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It was my mom.

We hadn’t exactly been in contact much through the years. She was still around, doing her thing, but when I moved out with Perry, we’d mostly lost touch.

Though, to be honest, that was only partly my decision. Because, yes, at that point, my mom and I were butting heads more than we were getting along. And I’d wanted a break from the toxicity she was sometimes known for.

But it was Perry’s constant negative talk about her that made me push her further and further out of my life. To the point where I only ever reached out three times a year: her birthday, Mother’s Day, and Christmas. That was it. And even then, Perry was always rushing me off the phone.

When I’d left Perry, some part of me felt guilty for the distance. And also worried I might need her help if things went too south. So I’d sent a text to the number I remembered, informing her that it was me and this was my new number.

I never heard back.

Until now, it seemed.

Nerves shivered across my skin as I swiped to answer, bringing the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

I hated how my voice went small and shaky, but I couldn’t shake the weirdness I felt right then.

I had so much to tell her.

But had no idea how to start.

“There’s my girl. How have you been?”

I could hear the hiss of her lighter as she lit a cigarette, then the pull of her breath before she sighed it back out. I could practically smell the smoke surrounding me, getting into the strands of my hair and the fabric of my clothes.

I used to have to keep a cheap perfume and brush on me so I could spritz myself and the bristles to drag through my hair so I didn’t always smell like an ashtray.

“Hey, Mom. I’m… good. I’m really good, actually. I have a lot to tell you.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like… I left Perry.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

“Well, you have been busy. I—”

“Mom, you’re breaking up,” I said, wincing at the way she kept coming in and out.

“These stupid phones. Why don’t you come over so we can talk about it in person? I miss you.”

There were a million ways my mother had made my life hard as a kid. But, still. She was my mom. I cared. I wanted her attention and approval.

“That sounds nice. Do you want to set up a time to—”

“I’m free now,” she cut me off. “You know where to find me. I can put a pot on.”

My mom made terrible coffee. It was so strong it was almost too bitter to drink. But there was something nostalgic about that. And some part of me craved that again.

I had no word from Cain. He might still be gone for hours for all I knew. Going to see my mom for an hour to explain what was going on wouldn’t be a big deal.

And I had the keys to my new car to drive.

“Sure. I’ll be right over.”

“I’ll be waiting.”