Page 4

Sierra

T he phone rings from beside me on my desk, and then it rings on my computer screen, showing me Lilah is FaceTiming me. I move my cursor to the green accept button in the corner of the screen, waiting for it to connect before I say, “Hello.”

Her face fills the screen with a huge smile, and I see she’s at home. “Hey,” she says, her hair piled on her head as she leans on her elbows on the island.

I smile when I see Emmett come in and stand behind her, probably not knowing she’s on the phone, before hugging her and then kissing the side of her face. “Hi, Emmett.”

He looks at her phone, shocked. “Oh, hey, Sierra.” He looks at Lilah. “I’ll leave you two be,” he says, turning to leave but not before he smacks her ass.

She just shakes her head and watches as he walks away. She literally sighs before she looks back at me, and I can’t help but laugh at her. “Do you need to call me back?”

She closes her eyes and laughs at herself. “No, I’m fine.” She giggles. “I get him all the time anyway.” Looking over to where Emmett must be standing and winking at him.

“Good to know.” After all the time she’s been in love with him, I'm happy that the feeling is returned.

“How’re you doing?” I shrug my shoulders at her question.

It’s been two weeks since my life was turned upside down.

Two weeks I’ve felt like I’ve been living in a fog of sorts.

The only thing I’ve been consistent in has been my work.

I’ve been working all hours of the night when insomnia catches up with me.

Which is why I now set my alarm clock for eight o’clock because I’m sleeping until noon and then staying up until four o’clock in the morning.

It’s time to get my ass back into a routine.

“About the same. I don’t know what to think.” Lilah was the first person I called once I left my parents’ house. She didn’t understand a word I was saying and literally talked me through the sobbing. She was calm, and three hours later, she was at my door with a packed bag.

“I finally got a therapist.” Her eyes go up. “It’s been a week.”

“Is that helping?” she asks softly.

“I think the shock is wearing off,” I admit. “I need to call my parents and talk to them.”

“How do you think that’s going to go?”

“I have no idea. I understand they love me. I love them. I just—” I take a deep breath. “It’s the fact it was such a secret, like they were ashamed of it.”

“They were not ashamed of it because then that would make them ashamed of you, and we both know they worship you.” I nod because it’s true. “Maybe they were scared to tell you.”

“I would have preferred to be told and not find out the way I did. Would I have been shocked? Yes, yes, I would have, but fuck, I don’t know.”

“I’m happy you are talking about it with your therapist,” she says, “and I’m here if you ever need to vent.”

“Thank you.” I take another deep breath, and she tilts her head to the side and looks at me.

“What’s with that look?” she asks me quizzically.

“Well,” I start, “I was thinking.”

She shakes her head. “The last time you did that, we spent the week ‘hiking,’ and you forgot that it gets cold at night, and we almost froze to death.”

“We checked into a Four Seasons hotel six hours later,” I remind her, “and you slept in the robe they gave you.” I point at her, and she rolls her eyes. “I was thinking of maybe moving.”

She gasps, “Move away?” I nod. “There is more to it, isn’t there?”

“There is,” I admit and ignore the way my heart speeds up. “I was thinking of looking for my birth parents.” Her eyes go bigger.

“I don’t know if you should do that.” Worry fills her voice.

“I feel like I don’t even know who I am.” Just saying it out loud to someone other than my therapist feels both scary and good at the same time. “Like, I know who I am, obviously.”

I look up at the ceiling. “But why didn’t they want me?”

“Listen, I’m all for finding out where you came from but, Sierra…”

The tears come to my eyes. “I know. I know. It’s stupid and they literally threw me away.”

“They didn’t throw you away.” She tries to make me feel better.

“They put me in a box and left me outside, wrapped in a blanket.” My voice gets higher. “They didn’t even, like, ring the bell or, I don’t know, contact an adoption agency.” The tear escapes. “Like, who does that?”

“Assholes,” she retorts. “But you also don’t know why they did what they did.”

“Was I a secret?” The questions that have been going through my head nonstop for the last two weeks have been wild. “I literally dream that I’m walking down the street, and everyone is a stranger to me and staring at me. I walk up to random people and am like, ‘Are you my birth mother?’”

“Sierra,” she says my name, and I feel like she’s about to hug me through the phone.

“It’s crazy. I shouldn’t even care since they didn’t.” I lean back in my work chair. “But I fucking do.”

“It’s only normal,” she agrees with me. “So where are you moving?”

“Somewhere I think I could have support and still have a fresh start. Sort of in the middle of where I am now and where I was left.”

“Have you been looking?” Of course she would know I have already started this plan.

“I have,” I tell her, then I click on my emails and send her the listing I found late last night or, better yet, in the middle of the night. “I just sent it to you.”

She clicks on her phone, and her face disappears as she looks at the link I just sent her. “Sierra,” she says my name and reappears on the screen. “Okay, one.” She holds up her finger. “This is here.” I nod and smile. “Two, this house?—”

“I know.” I tap my desk. “It’s utterly perfect.”

“It’s run-down, girl.” She laughs. “I think I’ve driven by there and thought it was going to fall on top of my car.”

“You’ve really gotten more dramatic now that you’ve hooked up with the love of your life.”

She scoffs. “I’ve always been somewhat dramatic. Just not in front of him because I was being all ‘in your face, I’m a tough girl, but then I want you to push me against the wall and kiss me. And then do all kinds of dirty things to me.’”

As if he has been waiting for her to call his name—“You rang?”—Emmett pops back up behind her, wrapping one arm around her stomach and the other around the top of her chest, pulling her to him. She holds his arm with both of her hands.

“Guess who is thinking about moving?” She looks over her shoulder at him. “Sierra.” She doesn’t even give him a chance to answer. Having met Emmett a couple of times, I’m going to go out on a limb and say he has no idea nor does he actually care to play this game.

“Oh fun,” he says, saying whatever he needs to in order for her to smile.

“It’s more than fun. We can have book clubs together in the same house, and she can come over for dinner.” Her eyes light up. “We can have girls’ night at the bar.” He groans. “Isn’t that going to be fun?”

“Baby,” he says, his head going back, “it’s not going to be fun. It’s going to be the opposite of fun.” I can’t help but laugh at him. “But it’s fine.”

“See?” One hand lets go of his arm and holds his cheek. “Told you it’ll be fun.”

“I can’t wait,” he mumbles.

“Okay, I have to go,” I tell them. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“I’ll call you later,” she replies and quickly hangs up.

I spend the rest of the night working on some contracts I have going on.

I’ve been a graphic designer for the past four years, graduating with a bachelor of arts degree.

I got a job as soon as I graduated with a commercial real estate company.

I would design all of their spaces, and slowly, I branched out doing jobs here and there on my own, building my portfolio.

I went from creating brand logos to creating billboards in Times Square.

When I finally had enough clients under my belt, I left, and now I work for myself.

I have all types of clients, from restaurant designs to corporate companies who need brochures made.

Being able to create things is the best, and I’ve been good at it since I was twelve, when my parents let me have my way with my bedroom.

I thought for sure I would go into interior design, but this was much more fun for me.

Sometimes I even get to do both of them at the same time.

Those are my favorite projects. I have a couple of builders who have the houses all ready to go, and all I have to do is design the catalog with furniture and all.

I’m closing down my computer by 8:00 p.m., which is a new record for me this week, when the phone pings. I grab it from my desk and look down to see my mother texted me.

Mom: It’s been a while. I’m trying to give you space. Would like to hear your voice. I love you.

My heart tightens in my chest at the same time as my stomach lurches. It’s been over two weeks since I found out the truth.

I don’t know why, but I take the phone and call her instead of ignoring it. She answers after one ring. “Sierra,” she says my name as if she’s never said it before.

“Hi,” I reply, closing my eyes as I hear her softly sob.

“Um.” She clears her throat. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” I answer softly, “just”—my own tears start now—“I needed some space.”

“I know, your father said you would call when you were ready.”

“I think we should talk,” I repeat the words my therapist has had me practicing for the last week.

“Of course, name the time and place.”

“How about we meet for coffee?” I suggest, not really wanting to go back to the house just yet. “Tomorrow morning.”

“That sounds fantastic. I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you, Sierra,” she states, and I close my eyes.

“I love you too, Mom.” The minute I say the words, she cries even harder.

“I didn’t think you would ever call me that again.”

“I’m sorry I stormed out,” I tell her. “It was a shock.”

“I know.”

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I assure her.

“Will do,” she says. “See you then.”

I hang up the phone and head upstairs to slide into a bath. After the past two weeks, I need to pamper myself.

I hear the soft bells of the alarm, and my eyes fly open.

I’m on my side in the middle of my king-sized bed with five pillows surrounding me like a cocoon.

I slip my hand out from under my head to grab the phone and turn it off.

Before closing my eyes again, my eyelids feel like they weigh over a hundred pounds.

It takes a minute of me telling myself that I have to get up. My eyes slowly open and close before finally staying open. I toss the covers off myself, getting out, and slipping on my pink slippers before grabbing the long gray cashmere robe.

I finish in the bathroom before grabbing my phone from under my thick plush white duvet and walking down the stairs to the kitchen.

I open the shades in the back before starting my coffee.

The smell fills the small kitchen before I walk over to the fridge and grab the milk.

Pouring the milk in the frother, I press the button and then put the milk back.

I contemplate making myself something to eat, but I close the fridge.

I head over to make my coffee, making sure the milk is hot enough before adding it to my cup.

I bring the mug to my lips as I look out from the kitchen window, seeing it’s gloomy outside.

Heading to the couch, I curl up in the corner of the L-shaped couch and grab a throw blanket, putting it over me.

The phone rings in my hand, and I see it’s Rebecca. “Hello,” I answer, putting it on speakerphone.

“Sierra,” she says my name cheerfully, “did I catch you at a bad time?”

I close my eyes. Considering it’s after eight thirty in the morning, what the fuck could she think I’ve been doing? “No, just having coffee,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

“I have good news,” she chirps, “the offer on the house was approved.” I sit up, putting the cup on the coffee table.

My nerves get the best of me. “The house is yours.” I close my eyes.

“And I spoke with my girl at the top construction company in the area, and she is going to talk to her boss about squeezing you in.”

“Wow,” I blurt, “this is happening faster than I expected.”

“That’s a good thing. Welcome to Montgavin.”