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She put her hand on my shoulder. I tore it off me. I genuinely hoped that she’d come to her senses. It brought me no pleasure to sever our relationship.
At the end of the day, she did what she did because her husband died, just as I’d shied away from skin, rain, and cars after losing Dad.
“You forfeited the right to identify yourself as such when you emotionally blackmailed me into marrying someone you knew I didn’t love. I accept my responsibility in letting you do that, but make no mistake—I will never let your fears dictate my happiness again.”
Or my own trauma, for that matter.
Mom floundered, searching for words to say and coming up short.
I collected her phone off the nightstand and waved it, certain Eileen’s location resided inside. “Oh, andthat woman’sname is Farrow. And I plan on making her my wife.”
Since I’d said what I had come to say, I pivoted, headed to the door. The thud of my loafers echoed in the eerie silence.
Suddenly, a set of feet joined them.
“You can’t cut ties with me.” Mom tried to grip the sleeve of my shirt. Sweat seeped into the fabric from her clammy paws. “And you certainly cannot marry that woman.”
I swiveled in the corridor, baring my teeth at her. “I’ve made my decision.”
This time, I picked up pace.
She yelped, running after me. We passed by Celeste Ayi in the living room, who cocked her head, curious. I flung the exit open and started down the stairs when I heard my mother squeak behind me.
“Wait.”
Nothing in me wanted to turn and give her the time of day, especially considering the looming deadline. Still, I swiveled on my feet, anyway, watching her at the top of the stairs.
She clutched the lapels of her robe, her other hand braced against the doorframe. As if she couldn’t keep herself up on her feet.
I tightened my grip on her stolen phone. “What?”
“I can’t…” She closed her eyes. Then, silence.
I glanced at my watch. “Can’t what?”
I needed to end the engagement with Eileen as soon as possible.
“Can’t…” Mom’s eyes shot open. Wide and bulging.
She looked surprised for a second, as though she’d seen something she hadn’t expected to see.
“Out with it, Mom.”
But instead of answering me, she collapsed on top of her legs, like a fawn trying to take its first step, tumbled down to the floor, and died.
T-MINUS 3 DAYS.
There was good news and bad news.
The good news was that my mother did not die. Good for my conscience, good for her health, positive all the way around.
The bad news was that I currently sat in a Chiang Mai hospital with a canceled ticket back to the States, waiting for Mom to wake up after a heart attack she’d experienced, courtesy of yours truly.
“I told you not to confront her about Eileen. You almost killed her.” Celeste Ayi paced the small room, wearing Chanel head to toe, online shopping on the phone in her hand. “Aw, I think I just found a pair of Moda Operandi Louboutins. No one will know they’re secondhand, right?”
I sat by Mom’s bed, staring at my phone screen. “The doctors said it was a mini heart attack.”
I’d found Eileen’s location on Mom’s phone a couple hours ago and booked a seat on every flight back for the next week, just in case. Just in case Mom took her time waking up. And in case I couldn’t find a private charter.
