Page 1 of The Home Grown
Chapter One
ELLIE
He still hasn’t textedme.
I check my phone for the sixth time in twenty minutes, convinced I felt it vibrate, but surprise, surprise—it didn’t. There’s nothing. Not even a notification for the weather to fall back on.
I stare at the screen, briefly wondering if I can manifest him into texting. I mean, he said he would so he will, right? It’s only been … what, twelve hours?
I unlock the screen, just to double check I haven’t missed anything, when Kathryn clears her throat.
“You’ll go insane if you keep checking it,” she says.
She watches me for a moment before dipping her head, continuing to rummage through the open cardboard box on the bed—the contents of our parents’ loft, the remnants of our childhoods reduced to old bits of paper.
I lock the screen of my phone and throw it, face down, onto the bed with an air of contempt. No pocket. No phantom vibrations. Problem solved.
“No news is good news, yeah?” she says. “They still had three slots left last time I checked. Just because you haven’t heard anything yet doesn’t mean you won’t.”
I shoot her a puzzled look.
“Wait—what? Who?”
Kathryn sighs. “The magazine.”
Ah, so we’re not talking about the same thing. That clears things up. Kathryn thinks I’m checking my emails about the bridal stylist magazine feature I applied for three weeks ago, but honestly, I’ve pushed it to the back of my mind since I’ve already resigned myself to failure. And since I’m embarrassed about the real reason for checking my phone, I don’t correct her. I nod instead, keeping my eyes on the box I’m working through.
Only a second passes before I feel her watching me again.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say.
But she doesn’t buy it. I can feel her gaze burning into me like she’s trying to read my mind.
“Right. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Because you’ve been in a grump all day—more so than usual,” she says.
I keep my focus on the box, paying an unnecessary amount of attention to a bundle of old receipts.
“Ellie?” Kathryn prompts, her voice sharp.
And that’s all it takes. The authority in her voice, causing me to snap like a split end.
I pause, clutching at the receipts for moral support as I raise my head to meet her eyes.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’m not waiting to hear from the magazine.”
She raises an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest as she waits for me to continue.
“I met a guy last night. I don’t want to go into it, but he said he’d text, and he hasn’t,” I say.
And there it is.
A smile.
A smile that creeps across her face in such a way, my stomach tightens.
Here we go.
