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Oh god.My heart gallops and sweat pops up under my arms.What’s in this coffee, adrenaline?
I dump out the allegedly spiked coffee and settle on a glass of cold water from the purifying machine, scurrying back to my desk before, Layla, my secretary and friend, grills me on my panic-stricken face.She’s nosier than my neighbor, Rita, who waits outside on her front porch every day—cigarette dangling—when I get home from work just to hear the scoop about my day.Guess what? There’s never any scoop, but she’s bored and lonely, leaving me the highlight of her life. I indulge her and often embellish all kinds of things to make her happy.
The leather of my chair squeaks as I make myself comfortable and attempt to organize the growing piles of folders taking over my desk.I have to focus on this fundraiser and getting everything locked in for the event or Hattie, the director,will do more than send me a passive aggressive email complete with five-hundred exclamation points so she doesn’t sound bitchy.
My degree from Columbia is in event management. Instead of party planning for aging socialites who want a second chance at life, I head up the Equestrian Therapy’s Western division as project manager, concentrating on healing people with all sorts of disadvantages.
I was one of those people healed by equestrian therapy, and when fate dropped an open position into my lap, I vowed to wear this vocation like a badge of honor.The new center near the SoS property is going to assist so many people struggling with anxiety and depression, along with addiction and childhood disorders.
Fingers bruising from the hour of emails back and forth for the event, I head to the break room to put feeling back into my legs and grab a snack.
My phone buzzes again and I ready myself in case it’s Savy once more going on about that silly speed-dating event.
But it’s my mother, and she’s not texting, she’s calling.She says texting is for the unrefined.Bracing myself, I answer on the third ring.
“Hi Mom. I’m in the middle of something.Can I call you back?” And by the middle of something, I mean, the middle of shoving this banana bread Layla brought in for the staff down my throat.About the only thing getting shoved down there as of late.Not exactly something I should think about when I’m on the phone with my mother.
“Scarlett Rhodes, is that how you speak to your mother?I took time out of my schedule to call you.The least you could do is make time for me.”
Like you make time for me?
The last time she visited was a year ago for one of Theo’s competitions, and she complained about the heat and how I let my son take part in some barbaric ritual.
“Your father never would’ve talked to me like this,” she drones on and on, not actually about the reason she called.The mention of my father, however, sends painful shards of glass to my heart.He’s been gone for three years, and I miss him so much.My father was a different breed.Patient, kind, yet fought his own battles.As a former Navy captain, he masked his anxiety well, plastering smiles on in front of me and my brother, but behind closed doors,he’d dissolve into tears over slight issues and think we didn’t hear him.But he’d do anything for us and for my mother.There was no questioning his love and loyalty to family.Now, he’s gone, and she’s lost without him and takes it out on me as if I’m supposed to replace him in her life, be at her beck and call and take the brunt of her daily frustrations.
“I really wish you’d come back home, Scarlett Elizabeth.”
“I am home, Mom. Montana is my home.We have this same argument every time you call.It’s exhausting.”
She huffs. “Why do you want to live in that dirty state?And the things you let my poor grandson do!Ride on those beasts you love so much.What happens if he falls off one and gets seriously injured?You’re going to wish you had listened to me and stayed here to raise that boy instead of whatever crazy arrangement you have with that deadbeat.”
“Greyson is not a deadbeat.Do not talk about him like that again,” I growl.I will defend him, my son, and our choices until the day I die.Grey’s been through a lot, and I will not have his character defamed because my mother believes she’s the authority over my life.
She harrumphs and her displeasure drips through the phone.“I’ll say whatever I want to say.I didn’t get to the top of this food chain by staying silent.You’ve made some terrible choices, Scarlett, and one of them was jumping into bed with that man when you had a perfect gentleman ready to marry you.Now look at you. Single mom. No man wants to take on that sort of baggage. Might as well add spinster to your resume.”
My teeth chatter with anger.How much am I supposed to take of this?Every conversation is how I messed up all those years ago, as if I don’t understand the ramifications myself and have dealt with them.
“I’m a career woman, mom.Much like you. What’s so wrong with loving a career and being a good mom?And I am a good mom. Theo’s the best kid. He’s not baggage.He got that way because of Grey and me.Continually bringing up the past will do nothing but make me want to cut you out of our lives completely.”
“You can’t do that—take my grandson from me.”
I sigh. She just doesn’t get it.Master manipulator and queen of gaslighting Georgia Rhodes will never get it. So I gave up trying a long time ago.Tried to create my own path, which is another reason I’m here and not there in New York with her.I wanted a life free of her constant pressure and ridicule.I’m too old to still feel like a disappointing teenager around her.
Rather than get into the specifics about how she never visits but once a year so I’d hardly consider her grandma material, I choose to end the call.
“Mom, my break is over. I’ll talk to you later, bye.” And I press end before she can go on and on about my atrocious manners.
I lean my head back against the wall of the break room, picking at the wrapper of the banana bread that would have been more enjoyable to eat in peace and wish my dad was still alive.He was the voice of reason in that relationship and although I’ll never understand how they made it work, they did.I want that. I want it so badly.A relationship which spans all space and time and makes sense to no one but us.It seems I’m not meant to have that.Career and motherhood are all I’m offered.
I trudge back to my office, fluff my hair, and dig into some more work on the gala.
A few hours later, Layla pops her honey blonde head in and convinces me to leave the office and eat with her at the little bistro in Redbird.
Charming and rustic, the Suburban Bistro is far removed from its name, with eclectic décor and atmosphere. Raw wood tabletops on wrought iron legs, booths with fluffy bohemian pillows to lean against, and caged Edison bulbs swinging from the ceiling on ropes and pulleys make this my favorite place to eat.
“Girl, you work too much,” Layla remarks, chomping on a celery stick.I’m allergic to green things per my taste buds, so I’m enjoying my French onion soup and all its cheesy glory.No one’s going to see these dimpled legs anyway, and if a man gets the pleasure of diving between the sheets with me, he better like the thighs of a real woman.Therefore, I eat with gusto.
“The gala won’t plan itself and the new TAG Center needs overseeing,” I say in between slurps.
