by Erin Huss
When my dad returned from his conference in San Francisco, I told him everything that had happened, expecting him to divulge the information my mother was hiding from me.
Instead he’d responded with, “That’s her story to tell, not mine.” Which is beyond frustrating, especially since my mother has been actively avoiding me all month.
They did end up taking Arturo and Charlotte’s painting advice, and four days after the project was finished, there was an offer on the table for asking price.
Mike tosses my suitcase into the back of his Jeep and slips on a pair of aviators. “LA, here we come.” He flashes me a flirty smirk, and I laugh.
“You two are so idealistic it makes me want to barf,” says Jose. “There’s the LA portrayed on TV, and then there’s the armpit. I lived in the armpit. There are no palm trees, or movie stars, or anything but smog, traffic, and overpriced food.”
“Don’t care,” I sing. “I’m going to Los Angeles, baby.”
Jose rolls his eyes and climbs into Mike’s Jeep, mumbling something about the 405 freeway under his breath. “And we can’t leave yet, because your mom is here,” he adds.
“My mom?” I turn around and see our van pull up next to my car. My mother steps out and tugs at the bottom of her blazer, which is blue and white with gold buttons and doesn’t quite close now that she’s showing more.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I … um … here.” She holds up a key attached to a plastic palm tree keychain.
“What is this?”
“Just … take it.” She shakes the key.
Jose appears out of nowhere and smacks the key out of my mom’s hand. “Sorry,” he says. “Habit. I’ll go back to the Jeep now.”
Mom bends down and retrieves the key from the ground and places it into my palm. “This is to a studio apartment in Glendale.”
“Where is Glendale?”
“Los Angeles, dear. That’s where I grew up.”
“Okay. Why do you have a studio there?”
“It’s more of a mother-in-law quarters,” she says, as if that answers my question, which it doesn’t.
“I can’t just show up at a random mother-in-law quarters in Glendale, Mom.”
“Yes, you can,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve already told my mother that you were coming. And any hotel you can afford will not be in a good area. LA is not like Fernn Valley. I want you to be safe.”
“My grandmother?” In all my years, I’ve never heard my mom speak of her mom, of her childhood, of any part of her life prior to having me.
Mom holds my face between her hands. “I love you, Zoe Matilda Lane. Don’t ever forget it.”
“I’m coming back,” I remind her.
Mom just smiles, and I can see the fear in her eyes. “Don’t forget about me.” She releases my face and walks back to the van.
I’ll only be gone a week. How could I possibly forget about her?
The End.
A Note From Erin Huss
Hello!
I want to personally thank you. Yes, YOU, the one with the book/phone/Kindle/tablet in your hand. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy life to read A Medium Education.
If you enjoyed the book, it would make my day if you left a review on Amazon. The more reviews I get, the more books I can sell, the more sales I have, the more See’s Candy I can buy, the more See’s I eat, the more energy I have to write. And don’t you want to know what happens next?
I’d also like to invite you to join my mailing list to stay up to date on my latest news and special sales, and get a free ebook of Can’t Pay My Rent! You can sign up here: http://bit.ly/erinhussnews
My sincerest thanks,
Erin
About the Author
Erin Huss currently resides in Southern California with her husband and five children, where she complains daily about the cost of living but will never do anything about it.
Also by Erin Huss
Cambria Clyne Mystery Series
The Podcasting Sisters Mystery Series
A Lost Souls Lane Mystery Series
Coming Soon
The Malibu Witch Mystery Series