Page 21 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

Checked in and Zane-free and feeling a little less flustered—at least my hands aren’t trembling anymore—I join the long line at security and pull my phone out to pass the time. There’s a text from Amelia, reminding me—again—that Imusthave the best time on this trip. I send her a quick “I’ll try my hardest” before pulling up my ticket to double-check my gate, even though I already know it hasn’t changed in the five minutes since leaving the check-in counter. Satisfied, I switch over to my email to see if there are any updates from Pride and Prejudice Park as the line inches forward.

I don’t find a message from the resort; instead, there’s one from my mom. The first one from her since she entered rehab three months ago. My heart does a twisting thing at the sight of her name in my inbox.

I’ve been sending her emails, giving her updates on my life, not knowing when or if she would see them. This rehab was mandatory after her fourth DUI, and because she was a repeat offender, she’s in more of a lockdown situation, with hardly any outside contact with the world.

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

RE:England, Here I Come!

Hi Macey,

I finally earned some email privileges and got to read through your emails. Thank you for sending them. I’m sorry I can’t reply to each one, but please know they mean so much to me.

I don’t have long, so I’ll get to the point. I need to tell you how sorry I am. I would rather say this in person, but since I can’t, I’llsay it here: I’ve failed you as a mom, and that will always be my greatest regret.

I’ve been going to therapy here, and it’s made me realize so much about myself and all the hurt I’ve caused. But I’ve also realized something else—how proud I am of you. Despite everything, you’ve grown into a beautiful and bright woman. I don’t know how I got so lucky to be your mom.

I want to be better. I want to try to be the mom you deserve, even though I know you don’t need me anymore. I just hope you’ll let me.

I love you so much.

Mom

I sniffle back the moisture gathering in my eyes as I read her words, but it doesn’t work. A couple of tears roll down my cheeks and then under my chin.

I’ve gotten emails like this before, but this one feels different. More heartfelt, maybe. I can’t help but hope she means it this time. I’ve had that same hope before, only to have it dashed.

The addiction wasn’t always part of our lives. Once, she was the kind of mom who taught me how to bake cookies and crack an egg with one hand. Back then, I wanted to be just like her. I got my red hair from her, and strangers would often comment on how alike we looked. I felt so proud of that—that I looked like her. But then my dad broke up our family, and it was like a part of her disappeared, a part she could never get back.

She lost something then, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring her back. The baking stopped. The laughter faded. Slowly, the mom I loved and looked up to slipped further and further away, replaced by someone I barely recognized. Alcohol and drugs became her top priority, and I stopped being one at all.

I’ve spent years wishing I could fix her, bring back the woman who taught me to bake cookies and tame my crazy hair. But maybe some things can’t be fixed. Maybe they can only be hoped for. Still, I wonder if someday I’ll run out of hope.

The tears are coming in full force now, and I pat my pockets hoping for a magicked tissue or napkin, but I give up and use the cuff of my sweatshirt to try to wipe them away.

“We meet again,” a voice says from behind me, and I do a little jump.

“Sorry,” Zane says as I turn around. His face falls when he sees me. “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” I say, giving him a dismissive sort of smile, reaching up and dashing away more tears with my sweatshirt. “I’m ... fine.”

His brows lower, almost hooding his pretty blue eyes. “You don’t seem fine.” He places a hand on my arm, and the gesture makes my eyes water again.

“Yeah,” I tell him, my voice thick. “It’s fine, though. Really.”

He’s not convinced. “Macey,” he says, drawing my name out, soft but also questioning as he takes a step toward me, pushing the backpack he’s got with him up on his shoulders as he does.

“I’m good,” I say, but it comes out as a sob, and more tears fall. I think it’s the kindness in his eyes that does me in this time.

He removes the hand from my arm, and I think he’ll take a step back and maybe leave me alone for a minute, but instead he says, “Come here.” And, putting a hand on my shoulder, he pulls me toward him and into a hug, his hand going under my backpack and tightening around me.

I think I’m shocked at first, and I go rigid like a statue, but then his warmth and nearness have me melting into him. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten a hug from Zane—not one like this at least—and it’s kind of everything I need right now. He smells like fresh soap and a woodsy cologne.

Someone clears their throat from behind us, and I jerk my head up to see that we’re holding up the line. My tear-streaked face now feels heated from embarrassment, and I quickly pull out of the embrace and shuffle forward, berating myself for being so emotional right now.

“What’s going on, Mace?” he asks, after catching up to me. “Why are you crying?”

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