“I’m the owner of the ground you’re standing on. We’ve met.” One corner of his mouth tips up. “Your turn.”
“I should know where she is at all times. She’s my daughter. She’s my business. She was supposed to be working tonight.” She tries to match his casual delivery, but I know her. She’s on the verge of an adult tantrum. “And you” — she looks him up and down, shaking her head — “have no business with her.”
I feel Joe’s eyes whip my direction. I need to correct her. I need to use the skills we practiced by the campfire, but I can’t stop staring at my sandals. “Mom, Joe is my friend,” I mumble without making eye contact. I don’t want her to tell me I can’t have Joe, or that he can’t have me. I don’t want to bring up the reason I ran out tonight. I’ve had this conversation with her before. She’ll expect me to brush it off like always. “Did you see the comments on that live?” I also want to scream,Did you see what they called me? Don’t you understand why I left? You don’t care that your daughter is being ripped to shreds by strangers?!
Her tone softens, “I’m sorry for what they said. I’m truly sorry. But you have to ignore that stuff, Indigo. You know that. It’s part of the job.”
Joe’s sharp voice cuts through the air, “Why do you ignore it, though? You’re her mother.” There’s so much disgust in his words. “You could defend her, shut it down, something. Anything.”
“You don’t understand our job. This is the real world. People aren’t going to be nice. You learn to deal with it, or you sink. Indigo is sinking and she’s taking down the ship. It’s not only her livelihood on the line here. Indigo needs to stop being so self-absorbed.”
Her words hurt, but she’s right. There are going to be harsh critics in any line of work. I need to be stronger. There are way too many people depending on me for me to be so weak. And I’ve only been thinking about my own needs. I sigh, long and deep. “You’reright.” I turn to Joe, “She’s right. I shouldn’t have run away tonight. I need to suck it up and do my job.” My voice catches. I’m afraid to voice my next thought, but it comes out before I can stop it. "It would help if you stood up for me sometimes, though.”Is that asking too much?I brace for her response.
“You should stand up for yourself, if it’s needed. But I still think it’s best to ignore that stuff. Responding to it only validates it. We need to have thicker skin. You’re a dynamic, successful woman. Let that stuff go.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
In my peripheral vision I see Joe’s shoulders drop. I search his eyes. I want him to be okay with this choice. This isn’t me not standing up for myself. This is me doing the right thing. And he genuinely doesn’t understand this world. There are so many people wrapped up in this job. So many people depend on me, and I’ve made commitments that I can’t keep walking away from. That old, familiar guilty feeling returns. “I’m sorry I ran away,” I say to my mother.
“Which time?” Her tone says it all: She knows I’m giving in and she’s on the offensive. There’s blood in the water. “Every time you do this, it costs us. So tomorrow we’ll record a quick apology for your behavior tonight. That should help.”
“Should she throw in some tears? Would that give the people what they want?” Joe’s words are pure acid.
“Maybe.” My mother doesn’t catch his sarcasm, apparently. And Joe doesn’t know that crocodile tears are an internet apology staple.
He turns his dark gaze on me. He’s pulling in deep breaths like he’s trying to calm himself. The rise and fall of his wide chest would be soothing except I can see his thoughts all over his face:Don’t do this. Choose sanity.Choose me.“And that’s it? You sweep it under the rug. Move on?”
I don’t want to, but I have to. And I want to choose him, but I can’t. Not right now. “This time, yeah.”I hate everything about this.When his face turns to stone I want to rewind and erase the last ten minutes of my life.
“Okay. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He starts to open the door of his Bronco and I panic. “Wait!”
When he turns around, the hope in his eyes kills me. I do the only thing I can do to make this better, since I can’t change what I said. I stand on my tiptoes and throw my arms around his neck. At first his arms don’t leave his side. He’s a statue, and my pride is absolutely incinerated. And just when I’m about to pull away, his hands find my waist and he pulls me in. I’m wrapped in his warmth, his scent, and his strong arms for one blessed moment. I want to stop time and live here. I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
His arms loosen. Not the words he was expecting, I guess.
He leans his forehead on mine. His eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw clenches and unclenches. He kisses the top of my head and gives my waist one last squeeze. Everything about this moment says goodbye. Then he says the actual words. “Goodbye, Indie.”
Chapter 17
Ifell asleep on the extra bed in my mother’s room last night—I couldn’t bring myself to camp at Joe’s house, and the mental and physical exhaustion had all but pushed me into the cool, thousand thread count sheets. I wake up groggy after a luxurious amount of sleep, thinking about Joe. My eyes are swollen and almost glued shut with the crusty remnants of last night’s tears. It hurts to open my eyes, so I lean over and paw around blindly on the nightstand to find my phone. Maybe he texted me?
My heart sinks when my only text is from my mother.
MOM: Ran to breakfast with A. Left juice in the fridge for you. Get packed and ready. Check-out is noon. XOXO
Noontoday?There’s no way we’re leaving today. We need to finish this week, at least. I need to talk to Joe and fix this. I’m not ready. And when I text as much to my mother, I receive this in response:
MOM: Well, get ready! We have a Skinnybee launch party to prepare for!
She tries to soften the blow with a winking kiss emoji that does nothing but make me cranky. We exchange a few more texts, making plans for me to drive her to the airport, since the rest of the team rented a car to spend a night in Las Vegas on their way home.Because they’re allowed to have breaks and I’m not.I shoot out my last text and throw my phone on the bed.
The only thing I allow myself to feel is anger because it’s either that or spend the day crying. So I take an angry hot shower, then angrily drink my breakfast of juice and nothing else because apparently my mother thinks I’m still bloated. She’s right, but still. I could go for a breakfast cookie and a cherry Coke. I’m wearing the dumb hot pink workout set again because all of my other clothes are in the van. I cram my feet into last night’s sandals and slam the door to my mother’s room closed behind me. I’m just angry, angry, angry.
I stomp toward the front desk, hoping and praying that I won’t run into Joe, Sunny, or Mercer—anyone who might try to talk me out of leaving. But I don’t see anyone. The halls and foyer are deserted and all I hear is the slapping of my sandals on the tile echoing around me. Even the front desk is empty. There’s a little metal sign on the desk with a bell that reads “Ring for service.”I’ll pass.
I decide on an Irish goodbye. I plop down on the front seat of The Hulk and tamp down the anger so I can send out a somewhat pleasant, if generic, group text to Sarah, Sunny, and Mercer.
