I feel the bitter twinge of resentment flitter through me.
Roshi hasn’t called since Lottie’s death. I understand she’s busy, but the semester hasn’t even started yet. What will our friendship be like when law school does start? And Fayehascalled me, but she complained abouthermother the entire time.
I can’t find it in me to reply to their messages. And as juvenile as it is, I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take for them to notice my absence.
That’s not healthy communication, my brain lectures.Yes, I know that, I reply to myself.But not asking how your friend is doing after their second mother dies is pretty crap communication too, in my humble opinion.That does the trick to silence the nobler voice in my head.
A loud knock at my door startles me. The door handle wiggles and my mom scoots herself inside, holding the bright green mug I made in second grade and shutting the door behind her. Despite the distracted look on her face a second ago, I catch the moment of effort as she puts on her happy, everything-is-alright face. “Good morning, honey! How was work last night?”
“Ughhhh.” I force my head under a pillow dramatically.
“My goodness! That bad?” she says, crossing the small room to sit at the foot of my bed.
“No, it was fine,” I lie. “It’s just… not New York.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t need to be in such a rush to leave.” She pats my ankle through the sheets adoringly.
I’m about to argue with her that, yes, I do, when she says, “Hey, sit up and drink this. I need to update you on Lottie’s will.”
“Her will?” I ask, removing the pillow from my head and sitting up to take the mug of steaming coffee from her outstretched hand. “Oh, you’re the best.”
I take it and pull a long swill of the warm latte. The espresso is smooth and rich, the milk perfectly foamed.
“Did you make this?” I ask, shocked.
“You’re not the only barista in this house,” she jokes, deep smile lines cresting her eyes. “Speaking of houses… I finished wrapping up the details of Lottie’s will with her lawyer yesterday. And it turns out she left you something. Well, left us both a lot of something.”
