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As if reading my mind, his eyes dip to the drink in my hand. “I asked the hotel.”
Why is he being so nice? No one is this nice.
“I need an hour.”
The smoky aroma of nuts and herbs hit my nostrils as I take my first sip.Ah, yes.Nirvana is short-lived as the shrill ringing of my phone causes me to jump and nearly spill the hot beverage over myself.
“Dammit.” I scurry to the bedroom, suddenly tense with anticipation.
It could be my father calling to apologize. Or it could be Felix with an explanation for his terrible behavior, which is less important but still would be appreciated.
The small flicker of hope dies at the name on the screen. It’s Margot, also known as my mother.
Nope. Not answering. The call can go to voicemail.
Stuffing the device in my robe pocket, I whip off my eye mask, take another long sip of the coffee, and amble back to the living room.
Tom’s in the middle of the room, looking around, when my phone rings again. He arches a blond brow, studying me as I waffle on whether to answer it or accept she will continue to call until I eventually pick up.
I shiver at the thought and my surrender is immediate. “Hello.”
“Leighton, where are you?” My mother’s slur douses any hope that she is sober.
Why do I bother to hope for any other outcome? She has been like this for more than half my life.
“At the Marmont. Why?”
“Aren’t you driving home today?”
“Yes. We haven’t left yet. Is everything okay?”
“Your father asked me to call. He’s so busy with one call right after the other since getting in early this morning.”
Calls? Lois said he had a meeting. She made it sound like it was in person. Why else would he fly back last night? He could have taken calls from here, and we could have driven back together like originally planned.
“Was one of those calls the meeting he flew back for?” My nerve endings burn, and my muscles coil tight, anxious for the truth.
Although, truth be told, I already know. I’ve been in this position far too many times before.
A rustling over the line paints an all too familiar picture. Margot in bed, pillows everywhere and a small pharmacy on the table next to her. “Yes. Why does it matter?”
Her answer is a kick to the gut, but I push for more. “He didn’t go to the meeting in person?”
“He’s sorry he couldn’t drive back with you.” She ignores my question more than likely because she knows what I’m getting at. Yet it’s the compassion and maybe even remorse in her voice, so genuine, that causes something in my chest to crack.
I rub at the center of my breastbone and will my heart rate to slow. If she was here right now, she’d wrap her bony arms around me and squeeze tight. Comfort me like she so often did when I was a child.
Like me, we’ve both been left behind by my father, replaced by his work. But then again, maybe her empathy is part of the role she must play. After all, she’s an amazing actress.
I force out a sound. “Uh-huh.”
Even under the influence, she doesn’t miss a thing and huffs at my disbelieving affirmation. “Leighton, your father wants you to get on a plane. Lois can get you home in time for dinner.”
Of course, like Lois, my mother does anything my father asks, even his dirty work. The woman lives for him, though I’m surprised she still has any feelings. Margot hasn’tfeltanything since I was ten.
“No. I’m driving. I’ll be home in a few days.”
“Leighton, you haven’t even decided on a dress for TIFF. You’re wasting time with this drive. It’s exhausting. Your father said to get on a damn plane and stop this.”
