Page 1 of Enemy Crush
Chapter 1
QUINN
The sight of Coleman’s Bridge made me lift my head from the bus window I was leaning against. I adjusted my neck pillow, straightened my headphones and sent my mother a text:Arriving in 15 minutes.It would likely be twenty but I didn’t want her to be late.
It had been a wretched nine hour ride from my Dad’s place in the city which had included one bus change and a thirty minute delay, so of course I couldn’t wait to get home. Which was a far cry from six weeks ago when I’d been desperate to leave town and get away from my mother.
Since my parents’ separation earlier in the year, Mom had been more insufferable than usual, not just bossy and controlling but very, very angry. Which is why summer with my father had sounded like a sweet escape, staying at his new apartment which had a rooftop pool and was right in the center of the city, and hanging out with my older brother, William who was visiting from college. Except he never did. Instead, he’d gone with some friends to Florida, telling Dad he’d come for Thanksgiving weekend.
Well, at least I’d have Dad all to myself and could spend quality time with him, right? No, not exactly. Summer had virtually been a bust. Dad had barely settled into his apartment, boxes still unpacked and his new job at an insurance company meant he was away all day, every day. And to top it off, the rooftop pool wasn’t usable due to ‘servicing issues.’ It was alsoway smaller than I’d imagined and a neighbor a floor above had a penchant for listening to violin concertos loudly. Yes, it could’ve been worse—heavy metal, I imagine—but my dream summer had been a disappointment and a bore.
Not that I’d told Mom or my friends. Celeste’s lakeside holiday looked amazing, and Naomi was visiting her grandparents in Osaka, so I’d talked up my vacation too. I raved about my freedom in the city and getting away from Mom for the summer. I posted dozens of photos from the outdoor festival Dad and I went to, the huge shopping mall, and all the delicious foods at the farmers market, but in reality I’d spent most of my time inside alone. I read eleven books, binge watched whole seasons of television shows and scrolled through my phone so much that I was sure I was developing tendonitis in my wrist. In fact, I was looking forward to going back to Brizendine Prep, where phones were banned during the school day.
My heart rate escalated when my phone pinged, realizing that I was actually looking forward to seeing Mom. Yeah, I never thought I’d say it, but after six weeks in the noisy, poky apartment, I longed for the serenity of Ambrose Manor, the spacious rooms, the large yard and gardens, the crisp clean air of Snow Ridge.
The last argument sprung to mind on the day I left for Dad’s. An accumulation of heated words and stony silences had been the norm for Mom and me since Dad had moved out in April. Mom had been in a constant state of rage and bitterness.
“You wouldn’t understand, Quinn,” was her only answer to the questions I asked relentlessly:Why did you always fight? What did Dad do? Why were you so mean to him?
“Can you not drag those wheels on the stairs?” she’d yelled as I heaved my suitcases down from my bedroom, smacking them against every polished step, “you’re damaging them!”
Out of petulance, I continued on for the remaining three steps and clunked them down in the front entrance with an extra loud thump. As Mom’s frown lines deepened, I had a bizarre thought that she must have skipped her regular Botox treatment.
“Well, are we going or not?” I’d snapped, swinging a tote bag over my shoulder as I lengthened the suitcase handles, ready to roll out, mumbling, “Can’t wait to get out of here.”
Mom had blinked rapidly and her eyes had misted but she’d straightened her shoulders, grabbed her designer handbag and retorted, “Well, I’ll be glad of a bit of peace and quiet myself.”
And she’d marched out the door, leaving me to my own bags. Living on the outskirts of our small town, I’d had approximately fifteen minutes to make amends before we reached the bus station, but after I’d slammed the trunk shut and hopped into the car, Mom’s phone had rung. She’d spent the entire ride talking to Erin, the manager at her hair and beauty salon,Trés Elegance.Because of that, I’d pulled out my headphones and turned up my music. If she had no time for me, I’d ignore her back. When we arrived at our destination, she was still talking as if it was a matter of utmost urgency, so I’d stormed out and nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to lift both suitcases out of the trunk at the same time.
“Let me,” Mom huffed as she joined me, her face still sour, and we’d wrestled out the remaining suitcase together. She’d wheeled one over to the waiting bus, while I’d taken my time locating my online ticket. Ensuring both my bags were stored in the luggage compartment, I joined the long line, overawed by the amount of people, the different types of people, all complete strangers I was about to spend hours with in a confined space. A bus journey was the only way to get to the city from our small town which had no airport, and that had been a major point of contention. I’d wanted to drive myself but Mom said absolutelynot, and Dad had unfortunately agreed because there was no parking at his apartment complex.
“Have you got your water bottle?” Mom asked.
I patted my tote bag, staring over at the driver who was holding a clipboard.
“Make sure you stretch your legs when you get a break,” she said sharply, but I wasn’t fazed; Mom’s default tone was like that of an army general, always giving orders. “Text me when you get there.”
I tossed my head and stared down at my phone, stepping forward to the driver when the old woman in front of me hobbled aboard.
“Good morning.” The elderly bald man greeted me with a smile.
“Hi,” I said, holding out my phone for him to scan.
“Thank you,” he said. “Take any seat.”
“Thanks.” I shoved my phone into my back pocket and turned to Mom. “See ya.”
Mom’s mouth twitched and after a moment of hesitation, she ambushed me, arms around my shoulders in a hug. “Be safe.”
“Yeah,” I said, regretting that I immediately disentangled myself from her embrace. But it was hard to communicate civilly when we both got into a mood. We were stubborn as mules and equally unforgiving, and that’s when we found ourselves merely co-existing in a hostile environment.
I found a window seat on the opposite side, meaning she couldn’t see me to wave goodbye. That’s if she intended to wait for the bus to leave. I doubted it. Salon business had been her sole focus since Dad left. Mom, a trained hairdresser, had gone back to work, like it helped to take her mind off of the divorce.
Five minutes later, when the driver closed the doors and the bus moved off, I caught a glimpse of her dark blue Mercedes still in the parking lot. Maybe she waved—I wouldn’t know because Ididn’t look over—but a few minutes later when she textedHave a good trip xx,I was racked with guilt. A glance, a wave, any acknowledgement would have taken very little effort. I sent back a heart emoji—but not till we were far away on the freeway.
And now, with my hometown looming minutes away, my heart unexpectedly lurched with soppy sentimentality. I had thought I’d love the city, the bright lights, the malls, my independence, that I wouldn’t miss Mom one tiny bit, but I’d been wrong—I was homesick for the small town vibes. Familiar streets, less traffic, less noise, less people.
But everything changed in an instant as I read her text in complete disbelief:Sorry I can’t come, busy with client, you’ll have to walk to salon.
