Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I huffed a laugh and darkened the screen. I would fill her in later, but for now I loved the idea of her wondering what was going on and I couldn’t wait to spill every single detail in a few hours.
I didn’t realize Dominic was back until he sat next to me, leaned in, and placed a finger beneath my chin. His hands smelled like floral soap with a splash of cinnamon.
“So, what do you say?” he asked with his lips close to mine. “Shall we go to my place for a reunion?”
NINETEEN
JOLENE
I take a scalding hot shower—one I hope will wash away this morning’s conversation with Eden. What the hell is wrong with that woman? How can she poke and prod at my marriage like it’s a lump of clay in her lap?
Anger ignites within me as I step out of the shower, snatching down the towel from the rack and leaving the bathroom. I change into new clothes—tan palazzo pants and a silky pink blouse—and apply makeup and perfume before heading to my home office.
When I’m aggravated, I work to distract myself, so I log into my laptop and check my emails first. It’s as I’m deep into a supplier’s email, that my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at it and instantly want to bang my head on the glass desktop when I see the name. Mother.
Not Mom.
Not Mommy.
Mother.
I let the phone ring a little longer, then draw in a breath, swiping the green phone symbol and bringing the receiver to my ear.
“Hello Mom,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice neutral.
“Jolene, I’m flying in to see you today,” she says. No formal greeting. Always so direct.
I frown. “Why?”
“Because I’m your mother and I want to check on you.” She sniffs on the other end, but not like she’s sick or sad. More like she’s annoyed with this conversation and ready for it to be over already. But I know my mother. She does not fly all the way from Houston, Texas to North Carolina just to see me.
“What trouble are you in now?” I sigh.
“What are you talking about? There is no trouble. Stop being ridiculous. I just want to see my daughter. Is that so bad?”
Yes, it is bad. I don’t want to see her. My life is much, much easier without her in it. “I’ll have to get one of the guestrooms ready.”
“I’m at the airport waiting for my flight now,” she continues, ignoring my last statement. “I should be there in a few hours.”
She hangs up without a goodbye and I grit my teeth, slouching back in my chair. I try and rack my brain for what it could be this time that she’s gotten herself into.
One time, she’d come to me because thousands of dollars had been withdrawn from her bank account, but only because she was stupid enough to give some guy she was sleeping with her account numbers. She’d claimed it was fraud, that she’d been hacked, but was it a hack, really? Or was she just dick-whipped and stupid?
Another time she’d come by because she had a dream that I was pregnant. When she told me, I couldn’t help laughing in her face. The last thing Dominic and I were doing was having kids. There was way too much going on with him in office and with my career.
“It’s not much of a career is it, though, Jolene?” my mother asked, and I wanted to push her out of her chair. The truth is, Dominic never wanted children. I’d pushed him once about having kids and he grew upset before finally confessing that he didn’t want children because he didn’t want them to grow up with an absent parent. He cared too much about his career and wasn’t sure he’d be able to make the time. He didn’t want the kid to suffer because he was so busy, and I could empathize with that. My father was also busy, and I feel like I’d be a much better human if he were around more.
I close the lid of my laptop and leave the office, finding the guestroom she often uses that faces our backyard and pulling out clean sheets from the closet.
TWENTY
JOLENE
Three hours later, the doorbell rings and I open the door to face Naomi Hart, my mother. It’s just like her to be wearing an oversized yellow hat that reminds me of an accessory belonging to Curious George’s caretaker.
Her dark hair falls in thick curls, giving her a wet-and-wavy look. She tips her head, and I can tell she’s had more cosmetic work done to her face. Her light-brown skin looks too tight around the cheeks and mouth. And of course, she’s dressed in all white. Her signature color, as if she’s prepared to be someone’s bride at any moment.