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It was my mom.
I darted a quick look at Hannah, as if she could explain my mother’s behavior, but was too busy muttering at the TV. “I can’t watch this with Nikolai. He always wants me to make whatever they make and that’s never going to happen. I know my limits,” she mumbled as she watched someone frantically frost their cupcakes.
I stared back down at my phone, a tug of war in my gut between gratitude that my mom was talking to me and anxiety about what she I was about to read. I slowly opened the message.
Mom: Em, I need to talk to you. I want to explain.
Relief flooded through me.
Emmy: Of course. When do you want to talk?
Mom: Now.
I stared at the phone in confusion. Why didn’t she just call me?
Emmy: Okay, do you want to just call me?
Mom: No, we need to meet. I need to talk to you in person.
I stared at my phone, discomfort and wariness sat in my gut like a lead ball. Why couldn’t my mom call? Wasn’t Nikolai with her?
Emmy: Okay, why don’t you come to Hannah’s?
Mom: No, you have to come out to meet me. I’m in the parking lot.
My confusion immediately spiraled in terrifying directions. Why was my mother here if Nikolai was at my mom’s? Was this even my mother?
“Hannah, check this out.” I held out the phone to her.
Her dark eyebrows creased as she read our exchange. “What the hell? Isn’t Nikolai at her house? What is she doing here? Why doesn’t she just ring?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
I grabbed my phone back and shot off another text.
Emmy: I’m calling you.
Mom: Okay.
I hit the call button and gripped my phone so hard, my fingers started to ache.
“Emmy?” my mom answered, her voice shaky and high. Hannah shot me a worried look. Though she sounded unsteady, at least she was okay.
“Mom? Are you okay? I’m so sorry about what happened this afternoon. I never should have—”
“Emmy, don’t—”
Before she could finish her sentence, her voice was replaced by muffled, indiscernible noises. Hannah and I exchanged concerned looks.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
There was long enough of a pause that I stared at the phone quickly to make sure we were still connected. Then a voice replied, but it wasn’t my mother’s.
“Your mother is fine Emmy.”
Unfortunately, as of today, it was a voice I knew all too well.
I looked at Hannah who was staring at the phone in confusion and mouthed the words to her. Thomas Armstrong.
