Sometimes it felt like Margot Wade and misery were a package deal.
When the door to the office slammed shut, I had no time to scramble from the couch and execute my best interpretation of a hermit. My mom slipped inside, apron in hand, and kicked her clogs off. She hadn’t noticed me yet. I could probably still escape to my bedroom—
“Good, you’re up,” she muttered, tossing her things on the dining table.
Shrugging, I reopened my laptop. “I’m writing,” I lied.
“Writing’,” she echoed and folded herself onto the oversized leather armchair. “What about?”
I stared at the blank page and swallowed the lump in my throat. When was the last time she’d askedanythingabout my life? She probably didn’t even know I’d been writing, and she definitely didn’t care about the cause of my surprise appearance in Bluebell Cove. There was no point in pretending.
“What do you need?” I asked, snapping my laptop shut and setting it on the table.
She sighed and tugged at the pen in her hair until it fell around her slumped shoulders in silky locks of silver and dark brown. The collar of her decades-old uniform sported a fresh coffee stain that would be gone the next morning—taking pride in the diner was one of the few things she could manage when Andrew left. Some things never changed.
When she leaned forward, I nearly jumped at the warmth of her hands as she squeezed mine. Her palms were drier than I last remembered. A little more rough, too.
It was odd, knowing in my mind that it should be familiar, but feeling more like I was being held by a stranger.
“Your father told me that he saw you,” she murmured, unable to meet my eyes.
My nod seemed unnatural.
“I’m… sorry it was a surprise,” she said. “Are you alright?”
Suddenly cognizant, I wrenched my hands away and shifted back onto the couch. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me that,” I snapped.
“What’re you talkin’ about?”
I sucked in a shuddering breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Never mind. Never mind, okay?”
A normal mother might’ve pried. Maybe willingly endured the wrath of her daughter just for the chance to understand what was going on in her head.
Instead, though, she simply clasped her hands together in defeat. “You should get dinner with him.”
My mouth fell open. “Who? Because you can’tpossiblybe referring to the man that left eleven years ago.”
“Darlin’.” She sighed and paused, peering up at me through drooping eyelids. Had they always looked like that? “He’s still your father, and he’d love to see you,” she finished.
Her words hung there, mixing with the faint smell of burgers and the hum of the old fridge.
I barked out a laugh that was half-howl, half-gasp. “That’s rich. Was he in a coma for a decade? Did he have a terrible accident and only just remember who he is?”
“Please—”
“No,” I cut her off, shooting up from the couch and nearly wobbling over and onto the coffee table. Blood rushing in my ears, I was already fuming by the time I said, “He had more than enough chances. And honestly, so did you.” My voice cracked onthe last words, so I spun on my heel and began storming toward my bedroom.
“Margaret Rosemary Wade!” My mother shouted, a sound that was so foreign it stopped me in my tracks and drained the color from her face. “What wasthatsupposed to mean?” she hissed, low and trembling and thin.
Glancing at the ceiling, another mirthless laugh spilled from my lips. “It means you might as well have left that day too.”
I didn’t wait for her response, or to see if it had any effect. My feet pound a pair of shoes at the door, and I blindly grabbed a coat hanging there before flying down the stairs and into the alley. The screen door shut with a squeal behind me, and I nearly crumpled onto the wall.
A cool evening breeze whipped straight through my pants. That’s when I registered that I wore a mismatched pajama set, my mother’s clogs, and the puffy, baby blue parka that she must’ve stolen from my closet when I left.
I cursed myself, momentarily debated venturing back inside, then decided on the frigid chaos of my own stubbornness.
Hugging my arms to my chest, I skulked from the shadows and toward the beach. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone that recognized me at this time of night.
