Page 23 of The Home Grown
“That sounds like a great idea. You get your head down and I can help you prep when you’re feeling up to it,” he says.
I stand up and grab my laptop, tucking it under my arm before retreating to the safety of my bedroom. And if Hutch’s got any sense, he’ll assume I’m going for a tug and not bother me for a while.
After I settle myself down on my bed and pull up my social media accounts, quickly checking my message requests.
I skim through all the crap before finding Ellie on the list—at least I assume it’s her because despite her name being her name,the profile picture isn’t the one I remember from the last time I went snooping.
Instead of a photo of a silhouetted figure on the beach, it’s a logo for some sort of beauty salon back in my hometown.
I click on the profile and have a peek, taking my time to dig through her life—what’s available to the public eye, anyway.
I definitely didn’t get the correct profile last time. Not only are there photos of Ellie in the depths of a shared album that I would have noticed if I’d looked at the correct profile. The other one said she was engaged—this one says ‘single’, and I scoff at the irony.
Navigating back to my cluttered inbox, I click into her message and tap the ‘accept’ button.
Ellie
Hey, Mike. I know this is random, but please, could you text me? It’s urgent.
She’s dropped her number underneath, and I stare at it for a moment, wondering if I should call her, try to reason with her. But instead, I save it in my contacts and open a fresh browser.
Married.
The word floats in my head—almost in big neon lights, highlighted by my monumental cock-up.
I’m restless and I can’t figure out where to start, so I launch into procrastination mode, pulling up some porn to distract myself, only to close it a second later.
I’m not in the mood. I’m not in the mood for anything. I feel like I’m stuck in a state of limbo where the path forward is muddy and uncertain.
No matter how hard I try, my conversation with Ellie creeps back in, determined to not let me forget.
“Then why the hell did you ghost me?”
But I didn’t. My phone didn’t work properly while I was out in Germany, and when I got back, I texted her several times.
I texted her. I know I did. And if I remember rightly, I called her too, only to be told to ‘never call this number again’.
It was that phone call which put me off knocking on her door, and since we didn’t have school together anymore …
I sigh. Tossing my laptop aside and lay back on my bed, running over the conversation again.
ELLIE
Just when Ithought things couldn’t get any worse, I load up Friday morning’s calendar on the salon computer to find a change in my schedule.
“This can’t be right,” I say to Kathryn, who’s busy opening the blinds.
“What can’t be?” she says.
“My appointments look … different,” I say. “My nine-thirty was supposed to be—” The salon door creaks open and in walks none other than Judith Betts. “—Mrs Smith.”
Mike’s mother stands in front of me at the counter, beaming at me with a perfect set of teeth. Her hair, an auburn poker straight bob, shines in the light from the window.
“Oh, yeah, I had to move some things around. Something came up. Judy’s after a full set of gels which you’re more than capable of,” Kathryn says, moving towards the counter to stand next to me.
I feel sick.
A heavy knot of anxiety sits heavy in my stomach because, not only has Kathryn arranged for me to treat Mike’s mother, she’s also cancelled one of my regulars.
