Success looks good on her.
“You scared me,” I say, dropping my purse onto the counter.
“I could say the same.”
“Uh, how did I scare you?”
“I figured you were in your room this whole time. I only just got in a half hour ago.”
I walk to the cupboard, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Nope.”
“Where’ve you been?” she asks, sliding the iPad off her lap.
“Out.”
“With?”
I don’t answer right away.
I’m tired of lying. And the gig is up anyway.
“Malik,” I say, turning back to my mother.
Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to place the name. And when she does, she sits back. “So that’s still a thing, huh?”
I blink away the tears that want to well all over again. I’m not doing this in front of my mom. “Well, it was. Until an hour ago.”
She leans forward, setting her elbows on her knees and steepling her hands.
“I see. What happened?”
I play with the bracelet on my wrist, the one I made at Alex’s house, afraid to meet my mom’s eyes.
“Holl?”
I finally glance up at her. “Remember how I said Charles Buchannan didn’t know I was related to you?”
“Yes,” she says, slowly, like she knows the real reveal is still coming.
“Well, I didn’t tell Malik either.”
“Okay.”
“As in . . .” I blow out a breath, my cheeks puffing out. “As in, until an hour ago, he didn’t know I lived here. Or that I don’t come from money.” Finally, I glance up and meet her eyes. “Or that my name is not Lucy.”
Her lips part a fraction of an inch.
“Yeah. I was with Henrietta when we met.”
“I take it the truth didn’t go over so well?”
“No. People . . . they lie to him. Use him. And now, he thinks I’m one of them.” I walk to the couch, sitting down and putting my feet up.
“I see,” my mom says.
“And now I’m in love with him, and—” I stop when I see the look on her face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just that you’re not a little girl anymore. I mean, it sounds like you screwed up, but you’re out there, making your own decisions. This time next week, you’re not even going to be under my roof. And on top of that, you’ve fallen in love with Malik Buchannan.”
She says his name like I would’ve, three months ago. Like I’m more impressed by his reputation and not him.
“I know, it’s stupid.”
“It’s funny. I figured he would break your heart, and here we are, discussing how you screwed up. I never saw this coming.”
I lie down on the couch next to her recliner and rest my feet on the armrest. Without a word, my mom leans over and runs her fingers against the bare soles of my feet.
When I was little, before my dad bailed and things got tough, I used to do this every night. We’d watch some silly shows, and she’d let me prop my feet on her lap. She’s rub my feet and I’d complain about math homework or mean girls or crappy PE class.
“How am I going to tell him the truth?” I ask. “I hate that our relationship started with such a stupid lie. I hate that I thought I needed to be rich like him to impress him.”
“And you don’t think that’s the case now?”
“No. It couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, he wishes he could shed his lifestyle and be a nobody.”
“So the problem is?”
“The lie itself. Not what I lied about. Just that I lied.”
“Oh.”
I blow out a breath, sinking farther into the couch. “Yeah.”
“I don’t think I’m any help there,” she offers. “But we could make cookies.”
I purse my lips, relishing the feeling of her short fingernails scraping the sole of my foot. “I mean . . . they almost solve everything, so . . .”
She chuckles, sliding my feet off her lap. “Come on. I bought some butterscotch chips a few days ago.”
“Magic words,” I say, following her across the living room. Somehow, I feel like the cookies will help. We used to spend our evenings baking silly things from scratch. It was the only time she would let me stay up late.
“So what is it you like about this boy?” she asks, grabbing the butterscotch chips out of a cupboard.
I walk to the fridge, pulling out the eggs and butter. “He just . . .” My voice trails off. “See, he tried really hard to impress me on our first couple of dates.”
“Boys always do that.” She grins. “I think it makes them feel better, if we’re impressed.”
“I know, but the thing is, I never wanted that. It made me uncomfortable, actually.”
“Okay . . . ,” she says, setting two bowls on the countertop.
“So anyway, I realized he just assumed that’s what a girl wants, you know? Extravagant stuff like your dating shows.”
My mom gets this dreamy look, staring off into the distance. “I’d love just one of those dates.”
“Right. But not if it’s the sort he took every other girl on.”
“Oh,” she says, snapping out of her daydream, realizing she’s stopped stirring the dough. “Yeah, sure.”
“That’s how I realized I loved him.”
“The fact that you hated the dates he took you on?” She puts a half stick of butter in the microwave, setting it for twenty seconds.
“No. The fact that I realized what I really wanted was to sit on some park bench and talk. Or go for a drive. Or . . . anything. What I really wanted, at the end of the day, was him. It was never the money or shutting down an entire movie theater for a private viewing or—”
“He did that?”
“Yes. Redmond Town Center.”
She whistles, long and low, pulling the butter from the beeping microwave.
“Yeah. The thing is, I loved it best when he just told me about himself. Genuine stuff.”
“He sounds like a nice guy,” my mom says, whipping the butter into the brown sugar.
“That’s the point,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “He is a nice guy. I’m the one who is not so nice.”
“He’ll see that you are,” my mom says, turning the whisk in circles. “How can he not?”
I smile, pouring flour into a bowl. “I guess I am pretty awesome,” I say.
“Which reminds me,” my mom says, rinsing her fingers off and drying them on a nearby towel. “I have a gift for you.”
“Oooh, a gift!” I say, dusting my fingers off, excited to think about something—anything—other than Malik.
“I’ll be right back.”
She leaves the kitchen and disappears into her bedroom. I feel a little awkward standing there, leaning against the countertop . . . waiting.
But then she emerges, a small box in hand.
“Here.”
I round the kitchen counter, following her over to the dining room table. The wrapping paper is blue and silver, the same as my high school colors. I slide my fingers over the ribbon. It feels like silk.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You can thank me after you open it, if you like it.”
“I know. But I mean thank you for everything. You’ve always been there.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, beaming. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve made sacrifices too. You believed in me, just like I believe in you.”
I slip the ribbon off the package, glancing back at my mother before ripping off the wrapping paper.
Inside is a small pendant. A silver sun.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, holding it up. “Mom, this is amazing.”
“I thought it would remind you of me. Since, hopefully, I’ll pass probation in a few weeks and then I’ll always be at Sunrise House. Maybe it’ll keep you in line,” she says, grinning.
I laugh. “It�
��s beautiful. I love it.”
“You deserve it. You’ve waited all this time for my ship to come in, and it arrives in a few weeks. So now it’s your turn.”
I rush to my mother, throwing my arms around her. “I’m so proud of you,” I say, my voice muffled against her hair.
“I’m supposed to be saying that to you.”
“I know, but I don’t care.”
“What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?”
I pull away, beaming at her. “You gave up everything to give me a good life. And now it’s your turn.”
We hug again. When we finally pull apart, I pick up the tiny velvet box. “I’m tired, so I’m going to go to bed. Maybe you could save me a few of those cookies?”
“Sure. And good luck smoothing things over with Malik.”
I walk away, her words ringing in my ears.
I’m going to need every bit of luck I can find. I doubt he’s going to talk to me.
Ever again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A few days later, Alex is sitting on my suitcase as I struggle to zip it, taking out all my frustration and anxiety on one tiny little scrap of metal.
“Whoa there, Hulk,” she says, batting my hand away. “There’s a sock stuck in the zipper.”
I sit back and blow out a breath, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. She quickly tucks the sock farther into my bag, then zips it up. “Ta-da!”
“I don’t know why you’re so calm,” I say, trying to ignore the bare walls and the empty drawers around me. Trying to pretend today is not the day I climb into my car and drive away and don’t come back for almost three full months, when Thanksgiving rolls around.
“I’m only going to school an hour from here. You’re the one moving three hundred miles away.” She gets off my suitcase, standing up to survey my empty room. “And I didn’t just break up with my boyfriend.”
“That’s because it would be impossible when you, in fact, have a girlfriend,” I say, flopping down on my bare mattress.
Alex swats my leg. “Don’t be all grumpy now.”
“Sorry. I just hate the idea of leaving this place with things just kind of hanging out there.”
“That’s because you’ve been holding out hope this whole week that you’d see him and win him back, and now you’re going to have half the state between you.”
“I know. But he’s not returning my calls or my texts. I just wish he’d let me explain, you know? I didn’t mean for it all to go down like this. Once I leave, it’s over. Done. Finito.”
“Give him time to cool off. A few weeks or something. And if you’re still not over it, call him.”
“I don’t think it will matter. He turned his back on his best friend, too. He doesn’t trust people, and I proved why.”
“He’s bound to miss you, Holls. Just leave him a voice mail or something. Explain yourself. At the very least, it’ll get it off your chest.”
I frown. “You’re good at this. You should be a psychologist.”
“Maybe if Dr. Phil retires, I’ll take his job.” She slides her phone out of her pocket. “Ugh, I’ve gotta get going. My mom’s taking me shopping for dorm room decorations. You wanna go?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I have a few more things I want to get done today. We can meet up in the morning before I head out.”
“Okay. See ya later,” she says, leaving my room.
It’s weird, but once she’s gone, the emptiness of my room starts to get under my skin. It’s not like I packed up every last thing I own or anything. But we haven’t lived here that long and I don’t have that much stuff, so it seems too empty, like I didn’t spend the last five-plus months here, like it’s not really my home at all.
I roll over onto my stomach, sliding my laptop off the nightstand and popping it open.
I open a blank e-mail, filling in Malik’s e-mail address. The one I’ve never used.
Yet.
I couldn’t e-mail him when he first gave me his address because my name would show up, so I just saved it in my address book.
I click a couple of times, and then I’m staring at a blinking cursor. My fingers hover over the keyboard, uncertainty swirling through me. But I have to try.
Malik,
I’m sorry. I know I said it already, but I need you to know that I mean it. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re the last person in the world I’d hurt, because you’re the first person I’ve ever fallen in love with.
I’ve spent my life feeling not good enough, feeling like I was less than everyone else, and I guess when you looked at me that first day, something sparked to life, and I was too scared of losing it to think logically. I enjoyed every minute I spent with you, and I wish I could go back and fix all this. I wish you’d forgive me.
But I get it. I understand that it’s an impossible wish.
I want you to know, though, that I believe in you. You’re going to do big things with your life.
Forever yours,
Holly
PS: No matter how mad you are, click on the link below. I saw it yesterday and I thought of you immediately. Maybe it’ll give you an idea or two.
Before I can get too nervous and back out, I click Send and slap the laptop shut. The sound seems to echo, ripping across the empty room like cannon fire. Like I’ve just officially said good-bye to the only boy I’ve ever loved.
It’s physically painful.
I sigh, rolling off my bed and to my feet. I grab my last suitcase, wheeling it over and setting it next to the door of our apartment.
Only one thing left to do.
I leave our unit, heading to the elevator and hitting the Up button. When it arrives, I step inside and press the button for the fourth floor, dread filling me.
I have to say good-bye to Henrietta. Or, at least, good-bye for now. Otherwise she’ll call the front desk and want me to walk her dog or hang out, and I can’t handle the idea of someone else telling her I’m leaving.
I’ve been completely putting it off, but now’s the time. I don’t know how she’ll react. If saying good-bye to Lucy will hurt. Or if maybe she’ll just forget about it tomorrow and wonder where the heck I am again.
No matter what, it just seems wrong to leave without a word.
At Henrietta’s door, I knock softly, then push it open a crack, leaning closer. “Henrietta?”
“Come on in,” she calls out.
I find her sitting at one end of her oversized sofa, a coffee mug in hand, a soap opera blaring on the TV.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says, beaming. She picks up the remote, pressing pause. The woman on screen freezes, her eyes comically large. “Coffee’s hot if you want some.”
“Uh, no, I’m okay.” I don’t think coffee pairs well with dread and guilt. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
“About what?”
I sit down at the other end of the couch, turning to face her. “Um, well, I’m leaving in the morning. For college. So I’m not going to be around—”
“Oh!” she interrupts, setting her coffee down on the side table. “Of course. I have something for you.”
She scoops her purse up off the floor at her feet, digging into the enormous handbag and producing a pale green envelope. The kind for greeting cards. “Here.”
I accept the card. There’s nothing scrawled on the outside, but it’s sealed. I flip it over and rip it open, exposing the edges of red cardstock.
I slide it out and find the word CONGRATULATIONS! scrawled across the front in silver glitter. I glance up at Henrietta, taking in her eager expression, then back at the card as I swing it open.
I’m so proud of you, the card says, and Henrietta has signed it.
A slip of paper falls onto my lap, and I pick it up, the dread thickening to a heavy weight in my gut.
It’s a check. She’s giving me a check for graduation, and now I have to tell her I’m not Lucy, that I can’t accept a check, or she’ll get confused about balancing her checkbook or something
, and wonder why her granddaughter never used the money.
I unfold the check, and two words jump out at me. Two tiny words that mean everything.
She’s made the check out to Holiday Mathews.
She’s made the ten-thousand-dollar check out to Holiday FREAKING Mathews.
Tears spring into my eyes and I glance up at her, taking in her toothy grin.
“You knew,” I whisper, the truth hitting me hard, the lump growing in my throat.
She nods.
“But I thought you were confused. I thought—”
“It slipped out, the first time I called you Lucy. A simple mistake.” Her smile is wide and apologetic.
It’s hard to breathe. “But when I told you I wasn’t her, that she had died, you cried. Like you were just finding out for the first time.”
She shakes her head. “That wasn’t it. It just . . . hits hard some days, you know? I lost my daughter when she was forty. Ten years before I moved here. And then after I moved in, my granddaughter would visit me all the time. She was all I had left. When she was killed in that wreck . . . it hit so hard. I didn’t want to be alone in this world.” She runs a shaky hand through her short, permed hair. “I hadn’t spoken her name in two years, and then you walked into my apartment. You reminded me of her. I said her name before I caught myself. You corrected me, and it hit me all over again, that I was living here alone, that she never would walk in that door. I had no family left.”
She purses her lips, staring downward, as if she feels guilty. “You really do look like her, especially when you smile. And then two weeks later, when I said it again on accident, you answered to her name. Pretended to be her. So I let you think I was confused, because . . .” She sighs. “I’m sorry, dear, but I was rather using you. I liked pretending you’re my granddaughter, that I have someone left.”
I grin then, through the tears. “Oh, Henrietta. We may not share blood, but it would be an honor to be your granddaughter.” I hold the card out to her. “But you don’t have to give me this. You don’t owe me.”
“And what would you have me do, leave all my money for the bank to squabble over when I’m gone? I want you to have this little bit. I want you to get your education and do something amazing with your life. You’re a good person, Holiday, and you deserve it.”
Everything but the Truth Page 20