Page 20 of Redemption
However, she’s yet to tell me what she wanted to discuss at the coffee shop. I’ve tried prompting her several times, but she changes the topic every time.
It’s making me nervous.
Pasting on a smile, I say, “That’s nice, Mom, but I don’t have any place to wear that.”
She purses her lips, ignoring me, and flips the blazer back and forth to study it. “I think we can make this work.”
“Work for what?”
Apprehension grows in my stomach.
“Your interview, of course,” she says, like I should know what interview she’s talking about. “It’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”
When I left the city, I was a nurse at one of the major hospitals. It wasn’t the path I saw myself taking when I started college. I wanted nothing to do with the field my dad was in—the field that kept him away from home more often than not.
But after Langston, I ran. It was my junior year of college, and the path I was heading down no longer felt like the path that was meant for me.
I took a gap year, and during that year, I felt pulled toward the field I swore I would never be in—a field my dad would have been proud that I followed and one my mom would have hated, at least for me. It wasn’t the socialite path, after all.
I went back to school and got my degree. It took four years, and I didn’t tell anyone when I graduated with honors. I didn’t want them ruining it for me.
That’s where I’ve been the last year, working a job that was supposed to be my second chance, a place for me to pay for my sins, but then the second worst day of my life happened. Now, I’m not sure if it’s a path I took for retribution or if it was supposed to be mine.
I’m lost, and I’m not sure where I fit anymore. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life in college, and my experience in any other field is sorely lacking. I don’t know what other workable skills I have, and my mother’s idea of a job is hosting social parties.
Dread kicks me square in the teeth.
Is that what I’m interviewing for? Does she think I’ll be on one of her many committees now that I’m back?
She looks up from the blazer, takes one look at my face, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. The horror of that idea must show on my face.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The high school is looking for a nurse when school starts next month. I mentioned to some people on the board that you were returning to town. You have an interview on Monday. Besides, you can’t just sit around all day. I know you. You’ll go insane.”
My mouth hangs open, which I’m sure is not a good look on me, but I can’t help it.
This woman is so unlike my mother that I don’t know how to react except to say thank you—even if I’m questioning my position in the field. So I smile, take the blazer from her, and say, “I think this will be perfect.”
We continue to shop, and my mind starts to wander to my dad. That day at the hospital, I thought maybe I’d seen a difference in him, but since I’ve been back, I’ve hardly seen him. It’s just like it was before I left. But if my mom can change, couldn’t he, too?
Flipping through a rack of shirts, I ask, “Mom, do you think Dad will ever slow down?”
A sad look flicks through her eyes, her brows pinching together before she says, “How about we go grab lunch, and we can talk about it?”
“Okay,” I say, following her to the checkout, where she pays for the blazer. Then, we walk to a restaurant only a few blocks from the boutique we’d been shopping in.
I’ve never given myself hope that I could have a good relationship with my mom. It’s not who we are, but we’ve also never sat down and had conversations before—we couldn’t when we were always at each other’s throats. But she’s willing to talk to me about Dad, and that feels like a step towards finding a place where we see each other for who we are.
Once inside, she tells me to grab a table while she runs to the restroom.
Nodding, I turn towards the tables, searching for a place to give us a little privacy for the conversation we are about to have, but when I turn around, I’m not staring at open seating. A chest nearly bumps right into my nose.
Caught off guard, I flounder, trying to gain control of my balance, but it’s no use—I’m going down. With heat flaming my cheeks, I brace myself for the impact of the hard floor, but strong hands reach out, catching my elbows and righting me. My eyes fly up, searching for the face of the man who saved me, and I wince when I’m met with eyes that are so cold and calculating it sends a shiver down my spine.
With my balance regained, I step back, putting space between me and the man in front of me who looks like every villain ever written.
Unease settles in my stomach as the man watches me, not bothering to introduce himself. He doesn’t look any older than thirty-five with a Roman nose and tanned skin. He’s handsome, but that does nothing to hide the darkness that seems to crackle around him. His dark hair swoops elegantly to the side in a style that’s both classy and intimidating, and as I continue to stare, his mouth tilts up in a grin that can only be described as animalistic. His lips part, revealing straight white teeth, but the hunger in his eyes makes me take another step back, putting more distance between us.
“If you were looking to talk to me,” he says, leaning down so he’s in my space, “all you had to do was ask. No need for nearly knocking yourself over.”
