Now Or Never by Stella Rhys

24

HOLLAND

I frowned, looking up from my computer as Freya strolled over to my desk and set on its corner a signature Minx shopping bag—powder blue with the pearly white lettering that had had my heart since I was fourteen.

I cocked my head. “What’s this?” I asked.

“A gift. Heard someone got their first Brazilian wax on Monday and I figured it was the most appropriate way of saying congrats and enjoy,” she said, tossing me a wink before strutting off.

I laughed, peeking into the bag to see the silkiest satin and lace. Barely any of it, but that was the point.

“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder to Freya, all smiles, because it was just one of those good days.

New lingerie aside, I was indeed freshly waxed and it was finally fucking Wednesday. I couldn’t wait to see Iain, and it didn’t help that I was about to put the finishing touches of planning for his birthday this weekend. I’d confirmed with him yesterday that he could really take off both Saturday and Sunday, and since he’d said yes, I’d been narrowing down my choices of bed and breakfasts.

Now if you’ll just respond to my latest texts, that’d be perfect,I thought, smiling wryly as I imagined Iain’s reaction to the pictures I’d sent today.

And just as I did, my phone buzzed on my table.

There he is.

I grabbed it excitedly, but my heart stopped when I looked at the name on the screen.

Mom.

I stared.

Holy shit.

I froze in my chair. Another second ticked by and then my pulse kicked into gear, starting to pound now and getting faster by the second because my phone was still buzzing in my hand.

Because it wasn’t a text. She was calling.

From back home. She was on the other line right this second. Holding her phone to her ear, probably sitting at the edge of her bed as she waited for me to pick up.

It would be our first time hearing each other’s voices in two months.

Nine weeks, to be exact.

That was how long it had been since my mom and I last spoke. How long it had been since she was in the driveway, shoving my dad, screaming at him to stop me with her eyes swollen beyond recognition from crying the entire night. I’d had hot tears in my eyes but no words left on my lips, calmly putting my suitcases in the trunk of the cab that I’d splurged on, because I knew she’d never let me get to the bus stop on foot let alone drive me.

“How could you do this to me? How could you be such an ungrateful little bitch to me?”

First time she called me a bitch. Last words she yelled at me as the car pulled out of the driveway.

And that was how we left off.

Well. Maybe she’s taken these past couple months to think and reflect on why I left home the way I did, I reasoned, swallowing the knot in my throat. But it came right back.

Or maybe she’s finally lost it because withholding contact for two months didn’t break me.

Wishful thinking had me torn, telling myself it could be either. Regardless, I didn’t pick up. I was at work, now wasn’t the time, and I—

Oh God.

A voicemail.

I stared at the little red notification, a chill going up my spine.

But another few seconds of staring and my mind was made. I wasn’t going to listen.

At some point, but not now.

As much as I wanted to believe that she’d called to be reasonable with me, to say she was hurt but she understood why I left, there was a slim chance that those words were actually waiting for me in that voicemail, and I wasn’t about to let her ruin my good day.

But just as I affirmed that decision with myself, my phone buzzed with a text.

From Iain.

Just the sight of his name on my screen eased my hammering pulse, and with an eager swipe of my thumb, I opened the text.

But then I read it.

IAIN: HollandI’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.