Another one bites the dust. She’s always had a soft spot for Jake, even though she believes he’s a hellion and the reason behind all my bad decisions growing up. It only takes a wink or a grin for her to fall for his charms. Like every other freaking woman. I might be the only person in this world who can see through his nonsense. He used to joke that I have a force fieldpreventing his charisma from enchanting me. He’s not wrong. I’ve been proudly immune to it since we were kids. Or, at least, I was until recently. Having him around lately has been getting under my skin and confusing me, making me see him in a different light.
Jake and I spend the next few minutes organizing the various bags containing my mom’s stuff as she provides us with exact directions on where she wants everything. Not sure why she needs her entire makeup kit, jewelry, four pairs of shoes, and a month’s worth of clothing at rehab, but I learned to stop arguing with her a long time ago. Much easier to go along with what she says and not worry about it.
“Knock, knock,” a middle-aged woman says as she walks into the room with a cheery demeanour. She does a double-take when she sees Jake standing next to me in the corner of the room. “I’m Diane, your case manager. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”
We go through a quick round of introductions before Diane jumps into discussing my mom’s schedule for the next few weeks. The rehab plan is significantly more grueling than what Mom experienced at the hospital, making me question how she will handle it. I furiously take notes about her rehab and attempt mental gymnastics about how I’m going to balance work with the limited free time her schedule allows.
“As you can tell, the next few weeks are going to be intentionally hard on your mom. We need to start pushing her body to get a better idea of what she can and can’t do. She’s going to be exhausted every day,” Diane says, looking at my mom, then shifting her focus to me. “We highly recommend that visitors only come during lunchtime for the first few weeks. I know it’s probably a big change from what you could do at the hospital, but we need your mom focused on her physical therapy.”
“Okay. I’ll do whatever is best for her recovery,” I say, biting my lower lip, hoping my mom takes this news well. Jake glances at me with a tense smile as if he’s waiting with bated breath for a bomb to go off.
My mom purses her lips and crosses her arms. “I don’t love it. I’d prefer to see my daughter multiple times a day. However, I want to get out of here as soon as possible, so we’ll do it your way…for now.” There is a firmness to my mom’s voice, making it clear that if this therapy schedule doesn’t meet whatever imaginary goals she has in her mind, she’ll take matters into her own hands. God help us if that happens.
“Great. I’m glad we’re aligned,” Diane says, handing my mom a paper schedule and distributing a copy to me. “I’ll leave the three of you to catch up. Don’t take too much time. Your first session starts in twenty minutes.” She gives us a big smile before walking out the door.
“Since we don’t have much time, you can leave my bags where they are. I’ll unpack everything later.” My mom looks around, mentally organizing the room. I have no idea how what we brought will fit in here. “What’s with your appearance lately? I get being disheveled for the first few days after the accident, but this is getting a bit much. Have you completely given up on how you look?”
The wind is completely knocked out of me. I’m not trying to win any beauty competitions, but I didn’t think I looked that bad. Definitely not bedraggled enough that it was worthy of a comment. I glance at my outfit, trying to figure out what she sees that is so glaringly wrong.
“Kitty Kat, I think you look beautiful today. I like the more relaxed version of you,” Jake says, flashing me a megawatt grin and winking.
I mouth “Thank you” in his direction, knowing his commentshouldshut my mom up for a few minutes.
“We probably should be going. Don’t want your mom to be late for her first therapy session. We all know she’s going to want to be the star student.” He beams at my mom, who immediately returns it, acting like the previous interaction didn’t happen.
There he goes saving me again. Standing up to my mom, not letting her shit on my feelings. The only question is, can I trust him?
fifteen
After lettingout an obnoxiously loud sigh, I take off my headphones and sink into the couch. Today was filled with nonstop meetings, making it nearly impossible for me to get anything done, except answer a few messages from my team and add more things to my to-do list. I’d love to pretend my day is over, but I have multiple hours ahead of me to finish a creative brief a client needs by tomorrow, and I dread thinking about the state of my inbox. Why in God’s name do people send so many emails? There were days early in my career when I couldn’t wait to be in meetings and have a full inbox. Now, I would do pretty much anything to get out of them. The joys of a successful career: meetings and emails.
It’s going to be another long night. Who am I kidding? This has been my life for years, and it’s only become more hectic as I’ve climbed the corporate ladder. My mom’s recovery and wedding planning only exacerbate the situation.
I groan loudly, frustrated with my current predicament, unable to do anything about it in the near future.
Jake struts into the room with headphones on, bopping his head to what I can only assume is music. Can’t imagine that typeof reaction if he were listening to a true crime podcast. He tends to spend his days holed up in the guest bedroom or kitchen while I’m on calls, insisting on making himself scarce whenever I’m on video. Most of his time is spent on calls with Jason—whom Jake lovingly refers to as his so-called boss and Satan in the same sentence—arguing about his upcoming schedule. From what I can gather from the snippets of calls I’ve overheard the past few days, Jason wants him back at work, and Jake keeps politely telling him to “fuck off.” Talk about a ballsy move.
Jake takes off his headphones and sits on the navy recliner across from me. The one leftover relic from when my dad lived here. My mom trashed the rest of his things but kept the recliner for some reason.
“Are you actually done for the day? Or will you be burning the midnight oil once again?”
“Yes and yes. No more meetings. Too many emails to count. A client brief to tackle. You know…the usual,” I reply, plastering on a fake smile as I drape my arm across my face.
“Sounds like the perfect time to take a break,” he says, getting up and reaching for my hand. “You need to eat. I’m tired of ordering pizza. We’re going out. Not taking no for an answer. Let’s go, Kitty Kat.”
I allow him to pull me off the couch while glaring at him. “Haven’t I told you how much I hate that nickname? I’m not twelve.”
“I was calling you Kitty Kat when you were older than twelve. You don’t hate it. You find it endearing. Charming,” he says with a smirk.
“Hated it then. Hate it now.” I run my fingers over my pants, trying to straighten out the wrinkles. “I don’t have time to go out for dinner. Way too much to do. Can’t we just order takeout? Doesn’t have to be pizza.” I bat my eyelashes like a lovesick schoolgirl. My one secret weapon that would get Jake todo whatever I wanted. Used only in case of emergency. Tonight might not technically be an emergency, but I’m curious to find out if it still works.
“The puppy-dog eyes aren’t going to work on me. You need a change of scenery. Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Just to your favorite restaurant in town. How does that sound?”
Damn it. He knowsexactlywhat he’s doing. Teasing me with Mexican food, using my weakness for tacos against me. I tap my lower lip, pretending I’m thinking deeply about this rather than mentally ordering food in my mind and imagining having the taste of a margarita on my lips.
“Fine. I’ll go. You’re buying if I have to leave the comfort of my own home when I could be in PJs.”
“Deal.”
