Page 9 of The Promposal

When I pushed open the screen, I saw a frozen video of my mother’s face. “What’s this?”

Ella gave me a confused but worried look.

My mother had left my dad and me when I was really little. She wanted to pursue an art career and felt that we were holding her back. My dad had had to bribe her to stay in my life, and we had Skyped with each other on a semiregular basis through the years. It was like biweekly torture having to talk to her, given that she didn’t actually love me and found everything I did insulting or annoying (to be a little fair, I did often try to insult and/or annoy her). I finally told my father I’d had enough, and he’d allowed it to stop. My guess was that it made both sides much happier.

I restarted the video. It was weird to see my mom again, to hear her voice. A voice that sounded happy instead of mad. I hadn’t even realized that she knew how to be not angry all the time. She was at a gallery that would be hosting an exhibit of her trash sculptures (sculptures made of actual trash—I wasn’t just insulting her) later in the week. The reporter asked about her influences, and she claimed herself as her primary inspiration. (Which caused massive eye rolls from me.)

“What does your family think about your show?” the reporter asked.

“My parents are thrilled, of course.”

The reporter looked confused and flipped through a little notebook. “I meant your husband.”

Pearl Li let out a little laugh, and I wondered if she’d strained a muscle thanks to disuse. “I’m not married.”

“But I thought I read that you have a husband and a daughter.”

“Your information is outdated. As I said, I’m not married.” A beat passed. Then two. “And I don’t have a daughter.”

Ella reached over and slammed the laptop shut before I could respond.

My heart actually hurt. Twinged and twisted in pain while tiny sharp knives stabbed my stomach. Hot, scalding tears filled my eyes. My reaction surprised me. “I’ve already written her off. So why does it upset me that she’s written me off?” My voice caught on the last word, and I was so close to full-on sobbing.

Ella put her arm around me. “Because no matter how horrible she is, she’s still your mom. She’s supposed to be the one person in the world who has your back no matter what.” She squeezed me. “But you have me, and I’ll always be here for you. You just say the word, and I’ll fly to New York and punch your stupid mother.”

I let out a bark that was half laughter, half sob and hugged Ella back. “Stupid, huh?” That was practically a swear word for my sister.

“Definitely stupid. And this probably won’t help anything,” she said in tentative tone, “but in our life story, some people are meant to be chapters, and some are meant to be little footnotes. That doesn’t make them leaving the story any less painful. Not every relationship can or should be fixed. And you’re so fabulous that anyone who doesn’t love you doesn’t deserve any of your tears. Now go get ready for bed so you can focus all your attention on your Jake phone call,” she instructed me, handing me the kimono and the box it had come in.

Nodding, I got up and headed to our shared bathroom, loving that she knew my routine so well. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into my pajamas.

I climbed into my bed, thinking about my mom. I wondered if there was a time when she cared about me. Our personalities had never clicked, and I couldn’t remember ever getting along with her. We were like oil and that thing that always disappointed oil.

The little girl part of me felt lost and betrayed. The almost adult part of me knew that she was a selfish narcissist. And that I wasn’t the only one who knew it. I’d read the scathing reviews of her shows and her behavior at said shows. I wasn’t alone in my dislike of her as a person, and I wondered, for the millionth time, if my dad had been suffering from a psychotic break when he fell in love with her and married her.

I spent so much time moping that when I glanced at my phone, I realized that it was almost twenty minutes past when Jake normally called me. He called me every night before bed. Sometimes just to wish me sweet dreams, other times to chat. We spent so much time together both in school and after you’d think we’d run out of things to say, but we never did.

And Jake had never once been late before. He was scarily punctual, even when he was off at an away game for baseball.

Of course I could have just called him.

But that wasn’t the point. For the first time since we’d started dating, Jake hadn’t called.

And I worried what that meant.

CHAPTER FOUR

It took me hours to fall asleep. I spent time analyzing my feelings, trying to figure out why I was freaking out so much. My mom was obvious, but with Jake? I decided the reason that I was more upset than normal was due to the fact that I had been looking forward to unloading on him and getting his sympathetic response. Even though he couldn’t completely understand my maternal situation because he adored his mother, he was always ready with a shoulder when I needed it.

Or he had been before last night.

That morning he wasn’t in English class, and I went from being hurt to worried. What if something had happened to him? I texted him, asking where he was.

No answer.

Where could he be? I wanted to go looking for him.

I considered my options and exactly how much trouble I would be in if the school caught me ditching when I got this prickly feeling on the back of my neck. Like somebody was watching me.

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