by Monica James
I give him a small wave before opening the door and giving the driver my parents’ address. London bends low and peers into the cab, his arm braced above the doorframe. “I love you, too. Text me when you get home.”
I nod, reaching for the handle, but London swoops forward and steals the air from my lungs. Leaning into him, I thread my fingers through his hair, kissing him just as fiercely as he kisses me. Tiny breathless moans escape him, but he is the first to pull away.
Nudging my nose with his, he inhales while I attempt to catch my breath.
“Good night, Princess.” He swiftly retreats, closing the door and thumping the roof of the cab lightly to hint we’re good to go.
As I peer at him through the window, a thin pane of glass has never been more of an enemy than now. I raise my hand and wave good night.
Three Days Later
“You hate it?”
“No, no, I didn’t say that,” my mom says with guilty haste as Chloe hides behind her mocha Frappuccino.
“Then why do you look like you’re going to throw up your Caesar salad?”
Standing in front of the changing room mirror, I peer at my reflection, tilting my head from side to side to examine my black dress. She’s right. I look like I’m ready to attend a funeral. But the endless shopping bags sitting at my feet seem to have a common theme—everything is black.
I suppose it’s fitting as it matches my mood.
It’s been three days since I last saw London, and although he’s checked in, I haven’t really had much of a chance to speak to him. He said Emily’s fever has finally broken, but she’s still not any better, so she’s in the hospital for observation.
Her seizures, he explained, are a medical mystery because they can’t seem to pinpoint what exactly is wrong. She’s been to endless doctors, but none of them have an answer. It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that this mystery could, of course, be solved if they could study her biology and that of her parents. But seeing as her father is a colossal dickhead, they’re stuck with half answers.
The need to see Lincoln just deepens every day.
I desperately wanted to see London to offer my support, but I knew that wasn’t an option. Belle was no doubt with him, which is how it’s supposed to be. But regardless of knowing all this, I still wanted to curl under the covers and eat a gallon of ice cream.
Martha has been on Lincoln watch, but to no avail. Just…where is he? It’s been several days. He can’t stay hidden away, but neither can I.
“How about I see if they have that beautiful white dress that was in the window in your size?” suggests Chloe. She doesn’t wait for a reply, leaving me and my mom alone to talk.
Mom knows the basics, but she doesn’t seem too upset that I haven’t been able to see London. When I arrived home from my date at nine at night in a cab, she was hopeful I’d come to my senses, but when I explained the situation, she and my father didn’t hide their disappointment.
I know this is going to take time, but some days, I feel as though I’m banging my head against a brick wall.
“You’re right.” I run my hands over the little black dress. “I could use another color.” Closing the curtain behind me, I begin to undress but not before I quietly hunt through my bag to check my cell.
London hasn’t called or sent a text, but that’s no surprise, seeing as they usually frown upon using your cell in a hospital. “What do you feel like for dinner?” I call out as I begin to undress.
“I’m not sure, sweetie. We just had lunch.” She’s right, but when I’m stressed, I eat.
“I’m thinking Mexican. Do you remember when I was a kid, you used to make that bean salad thing? What was it called?” I ask as I slide the dress onto the hanger, oblivious to my surroundings.
She’s deathly silent, but I figure she’s trying to remember the name.
The thought of her spicy rice salad and amazing enchiladas has my stomach growling loudly. I know I just ate, but nothing is wrong with planning ahead. Just because the rest of my life doesn’t have any structure doesn’t mean my meals have to follow the same pattern.
Once I’m dressed, I gather my shopping bags and rip the red velvet curtain open, not looking where I’m going. “Wasn’t it called…holy mother of god!” I stop dead in my tracks, my mouth hinged wide open, my eyes the size of saucers.
If my hands weren’t filled full, I would be scrubbing at my eyeballs, hoping to erase the image of Lucifer herself as she stands before me.
Time comes to a standstill when I turn to look at my mom. She looks exactly how I feel, but I suppose Kayla Sinclair is renowned for eliciting this hollow response from people.
Here she is, London’s mom, feet away, looking regal and imposing, and here I am, in baggy sweats, a top knot, and a white T-shirt splashed with marinara sauce from the spaghetti I had at lunch.
I’ve dreamed of this day often—the day I told Kayla Sinclair what I thought of her once and for all. But now that the day has arrived, I’m left with a mouth full of nothing. Zilch. Nada.
She is the only person in this world who still makes me feel like an outsider, nothing but white trash, and by the way she looks down her upturned nose at me, I see that her opinion hasn’t changed. She curls her red painted pout, but nothing is welcoming about the gesture.
“Dear lord, I didn’t realize they had a charity day today.” Her voice is exactly how I remember—cold, calculating, and cruel.
My mom instantly retreats because Kayla still gets to her too.
If she wasn’t such a gigantic bitch, I would say she was pretty. She looks terrific, and I’m certain she is a vampire—that would explain her bloodsucking attitude—as she hasn’t aged a day since I last saw her. The memory of that day rushes back, and I take a steadying breath.
“You’re just one in a long line of many, a warm body for the night, and if I know my son, he slummed it with you to remind you…you’re a Brooks, and he’s a Sinclair. Don’t you ever forget it.”
That’s what she said to me when I attempted to act civil, but she doesn’t have a decent bone in her body. I’ll never forget how small she made me feel.
She is wearing an Armani navy pantsuit; I know the style all too well. A gold coiled belt hangs loosely around her thin waist, and flashy matching stilettos complete the outfit.
Her silky blonde hair is pulled back into an elaborate chignon and fastened with a jeweled clip. Her makeup highlights the iciness to her blue eyes. They would be stunning if not for the fact they’d strike you dead with a look alone.
She is bronzed, toned, and dashing with no visible flaws. But within, she is a landmine of ugliness just waiting to explode. When she whips her cold eyes my mom’s way, I know we’re about to witness that cruelty firsthand.
“I hardly recognized you, Delores. Time hasn’t been kind to you.”
I blink once, stunned. It takes a lot to shock me these days, but I can’t even jump in with a quick response because I feel like my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
However, when she turns her cheek with military precision and directs her cruel glower my way, I know she’s only just begun. “London told me you were back,” she reveals, not a flicker of emotion behind her words. “However, he failed to mention that you came back, if possible, in worse condition than when you left. He must feel sorry for you. He was always bringing home strays.” She examines me from head to toe, visibly appalled by my appearance.
I suddenly feel three feet tall.
“How dare you, Kayla. You haven’t changed,” spits my mother while I leave crescent moons in my palms as I bunch my fists.
“I’ve changed for the better,” she arrogantly counters. “The same can’t be said for you. You did me a favor. Bobby Ferris was nothing but a pretty face, and he’s not even that anymore, so I hope it was worth it.”
Kayla has no problem airing her dirty laundry for all to hear. It makes her feel superior, but underneath her mask, I can see it—tiny cracks threatening to give
her away. She uses her wealth as an excuse to see herself as better than others, but she’s not. In the end, we all die. It’s what we do when we’re alive that makes the difference.
Just like right now.
My mother’s pain is my undoing, and I stop hiding in the shadows. This woman is nothing but smoke and mirrors. Remembering my roots and who I am, I let go of the fear because Kayla Sinclair is nobody.
Just as she’s about to engage in another onslaught, I step forward and begin a slow clap. Chloe has returned with the dress, which hangs limply in her hand. Two jaded store clerks tidy the shelves because it’s most likely just another day in Tinseltown. Everyone can seem to co-exist, bar Kayla. It’s time she learned her place.
When I’ve got her attention, I sigh with one final clap. “Isn’t it exhausting?” I ask, ensuring my gaze never wavers from Kayla’s.
She straightens her steel rod spine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I tsk her. “Let’s not play games. You talk big, but you can’t even look at my mom without wishing you had her life.”
My mom grabs my bicep gently to draw me back and not start a war. But I shrug from her hold. “All these fancy jewels, they’re nothing but a smokescreen to hide behind. You’re miserable. You’ve been miserable since someone you always saw as your lesser took something away from you that wasn’t even yours.”
She flinches but crosses her arms to demonstrate strength. I’m not fooled. “I love your son, and guess what? He loves me. I know what you did…you nasty bitch.” There is so much venom behind my words, I almost scare myself. Almost.
“But we’re not kids anymore. None of us are. You holding onto this grudge is fucking sad. Get over it, Kayla. Move on. I’m going to be in your son’s life whether you like it or not. And I can assure you, this time”—I step forward, pinning her to the spot where she stands—“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
If looks could kill, I’d be smoldering where I stand.
“If you ever insult me or my family again, I will make sure it’s the last thing you do because I grew up and made something of my life. I deal with people like you all the time. You don’t scare me…I feel sorry for you.”
She wets her lips as she swallows.
I’ve struck a nerve, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the glistening blue to Kayla’s eyes are unshed tears, but that’s impossible.
Ensuring she knows I mean every word I just said, I scowl at her because this is a warning. Next time, I won’t be so nice.
She’s left speechless, which means my job here is done.
I go to turn but am stopped mid spin when Kayla reveals we haven’t even begun. “I could say the same thing about you…I feel sorry that you believe London could ever love you. You left him. I never did. Never forget that. Another person who never left was Belle…the mother of his child.”
Slow breaths escape me as I measure my breathing. She’s doing this to bait me, and it’s working.
“That poor girl. Such a sickly little thing. Thank goodness they have one another because there is no greater bond than the one with your child. London may say he loves you, hell, he may even believe it to be true, but if push came to shove, he would never choose you over his family.”
My mother casts her eyes downward as Kayla’s claims are reflective of hers. But she’s wrong. They both are.
“I would never ask him to choose.”
Her confidence inflates as she examines her freshly polished nails. “You may not, but do you think Belle or his daughter wouldn’t? London is weak. He’s just like his father. It only took a few feeble threats to convince him to stay away from you. If he really loved you like you claim he does, and that your love is undying, then why didn’t he try harder to find you? Why didn’t he tell me to go to hell? Because, in the end, you weren’t worth the hassle.”
My boldness withers as I state, “He was just a kid. He thought he was doing the right thing.”
She laughs at my naïve claims. “That may be true, but when he became an adult, he had responsibilities…to his daughter and Belle. He chose them, Holland, so really, you wouldn’t have to ask him to choose because there isn’t a choice to be made.”
A single tear scores my flesh, but I stand tall, unbending.
Kayla has hit a nerve, and she knows it. She knows that Belle and London share something that I don’t—they have history. He may claim to have never loved her, but she knows him; she has ten years’ worth of knowledge that I don’t.
Three days ago was our first date, and although I’ve known him since I can remember, in some ways, he is a stranger. I’m just getting to know who he is.
I suddenly feel sick.
Am I fooling myself? Did I really come here, thinking after ten years apart, we could rekindle our spark, start afresh, and then live happily ever after?
As Kayla gives me the same look she did when I turned up on her doorstep, I feel it, the same insecurity which plagued me every single day of my life. People like me don’t get a happily ever after. This town is unforgiving, and somehow, it always seems to remind you of where you belong.
And I don’t belong here.
“Oh, darling, don’t cry,” Kayla patronizes with a winner’s grin. “You tried, but you failed. I suppose you get that tenacity from your father.”
“I can’t believe I once called you my best friend,” my mom spits, but it’s too late. “Come on, Holland, let’s go.” She loops her arm through mine as I stand motionless, angry tears slashing down my cheeks. I’m prepared to kill Kayla with my bare hands.
But the fact my mother hasn’t denied any of Kayla’s claims has me believing she sees them as truth. She believes London would never choose me—she’s expressed as much.
I’m so angry with myself for allowing her to get under my skin again, but with the walls closing in on me, I have no other choice but to break free from my mother’s hold and run out of the store.
I continue running, tears burning my vision as her words char away my resolve.
“Because, in the end, you weren’t worth the hassle.”
I burst out the door, only coming to a stop when I’m away from the mall. A few shoppers look at me as I can only imagine what I look like, cursing and crying loudly. But let this town judge; it’s all it’s ever done anyway.
I suddenly miss New York.
My cell chimes from my back pocket and although every part of me is telling me to ignore it, I can’t because I have no doubt it’s my mom, asking where I am. Not wanting to worry her further because that’s all I seem to do, I breathlessly answer without looking at who the caller is.
It’s not my mom.
“Princess?”
Oh, god.
The moment I hear London’s voice, I cover my mouth to mute my whimpers. But he’s not fooled.
“What’s wrong? Is everything all right?”
No, everything is not all right, and him calling just adds to the shitstorm.
“Talk to me. What’s the matter?”
Taking steady breaths in and out, I suck up my tears because crying isn’t going to accomplish a damn thing. With a wavering sniffle, I do the only thing I can do in this situation, and that’s be honest.
“Ho-how’s Emily?”
He’s quiet, his heavy exhalations exposing his concerns. “She’s doing better. The doctors think she can come home tomorrow.”
“That’s such gr-great news,” I fumble, biting my cheek to stop this overpowering breakdown.
“Holland, tell me what’s going on.” Whenever he uses my name, I know things are about to get serious.
With nothing left to lose, I look into the blue sky and wish I could get lost in its vastness and not be found for a while. “I saw your mom.”
Silence.
“What did she say?”
I laugh, but it’s filled with bitterness and contempt. “What didn’t she say?”
“Where are you?”
It’s just like London
to swoop on in and save me, but Kayla’s cruel words have crapped all over his loyalty.
“I’m at the mall. I’m here with my mom and Chloe.”
“Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, don’t,” I say, my voice laden with exhaustion. “Your mom might see us together and claim you’re only here because you have nothing better to do.”
“What?” he snarls, his anger almost smiting me through the phone.
“Yup, I had a lovely talk with her. She made it very clear she is unconvinced by our relationship.”
“I couldn’t give a fuck what she thinks,” he barks. The sound of his feet pounding heavily along the flooring alerts me to the fact he’s on the run. “And neither should you.”
He’s right, but I can’t shake what she said from my brain. “I know, but she made some valid points.” My confession feels like acid burning up my throat. “She said it only took a few weak threats to keep you away from me. And the reason you didn’t try harder to defy her was because I wasn’t worth the hassle.”
“Oh my fuck,” he snarls, his anger red raw. “She is a fucking piece of work. You don’t believe her, do you?”
Toeing over a small rock in front of me to distract myself from crying, I shrug even though he can’t see me. “I…I don’t know.”
London hisses in a pained breath. “Princess, stop it. She’s just messing with your head. It’s what she does best.”
He’s speaking from experience, but what she said, it’s a new kind of torture.
I want to believe him, I do. “She said that, for whatever reason, if you had to choose, Belle and Emily would always come first. I told her I would never, never ask that of you,” I explain, needing him to know. “But she pointed out that even as an adult, you didn’t come looking for me because you had a responsibility to your family. So, in a way, there would never be a choice to be made. And I understand that, they’re your family—”
“You’re my family,” he stresses, his desperation threatening to unleash a new river of tears. “Just please stay put. I’m coming.”