eighteen
“I think it went well, Jimi. I think he’s going to let us do this.” His eyes checked the rearview mirror. He turned to check behind him as he backed out of the space, and his eyes locked on mine for a brief moment.
I smiled at his “us.”
We were a team now.
“I hope so,” I said.
I checked my phone, which I’d left in the car during our meeting, and I saw that I had a new voicemail. The number was unfamiliar, but when I listened to the message, the voice was familiar.
“Roxanna, hello. It’s Carla Williams. It’s been a long time, and I hate that I’m calling you under these circumstances…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’d love to meet for coffee or…something. Give me a call.” She left her number and ended the call.
It had probably been nearly two years since I’d heard from Damien’s mother. She’d always been civil toward me, but we had never been close. Damien hadn’t really been close with his parents. They were always busy working.
I briefly wondered how she’d gotten my number. I’d changed it after Damien and I had split, but I supposed she had my dad’s contact information somewhere.
“What was that?” Parker finally asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I replayed it on speaker for him.
“Damien’s…?” he trailed off, his voice asking a question.
I filled in the answer. “Mom.”
“You want to call her back?”
“Not really.” I looked out my side window as I mumbled.
“I’ll go with you if you want.” He reached over and squeezed my leg.
I glanced over at him. He looked worried.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will. You’re a strong, beautiful woman. I know you can take care of yourself. But you don’t have to because I’m here to take care of you.”
I pressed my lips together. Sometimes he said things like that and I just wanted to cry. I wasn’t sure how fate had stepped in to push us together—and by “fate,” I meant my dad—but I was grateful.
I was grateful for at least one parent who seemed to understand what I needed better than I did.
And speaking of that other parent of mine…
My phone started ringing in my hand as I contemplated calling Carla back. “Material Girl” by Madonna started playing, and Mom flashed across the screen.
I held it up so that Parker could see, and he chuckled at my choice of song. “You gonna answer that?”
I took a deep breath and swiped the screen before I lost my nerve. “Mother!” I said with fake enthusiasm. I caught Parker’s barely concealed quaking laughter out of the corner of my eye.
He knew me well enough to catch the insincerity in my voice. My mother, on the other hand, did not.
“You’re getting married in six days?” she practically screamed into the phone. I couldn’t tell if she was screaming because she was pleased or pissed. Parker laughed again. He could hear every word she was saying. I put the call on speakerphone just for shits and giggles.
“I am.” I wasn’t sure how she knew—either my dad or the tabloids had informed her.
“Roxanna, really,” she berated. The answer to my earlier question was pissed. “I haven’t even met this boy yet.”
“Dad has. Dad highly recommended him, in fact.”
“Your father is an idiot.”
“He has nice things to say about you, too.” That statement earned another chuckle from Parker. I winked at him, catching the amusement around his eyes.
“I’m sure. How the hell do you expect me to get home in six days?”
I had two ways of responding to that. The first thought that came to my mind was that I didn’t really care if she came. Had I invited her?
I went with the high road. “Dad will get you here. You know he still cares about you, Mom. Where are you, anyway? Why haven’t I heard from you in…” I paused and did the math in my head. “God, in six months? Has it been that long?”
“I’m in London. Fashion capital of the world, you know. I’ve been busy designing.”
“Do you have a job out there? Have you sold any of your designs?”
She contemplated my question, and ultimately she gave me the most honest answer she could while still managing to save face. “I’ve met with a few top designers. I’ve got some things in the works.”
So that meant a big, fat no.
I should’ve felt bad for her, but at least she was attempting her dreams. That was more than could be said for most people.
I saw a quote somewhere that said if you’re up and running, you’re lapping everyone sitting at home. It rang true for my mother.
And I supposed it rang true for me, too.
I’d never had a life’s ambition. I never cared about it until I met someone who pointed out to me that hopes and dreams were an important part of life. And now I was working to achieve it.
I knew the advantage I had because of my father. I was accepting that fact with grace and gratitude where my future was concerned.
“I’d love if you could make it Saturday,” I lied. If she was there, the day would become a circus that was more about her than anything else.
“I have nothing to wear.”
I laughed outright at that one. She was designing clothes in the fashion capital of the world, my dad still paid her child support even though I was twenty-two and she’d never raised me anyway, and she had nothing to wear?
I sincerely doubted that.
“If I can find a dress in six days, so can you.”
She huffed with irritation. “What’s with the rush? Did this boy knock you up?”
“Jesus Christ, mother. No. Even if he did, who cares?”
“You can’t love him. How long have you even known him?”
“I’ve known him long enough to fall in love with him. The forever kind, Mom. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“I heard about Damien. I’m so sorry.”
Of all people, she should have known my aversion to the “I’m sorry” that came with the deaths of loved ones. But the words fell out of her mouth, so I repeated them back.
“I’m sorry, too.” I didn’t know what else to say about that. Everyone kept telling me they were sorry, but I’d been out of touch with him for a year. Did his death leave a hole in my heart? Absolutely. Was he someone I would miss for the rest of my life? Definitely.
But I was finding difficulty in mourning someone who I’d already mourned.
When he left me the first time, he was as good as dead to me. Of course his actual death was still painful, but I was starting to think it was the reason behind his death that hurt the most. Whatever Damien had gotten into had caused our split, but I knew who was behind Damien’s murder. I couldn’t help but think once again that if he’d never met my dad and gotten tangled up in the gambling debts and whatever else they were into, Damien would still be living and breathing.
But then he’d be living and breathing beside me, and Parker and I might never have met.
It was a tangled web that I couldn’t sort out, so I chose to push those thoughts out of my mind to focus on my future. I couldn’t change the past anyway, so it wasn’t worth the waste of energy to wish things were different.
There was too much at stake to wish for things to be different, anyway.
My mom changed the subject. It was her way of lightening the mood, but it was just another reminder to me of why the two of us weren’t all that close. “Well it looks like I have a flight to book and a dress to buy. I promise not to wear white, but I can’t promise not to show up the bride.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon.”
We hung up. No “I love you” or endearment. That’s how it always was with my mom.
I was a Daddy’s girl through and through, and every time I spoke to my mother, I was reminded why that was the case.
I tossed my phone into the cup holder in the console between us. Parker reached over and laced his fingers through mine.