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But then I read it.
IAIN: Holland I’m so sorry but I have to cancel. Something important came up.
I stared.
And then I stared some more.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I clenched my jaw, outwardly calm at my desk, but inwardly fuming as I just sat there in pure disbelief.
This. Fucking. Day.
I tried typing something back but stopped, my head suddenly spinning because my mind was still racing over my mom’s voicemail, but on top of that I was just stunned, unsure of who I was currently more pissed at—Iain or myself.
Because he was the asshole who had made me wait three days to see him before canceling last minute by text, but I was the idiot who had spent as much time as I did missing him.
Thinking about him. Buying a new outfit for him, waxing for him and planning an entire birthday for him.
Okay. Dial it way the fuck back, I told myself, forcing myself to breathe and to be calm. To recognize that I was emotional right now because my day had just taken a nosedive, but it didn’t have to be a tailspin.
That was what I told myself at least.
What I did, however, was suddenly shove my earphones in my ear and hit play on my mom’s voicemail, feeling the blood instantly drain from my face because it started mid-sob.
The kind of hysterical, screaming sob you heard in horror movies, when the menacing killer finally had his victim cornered.
My stare went instinctively dead as I heard her ragged bawling, and the moment she gave her usual threat, I felt myself go blank. Empty. My heart was still slamming and my every muscle was tense but I wasn’t fully there anymore.
Not until I heard a new one from her.
“If you don’t call me back, Holland,” her voice warbled and seethed, “you can expect to find me at your apartment tonight, because I have your address.”
It was then that I yanked my headphones out, staring unblinkingly into space, paralyzed at my desk and at the same time trembling all over.
My new address. Mom has it.
How did she get it?
What the fuck?
A thousand panicked questions fired off in my brain before I resorted to my usual fix.
Damage control.
Talking her down. Off the ledge.
I knew how to deal with her when she was like this. Not exactly like this—I’d never heard it this bad before—but if anyone could do it, it was me.
Eyes closed, my mind spun.
I could leave work now, hop the train to Port Authority, take the first bus home and spend some quality time with Mom. We’d go to our usual diner and talk. I’d let her brush my hair in her room. She’d feel better once she saw me. She’d say things that would hurt. Definitely try to manipulate me.
But if I was mentally prepared for all that, what damage could she really do in one night?
I barely remembered going to Freya and asking for a personal day. My heart was beating so fast it was like I blacked out for a little. All I remembered before I left was leaving the Minx bag on the corner of my desk, and all the printouts of the bed and breakfasts I’d chosen.
And I remembered my heart twisting nonstop as I grabbed my purse and got the hell out of there.
