“We got lucky. He hasn’t picked up his mail yet. There was one letter addressed to a Mr. Castillo.”
“Isn’t it illegal to go through someone’s mail?”
Wren stares blankly at me before whipping out her phone and going into best friend FBI mode. There truly is nothing that women can’t do when they put their minds to it.
“Okay, here we go,” Wren announces before plopping down on the sofa covered in laundry I still needed to fold. I put Milo down again and follow her lead. “Henry Castillo is an assistant professor in the English department at NYU. Ooo, look at his headshot.”
Wren places her phone in my hand so I can see the picture. In the photo, he’s wearing glasses with a slightly thicker frame, and he looks younger with a chaste smile painted on his lips. I can tell he wants to look professional, but there’s a part of him that can’t contain the inviting look that can warm up a room in seconds.
His hair is longer in the picture, which is another feature that makes him look more boyish than the man I met over a week ago. In this photo, I can clearly see the curls he must tame with hair gel. A prickly sensation starts to creep up my shoulder.
When I finally look up, Wren is staring at me with a bright smile to match my own. “What?” I question before shoving her phone back in her hands.
“Nothing,” she answers casually. “This slow burn is going to kick you in the ass.”
“Nothing is going to happen between us. He’s a smart guy. He knows not to get mixed up in the life of a divorcedsingle mom who’s been trying to graduate college for seven years.”
“You need to stop getting so down on yourself. You’re hot as hell, charming, and the strongest woman I know. When you do decide to give him a chance, he’s going to be one lucky son of a bitch,” Wren begins without taking a breath.
“It’s not going to happen, Wren.”
“Okay,” she whispers, ready to drop it. “I just want you to be happy. I know you’re worried how dating will affect Milo, but he wants to see his mom happy too. I hope when you are ready to get back out there, you’ll tell me.”
My hands start picking at the frayed seam of our hand-me-down couch. I’m determined to look anywhere but at Wren. Compliments and hard truths make my skin want to crawl to the other side of the room. As I’m about to answer her, my phone starts to buzz in my back pocket. I quickly reach for it and look at the Caller I.D.
I straighten up when I see the number who’s calling. This is the second time she’s called this weekend, but I can’t bring myself to pick it up.
“What could she possibly want?” Wren quips after looking over my shoulder.
After a few more rings, she finally gives up and I can feel my entire body begin to relax again. “I don’t know. She never leaves a message.”
“When was the last time you saw your mom?”
I lean back into the couch and sink into the soft cushion. Every time my mother calls me, I go through a wave of emotions. It always begins with anger that fades into guilt. It’s an impossible cycle.
“It’s been a few weeks.” I sigh. “The last time I visited my nana, she was there. It felt like an ambush.”
Vicky Davis was an interesting character. She was never around when I needed her, but then she would appear out of thin air, usually when she felt like she needed to prove toherself that she was a good mom. I always let her back in, too. Well, that was until I started seeing a therapist.
“Are you going to keep ignoring her?”
My teeth start to grind together. A nervous tick I developed whenever I had to deal with an uncomfortable situation. My teeth should’ve been ground to a pulp after my childhood, but thankfully, my mom was able to keep a job at the local dentist’s office for most of her time in Honey Grove.
“I don’t know,” I wince. “My therapist says I need to start creating boundaries with her. She also said I don’t need to have any sort of relationship with her, but I know that would break my nana’s heart.”
I first started seeing my therapist after Colt and I did couple’s therapy. After we decided to part ways, I realized how helpful talking to a professional was. I had a lot of unresolved anger surrounding my mom and my lack of a childhood. Honestly, there was a lot I needed to work through. For mine and Milo’s sake.
“Well, whatever you decide, you know I’ll support you,” Wren says comfortingly, placing her hand on my thigh.
“Thank you.” I smile. “Now, enough about me and the hot mess express. How’s your business going?”
I stare down at my laptop screen, trying not to let my frustration boil over. A small giggle distracts me from the low grade, mocking me on the screen.
When I look up from my spot on the couch, Milo is sitting down on his play mat, pushing around one of the trucks Colt brought over the last time he dropped him off. Apparently, he was obsessed with excavators after visiting Colt’s dad at his job at the quarry.
I smile before turning my focus back to my laptop. I knewthat going back to school after taking some time off would be hard, but I wasn’t expecting this English class to be my downfall. I needed to turn my grade around and fast.
As I scan the notes from my most recent assignment, it’s hard not to roll my eyes. The assignment was to write an analytical essay about a short story the professor had given the class to read. It should’ve been simple, but between my terrible grammar and inability to construct a clear thought on paper, I had missed the mark completely.
