Page 27 of Knotting Hill
‘Mum’
I answer it with a groggy, “If this isn’t an emergency, you can call back later.”
“Sorry, hunny,” she says. “But I need to come over tonight.”
“What? Why?” I groan.
“Syn’s book, hun. It’s her birthday tomorrow, and you still have it.”
“Oh, shite, yeah. Of course. Can you give me an hour to get halfways decent?”
“Done. How are you feeling?”
“Better today, thanks. I hope this isn’t going to become a thing. I need to know.”
“I know. Sometimes it happens, outside factors and all that. Have you been under any stress lately?”
“Not really,” I muse. “Unless you count the Angela and work thing.”
And the St. Luc’s.
“Okay, well, we will see what happens next season and re-evaluate. See if we can find a cause if it happens again.”
“Okay. See you in a bit.” We hang up, and I roll over to grab my freshly scrubbed, buzzy friend off the bedside table.
After taking care of my need again, fifteen minutes later, I’m in the shower, feeling refreshed and remarkably more normal. Hopefully, with this being an impromptu heat, it is a lesser one and will recede from tonight.
Once dressed in a fresh set of jammies, I strip the bed and dump the slick-covered sheets in the washbag to take to the laundrette. That’s the only downside to this place, but the laundrette is only on the next block, so generally speaking, it’s not that big of a deal. I usually handwash my delicates anyway, so I never run short of my underwear.
Soon, it’s time for my mum to show up, and she does on time, having probably been standing outside on the pavement for the last fifteen minutes, making sure to give me the full hour. Early bird down to a tee.
I let her up, and we hug quickly.
“You look good,” she says.
“I feel even better than when you rang. I think it’s going.”
“That’s good. You can get back to normal then. It’s a real drain sometimes being an omega.”
I nod in agreement, but I’m sure it's way more fun when you have an alpha to ease your heat. Then I cringe. I cannot think about my parents that way. No, no. No.
“Here,” I say, crossing over to the side table and picking up the book and the black credit card.
She takes the book but frowns at the card. “Keep it, please. Just so I know you have something, anything, if you need it. You don’t have to use it, but I need to know you are taken care of.”
“That’s precisely my issue with this. I want to take care of myself.”
“Please?”
I figure it’s probably easier just to give in. I don’t feel as exhausted anymore, but I’m not a hundred per cent yet, and picking my battles is the best way forward for a few days.
“Fine,” I grouse and slip it into my purse. I don’t really want to leave it lying around in case I’m burgled or whatever. “Can you stay for a cuppa?”
“I need to get going,” she says. “But we can catch up at the weekend?”
“Okay.”
She waves the book at me, and then she is gone, leaving me alone for a few moments before my phone rings again.
