Cal’s working at Cocktails & Chaos tonight. He and I texted earlier, and he said that he’s been busy. The bar has been slammed. He’s been short on texts and calls. Not cold, just distant. He says he’s working, but I feel like there’s more to it. And I hate it. I’m homesick for a man at a beach in a tiki bar. I want to fall asleep next to him and wake up in his arms. I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling sad and full of longing for him. New York has been so lonely. And I’m questioning everything.
I haven’t eaten all day. I had non-stop meetings, calls, strategy sessions, damage control, and was in full CEO mode. I open the fridgein my kitchen, and it’s sparse. I have no appetite, yet I know I need something. I scroll through my phone and order Chinese food from the place two blocks over that I love. I need some ultimate comfort food. Something warm and spicy that I can eat and then take a long hot bath and soak the day away.
The apartment is too quiet. I wander around while I wait for my food and stare at the fancy decor that I realize isn’t me at all. This place doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a prison. I should sell it. Find something more...like me. Like home. Then I close my eyes and think of Cal. He’s my home. Wherever he is. I don’t think I’d find anything here in New York that would feel like that.
The buzzer sounds, and I walk toward the door, assuming it’s the doorman with my food delivery. I open it, and it’s not him. It’s my mother. She steps inside before I can speak, her perfume sharp and familiar.
“What do you want?” I ask, feeling too tired for her crap tonight.
She looks around the penthouse, inspecting it, and says, “You’ve made quite a mess of things, Silvie.”
I close the door slowly, sighing in frustration at her intrusion. But I also know that if I throw her out, it will make a scene and that is likely what she wants.
“What were you thinking?” she continues. “You’ve humiliated this family.”
I walk calmly to the panel beside the door and press the security button. She’s still ranting and hasn’t even noticed.
She continues, “As if your wedding wasn’t a big enough embarrassment, you had to go and marry a bartender from some beach town?”
“I find it interesting that I’m the problem in all of this,” I say. “Did you forget that Belladonna slept with my fiancé?”
And this is exactly what she wanted. An argument and a scene. Here we go...
“Why can’t you just be happy for your sister and move on?” my mother snaps. “She’s happy, and Tyler could have helped out at the company. But no, you had to ruin him, too. I swear, Silvie, I don’t know what your problem is.”
I don’t respond. Because what does one say to a mother who accepts treatment of her daughter this way and believes thisnonsense? That I’m actually the problem. This is crazy. She’s literally crazy.
“We could have found you a suitable match,” she continues. “A man who understands our world. Someone appropriate.”
Appropriate.
I stand there and let her continue because adding anything to the conversation right now would be like pouring gasoline on a fire. And what my mother wants is an explosion.
“You chose to make this an issue,” she says angrily. “By marrying some random bartender.”
There’s a faint ding behind me, and the elevator opens.
Thank God. Security is here.
“Silvie, you’ve...”
Security steps into the foyer, and my mother turns, offended by the interruption. She realizes that they’re here to escort her, and her face contorts with rage and embarrassment. “You can’t be serious.”
I hold her gaze. “Don’t come to my home again. You’re not welcome here or at my company.”
Her face goes red with rage. “Silvie! I am your mother!”
“Then you should have acted like it,” I hiss back as security gently but firmly guides her toward the door and escorts her out. The door closes, and the apartment is silent again.
I sigh, exhausted from her. I make a note to let my building staff know that she’s not to enter the property. My food arrives a few minutes later, and the timing makes me almost laugh. I take the bag and thank them as the door closes behind them.
I set the container on the table and sit down. It smells warm and comforting. I take a bite and close my eyes. Lonely and needing to talk to someone, I call Birdie, and she picks up.
“Well, hello, sugar.”
I put her on speaker and keep eating. “My mother just showed up at my apartment.”
There’s a pause. “And?”
