Page 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

24 missed calls from Zayne Silverman.

He’s been trying to reach me since last night, and the calls and texts haven’t ceased once throughout the day. I shut off my phone screen and toss it onto my bed. I can’t talk to him. Not yet. Not after yesterday.

Mom is in her room, packing her suitcase, and Dad is helping her. This time, it’s a much bigger suitcase—one that can carry the rest of the belongings we’ve been storing here for her.

I throw myself onto the bed and cry into my pillow. It’s like releasing a tidal wave of emotion I’ve kept bottled up since the day Mom first admitted she had a problem. I was so angry then, because it wasn’t even her fault. She didn’t ask to injure her back or give up her hard-earned firefighting career. She didn’t want to be in so much pain that heavy doses of hydrocodone would be the only mask. She didn’t know that by the time her injury healed, she would already be an addict.

She didn’t ask to get addicted.

She didn’t ask to have her life ruined.

My cries continue to flow freely. I don’t know why I’m bothering to smother them with my pillow. I have no pride left after what happened at dinner, so I shouldn’t care if anyone hears me.

By morning, Mom will be on an airplane, on her way to a proper facility in Florida with a high recovery success rate. She’ll be gone, and I’ll be here, unable to talk to her or see her for what seems like an eternity. The worst part is that all I can seem to do is sit in my room and cry.

I’m so mad at her for failing me, Dad, and Beau when she stole those pills. But the other part of me knows I’ll regret it if I don’t get up and go to her, spend as much time with her as I can before she leaves.

I wipe my nose with my sweater sleeve and get up, walking to my bedroom door and gripping the cool, metal handle. When I swing the door open, Mom is on the other side and she’s holding a white rectangular cardboard box. Her eyes widen like she wasn’t expecting me to open the door, but the surprise melts into a downturned smile. “Hey, baby. Can I come in?”

I move out of the way so she can enter. I know my eyes are still red and puffy, because her gaze lingers on them before she takes my face in one of her hands and kisses my forehead.

We sit on the bed together. Mom sets the box on the mattress before turning to face me. “I owe you an apology, Bardot.”

I blink in surprise at her words. “For what?” I know it’s a stupid question, but what else am I supposed to say?

“I never should have made promises I knew I couldn’t keep.” Mom sniffs. “I know I should have stayed with my sister. But what you need to understand is that it’s just as hard on me to be away from my family as it is for you. When you told me about starring in your play at Fallbrook, it felt like you were growing up and living life without me.” She takes my hand, squeezing, and fresh tears appear in both of our eyes. “I just want to be back in your life. But by coming here before I was ready, I’ve done the worst thing imaginable; I let my baby girl down. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

I pull her into a hug. She wraps her arms around my back in response and we sit together in our tight embrace, rocking from side to side like we used to when I was a kid. “Thank you for apologizing,” I whisper. “I forgive you.” As I speak the words, the tightness in my stomach smooths out, like a hand sliding across bunched up fabric.

We let go of each other, and she turns to pick up the box next to her. “This is for you.” She holds it out to me. “Picked it up this evening.”

I dab my eyes with my sleeve and take the box. “What is it?” I lift the lid and remove tissue paper from the top.

The ice-blue dress from the department store stares back at me.

My lips part. “Mom.”

“You should wear the dress you want to wear. That’s what you’ll truly look your best in, Bardot.”

“But… I don’t think I’m going to the dance anymore.”

She raises her eyebrows. “And why ever not? Because of the mess I caused yesterday?”

I shrug. “Well, yeah.”

She pauses, staring at her hands as she takes my words in. “I’m so sorry, honey. But all that was on me, not you. You should still go. I’ll personally apologize to Zayne if it helps.”

I hold up the dress, and the silky material ripples in front of me like water. She’s right—I can’t cancel. Just the thought of disappointing Zayne is soul-crushing. My smile turns wobbly. “Thank you, Mom, but you don’t have to do that. I’ll go.”

She smiles, standing to peer into the jewelry box on my dresser. “Will you wear silver or gold accessories?”

“Hmm,” I tap my chin. “Silver seems more winter, but gold is more my jam.”

We talk accessories while Mom fiddles over me, arranging my braids into various styles for practice until we settle on the perfect updo I’ll be able to replicate without her. She even helps me choose makeup, and for the moment, it feels just like old times, before her accident, when she could be my mother, and I could be her daughter. No complications. No fear for the future. It’s bittersweet because I want this moment to linger forever, yet I know it’s only going to last until she leaves again.

When we’ve exhausted all possible options for tomorrow’s dress-wear, Mom tucks me in like I’m a child. And I don’t complain one bit.

When she leaves my room, I check my phone and tap the off button next to my morning alarm since tomorrow’s Saturday. A twinge of guilt pricks at me because I don’t have any new texts from Zayne, no more calls. I open his contact page, my thumb hovering over the call button.

And then a Little Birdie blast explodes in my face.

Fledglings,

Thanksgiving Day is nothing more than a promise for family gossip and drama, and what could tempt a poultry like myself more than a juicy worm of drama over a meal of turkey and potatoes?

That’s right! Nothing!

This little birdie has been flying around town, witnessing firsthand the whispers of familial strife and antagonism. And the winner for the juiciest story goes to none other than our favorite girl Dot Bennet!

It appears that, while at an impeccably crafted dinner with Zayne Silverman and his family, Dot’s mom transformed into an utter thief before their very eyes! Not even Dot was aware of her mom stealing a bottle of prescription medication from Zayne’s house during the holiday meal. That much was clear by the spectacle she caused, yelling at her mom just outside the Silverman brownstone.

Her screams may have scared the other birds away, but this fierce flapper stayed around for the good stuff.

The question is, will our theater darlings split after this unfortunate mishap? Or will the blossom of their young love remain true and withstand the test of trouble?

You’ll know when I do!

Yours Truly,

Little Birdie

My phone feels like dead weight in my hand. A surge of anger blinds me, red and strong and vengeful. I hope everyone in the house, including Mom, is asleep by now because I don’t think I’ll be able to hide how upset I am and the last thing I want is for Mom to see this.

Who does Little Birdie think she is?

I finally call Zayne back. I need to talk to someone and he’s the only one who will understand. I know we’ll have to eventually address what happened yesterday, but I need him right now. I can’t hold off talking to him another minute.

To my immense relief, he answers on the second ring. “I saw the post.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Dot.”

“Little Birdie isn’t going to get away with this. This time, she went too far.”

“I agree.”

My throat feels tight, but I refuse to cry again. I refuse to let her win.

Zayne says in a low tone, “If I ever figure out who’s behind this, I’m going to kill them.”

For some reason, the comment makes me feel a bit lighter. “Thanks.”

There’s an awkward pause because this is the first we’ve spoken since dinner. I’m still ashamed by what happened. “Zayne, I don’t even know how to begin to apologize?—”

“Stop.” His tone is firm. “Do not apologize, Dot.”

“But—”

“Nobody’s upset. Not me, not Mimi, not Mom. Not even Lenny.”

I swallow down a hard knot in my throat. “ I’m upset, though. I can’t believe all this happened. And now my mom is leaving in the morning.” My voice wavers.

“I wish I could hug you right now,” he whispers in my ear. “I wish I could drive over there right now and just hug you.”

The idea alone makes my heart pound. Zayne in here with me, while everyone else is asleep? My voice sounds tiny when I ask, “Can’t you?”

A beat of silence. And then, “I’ll be right there, Dot.”

He hangs up, and my breaths shudder as I look around my room. Is it clean enough? Does it smell nice? I straighten some of the makeup, nail polish, and skincare products scattered across my white vanity.

My gaze snags on the blue dress, still draped across my bed. I jolt out of bed and gather it up, hanging it in my closet. If he saw it before the dance, it would ruin the surprise. I also collect the earrings and necklace Mom and I picked out and put them back in my jewelry box. I don’t know how long it will take Zayne to get here, but I’m sure I have time to change into cuter pajamas.

Ten minutes later, there’s blush on my cheeks, and I’m comfy in my champagne jogger lounge set. My braids are in low pigtails and the scent of Chanel no. 4 is just barely noticeable in the air.

My phone vibrates. Zayne’s text flashes across the screen.

Zayne

I’m here.

Me

Can you come in through my window? There’s a ladder on the side of the house.

Zayne

Sure. Which side of the house is your room on?

And why is there a ladder?

Me

If you’re facing the house, my room is on the right side. And for your information, I like to sit on the roof sometimes.

I unlock the latch on my bedroom window and slide it open for him. A moment later, his face appears through the darkness of the night, visible from the dim lighting my room is emanating.

“Hi,” he whispers, and expertly jumps up onto the window-pane. I reach out to help him, but he doesn’t even need it, climbing through and landing on my carpet with a barely audible thud.

“Hi,” I giggle. “Welcome to my room.” I hold my arms out from my sides.

He blinks, as if just realizing where he is, and takes in our surroundings. “Wow. I really like it. It’s so very… you. ”

I try to see what he’s seeing. Fashion magazines stacked on my vanity beside bottles of nail polish and makeup. My clothing rack packed with trendy outfits and my favorite classic pieces. And my favorite color clearly visible in the abundance of yellow hues that radiate warmth and positivity. I smirk. “It’s all the yellow, isn’t it?”

He nods. “Definitely. That and the lack of books.”

We both laugh quietly, hushed, breathy sounds of pure mirth.

Zayne shakes his head. “Have you considered taking that ladder down? Someone could break in, or something.”

“I’ve left against the side of the house since we moved in.” I laugh at his troubled expression, but it turns sad. Shaky. I don’t even realize I’m crying again until Zayne takes me in his arms, his eyes round. “Hey,” he whispers, rubbing circles on my back. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

I bury my face in his chest. Both his arms tighten around me, causing my stomach to dance in circles.

“As promised,” he whispers into my hair, “a hug from yours truly.”

I smile against his shirt. “Thanks.”

We continue to stand in the center of my room, hugging, when a sink turns on near my parents’ room. Zayne pulls back, his eyes wide.

“It’s just my dad,” I tell him. “He gets up a lot in the middle of the night.”

“That’s very comforting.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry. He never comes in here. But if he did, and he saw you, you’d be dead.”

Zayne winces. “I figured as much.”

“We should lie on the bed. That way if he does come in, you can hide under the covers and he might mistake you for a wall of pillows.”

Zayne closes his eyes. “You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” But his lips twist into a reluctant smile. “I guess it’s better than standing in the middle of the room, though.”

“Or worse,” I shrug.

“Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

He gets on my bed first and scoots against the wall it’s pressed against, and I get in on the side closer to the door so I can block him from view. I arrange my many pillows around him to try to hide him a bit, but he just shakes his head. “If I die, I die.”

I smother my laugh with my hand. “I hope this is worth the risk.”

He touches my cheek, forcing me to meet his gaze. All traces of humor leave his face. “It is.”

I search his eyes, level with my own on the pillows and close the distance between us.

The kiss begins softly, like the opening line of a play whispered between only us, setting the stage for something deeper. It’s slow and deliberate.

Until it isn’t.

The kiss transforms into something dizzying, something ardent within seconds. Zayne’s hands grip my waist, a touch both grounding and electric. When my fingers brush his shoulders to pull him closer, I feel his quiet strength beneath my hands. The air between us is thick with everything unspoken, and as our lips meet again and again, the rest of the world fades away. My heart tangles in my chest when he brushes a stray braid from my face and then softly holds my hand as we kiss.

In this moment, it’s not about want—it’s about something stronger, something I can’t explain. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with desire and a depth that leaves me breathless. His voice comes out gravelly. “Dot, if we don’t stop now, I’m going to rip your clothes off.”

“Please don’t. This is one of my favorite outfits.” I grin, despite the way his words make my cheeks burn.

Amusement flickers in his gaze but he doesn’t respond, instead pulling me in for another kiss. This time it’s more resigned, less intense, and it only leaves me wanting more. Not fair. Then he kisses my forehead and says, “Goodnight, Dot.”

“Are you going to sleep here? I mean, I’m all for it, but my dad will definitely find you if you’re still here in the morning.”

He laughs breathlessly. “No. I’ll leave once you’re asleep.” He trails his fingertips along my cheekbone, and I close my eyes. I try not to think about Mom leaving in the morning, or Little Birdie’s nonsense. Part of me wants to ask him how he thinks Little Birdie found out what happened, but the possibilities are so limited, I’m not sure I’m ready to face them right now. Instead, I focus on Zayne’s soft, minty breaths caressing my face, and his smooth fingertips against my skin as I drift to sleep.