Page 18 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Hannah

M y mom hasn’t spoken to me in the three days since Friday. I’ve been treading lightly so I don’t upset her, but I haven’t exactly felt the desire to chat with her either.

I’m waiting for the inevitable conversation with my dad where he tells me I hurt her feelings, and I need to apologize because she’s sad.

Or she’ll just ignore it and pretend everything is fine.

My guess is, since my birthday is in two days, it’ll be the latter. Mom can’t resist a big birthday celebration, even if I don’t want one.

Luckily for me, work is a good distraction from everything happening in my personal life. We’re finalizing our summer programs right now, so I’ve been making sure the schedules match and confirming the dates with our guest speakers..

I dial the number for the local plant nursery, and the owner answers with a rushed, “Botanical Bliss, Santana speaking.”

“Hey, Santana, it’s Hannah over at the public library. I was just calling to confirm your participation in our summer program. It looks like we have your slot scheduled for Thursdays at two o’clock. Does that still work for you?”

Santana lets out a strangled sound that’s more like a half sob half laugh. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I’m not going to be able to participate in the summer program this year. There’s a lot of stuff happening in my personal life.”

“Totally understandable. No need to worry, we have plenty of options we can fall back on. I hope whatever you’re dealing with isn’t too bad.

” We don’t have a lot of options to fall back on.

Santana was one of two options, and the other nursery is owned by an older gentleman who has no volume control.

“Thank you for understanding. I have to run. Good luck with the program.” The line goes dead before I can say anything.

I set the phone down, take off my glasses, and rub at my temples. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now, but it’s my job to figure it out.

My best friend and coworker, Sage, comes into the office, takes one look at me, and immediately walks out.

If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she was pissed that I look stressed, but she’ll be back in a few minutes with a water bottle and some type of food because she knows I haven’t taken a lunch break yet.

Sure enough, five minutes later she waltzes through the door with two water bottles, two wrapped sandwiches, two bags of chips, and two chocolate chip cookies about to tumble out of her arms.

“I know you haven’t eaten yet, so we’re taking our lunch breaks, and then you can tell me what’s happening,” Sage demands, setting half of the spoils on my side of the desk, then settling in with hers on the other side.

“Thanks, Sage.” I give her a small, grateful smile, and we eat in silence.

Sage Oldham is five-foot-three, has wavy, mushroom brown hair she keeps cut in a seventies shag, beige skin, and piercing blue eyes.

She’s a plus size girl like me, but she’s the kind of plus size where she has big boobs, a big ass, and a smaller waist. She’s a lovely hourglass shape where I tend to be more round.

She also has a penchant for loud patterns, bright lipstick, and colored mascara.

We’ve been best friends since college, and she’s the only person I tell everything to.

We finished our MLS together at BYU, then both ended up landing jobs at the Salt Lake City Public Library, one of the largest libraries in the state.

We’ve been friends for almost as long as I’ve been— was— married.

She was integral in how I survived the divorce and also a big reason why I started questioning the church I was raised in.

Sage grew up in the Mormon church, just like me, but when we hit our third year of undergrad, she started questioning things.

At BYU, you’re forced to take a religion class each semester as part of your required credits, and some of the things Sage learned didn’t sit right with her.

It took a few years, but after the research she presented me with, I couldn’t argue it away anymore.

The church is a money hungry, misogynistic, lying, racist cult.

I told her I couldn’t leave without upsetting Liam, but then the divorce happened. She’s already removed her records, and she’s been urging me to do the same, but I just can’t bring myself to do it while I’m living with my parents.

I will one day, but today is not that day.

“So, tell me what’s going on. I know your mom is being a bitch, and you’re all befuddled over Morgan, but is there anything else?” Sage asks once she’s finished her sandwich.

As soon as I got to work the day after Morgan offered to be my fake boyfriend, I spilled everything—the texting, brunch, how hot he is, his daughter, that he’s the hot flower shop guy, his offer—to Sage so she could talk me out of it.

She didn’t, though, because she’s obsessed with drama that isn’t her own, and she thinks this is “good for the plot,” the little traitor.

“Botanical Bliss can’t do Thursdays anymore. Santana’s had some personal stuff come up, so now I have to find a replacement. Not a lot of places are willing to close early to come teach classes for free at the library.”

Sage taps her hot pink painted nails on the desk as she contemplates, then gives me a smile that screams mischief. It’s the same smile she used when she said we should leave gummy bears on Liam’s car in the hot August sun after he said he wanted a divorce.

“Well, I personally think it would be lovely to have someone come teach a class on, I don’t know, the language of flowers. Or a bouquet design class. But who do we know that owns a flower shop?” She dramatically taps her chin in contemplation, and my stomach twists.

“No idea.” I play along.

“Oh darn,” she sighs. “If only one of us had a hunky boyfriend who owned a flower shop willing to do us this favor.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Sage pins me with a “get real” look. “So sorry. Fake boyfriend.”

When I don’t immediately take her bait, she continues, “Think about it, babe. A former sports dude turned florist? It would get so many people in here—so many people who could donate to fund other programs. Plus, a little bit of eye candy wouldn’t be so bad, right?”

“Fine, I’ll ask him, but don’t hold your breath. He’s got a lot going on with his daughter.”

Sage claps excitedly. “Yay! This is way better than some lady coming to talk to us about the fertilization process of plants.”

“Don’t be rude, Sage. I’m sure lots of people would have loved that! Besides, Morgan hasn’t agreed to anything. He could still say no.”

Sage smirks. “But he won’t.”

I don’t want to agree with her, but I do.

Later that day when I get home, my mom is fussing around the kitchen. I’m still avoiding her, so I start to head downstairs.

“Hannah, come here please,” my mom demands, and I internally groan and stomp my feet like a petulant child. I don’t want to deal with her right now.

I pad over to the kitchen island and lean against the cool marble. “Yes?”

My mom stops her frantic stirring of whatever’s on the stove. “Will I need to tell the restaurant we’ll have six people or just five?”

Confused, I ask, “What?”

She huffs, then faces me fully. “For your birthday dinner. Is your friend and his daughter joining us?”

Friend. Ha. If only she knew how right she was.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, ask him, unless he’s not celebrating with us. Which would be strange since he’s your boyfriend.” To anyone else, the words might sound casual, maybe a little worried. To me? They’re an obvious threat. A dig at my relationship because she doesn’t believe he could actually like me.

“I’ll ask him when I see him tomorrow.” I lift my chin, trying to come off as confident and nonchalant.

I didn’t want to bring up my birthday because I didn’t want him to feel obligated to get me anything since we’re just friends.

“Good. Dinner will be done in an hour.” Mom turns back to the stove, effectively dismissing me until the proverbial dinner bell rings.

Good thing I already planned on talking to Morgan tomorrow, I guess.