24. Bianca
24
BIANCA
I ’m fuming as I stand outside my mom’s hotel room. The sting of betrayal from James, Liam, and Alex still burns, but right now, my anger is laser-focused on her. She’s the one who set this all in motion, making me doubt myself back in college.
I knock, and she opens the door with her bags packed. The sight makes my heart drop.
“You’re leaving?” I blurt out.
“Yes,” she says, folding a blouse with mechanical precision. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why?” My voice rises, disbelief evident.
“I don’t approve of your lifestyle choices,” she says without looking at me.
I step inside and close the door behind me. “So you’re just gonna run away?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Bianca.” She sighs, placing the folded blouse into her suitcase. “I’m not running away. I’m protecting my sanity.”
I snort. “Sanity? From what? Me living my life?”
She finally looks up at me, her eyes hard. “From watching you make the same mistake again.”
I take a deep breath, my mind racing for the right words. "Mom, please. Just listen to me."
"I've heard enough, Bianca," she snaps, closing her suitcase with a sharp click. "You can't expect me to support something so... perverse."
"It's not perverse," I argue, stepping closer. "It's different, yes, but it makes me happy. They make me happy."
"Happy?" She scoffs, finally meeting my eyes. "This isn't about happiness. It's about morality. Decency. What you're doing—it's wrong."
"Who decides what's right or wrong? Society? The same society that judges people for loving who they love?" My hands shake as I speak, frustration bubbling up.
"This isn't about society," she says, her tone softening but still firm. "It's about you making choices that will ruin your life."
"My life is already complicated enough without you making it harder," I say, my voice breaking despite my effort to keep it steady. "Why can't you just try to understand?"
She sits on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply. "Because I can't support something I fundamentally disagree with."
"You don't even know them," I insist, desperation creeping in. "They’re good men. They care about me."
"It doesn't matter if they're saints," she retorts, shaking her head. "I will never be on board with this."
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying won't help now. "So that's it? You're just going to walk out and never talk to me again?"
"If that's what it takes," she says quietly.
“If you’re going to continue with this kind of relationship,” she says, standing up and straightening her skirt, “then you are no longer welcome home.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious, Bianca.” She zips her suitcase with a finality that echoes in the room. “I won’t have it.”
A wave of nausea rises up. “So that’s it? You’re just cutting me off?”
“You’re making a choice, and so am I.” She reaches for her purse, not even looking at me.
“Mom, please,” I plead, my voice cracking. “I care about them. Why can’t you understand that?”
“I understand perfectly well,” she says, her eyes finally meeting mine. They’re cold, unforgiving. “You’re choosing them over your family.”
“I’m not choosing them over you!” I argue, stepping closer. “I just want you to accept that they make me happy.”
She shakes her head, disappointment etched in every line of her face. “Happiness isn’t everything.”
“It is to me!” I snap back, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
She picks up her suitcase and heads for the door. I move to block her path. “You can’t leave like this.”
“I can and I will.” She pushes past me, her resolve unshakable.
I grab her arm in desperation. “Don’t do this, Mom.”
She pulls away sharply, eyes flashing with anger. “Goodbye, Bianca.”
And just like that, she’s gone.
The door slams shut behind her, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. My legs give out and I sink to the floor, tears blurring my vision. The reality of what just happened crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I drag myself from the hotel room, like a zombie. Each step is heavy, like I'm wading through quicksand. I make my way to my car, the California sun starting to go down. There's no warmth anywhere around me.
The events of the past 24 hours replay in my mind like a bad movie on loop. How did things go from perfect yesterday to complete shit today?
I slump into the driver's seat and grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. The leather is cool against my palms, but it does nothing to soothe me. I stare at the dashboard, trying to piece together how everything fell apart so quickly.
I glance at the hotel entrance one last time. My mom is gone, she's probably on her way to the airport by now. She didn't even look back.
I just sit there for a long time, the silence in the car almost suffocating. My phone buzzes in my purse, but I ignore it. Probably just work emails. None of it matters right now.
My relationship is over, and my mother has practically disowned me. How am I supposed to fix any of this? The thought makes me feel like a tiny boat lost in a stormy sea.
"Come on, Bia," I mutter to myself. "Pull it together."
But the pep talk falls flat. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I can't go back to how things were before. Too much has changed.
I stare blankly at the dashboard. The world outside seems distant, muffled by the storm inside my head. I groan, leaning back against the seat, the weight of everything pressing down on me.
Three exes, I think darkly, how the fuck did we get here?
It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t hurt so much. My mom disowns me, and now I have to face those three at work. Every day. The thought makes me want to scream. There’s no solution in sight, no way out of this tangled mess.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold it together. My thoughts are a dark swirl of anger and sadness. What was I thinking, believing things could go back to how they were? That we could pick up where we left off?
I laugh bitterly. “Great job, Bia. Really nailed it this time.”
My phone buzzes again in my purse. I ignore it. I don’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now. Not even Aliyah, who’s probably checking in.
I can’t shake the image of their faces when they broke things off. The cold determination in Liam’s eyes, the reluctant agreement in Alex’s nod, and James... James just looked sad. Like he knew this was inevitable.
I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known better than to think we could ever make it work again.
But it wasn’t just about them, was it? It was about my mother too. Her disapproval had always loomed over us like a dark cloud. And now she’s made good on her threat from years ago.
The silence of the car is oppressive, pressing down on me from all sides. I need to move, to do something other than sit here and wallow.
With a deep breath, I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot. Driving aimlessly through San Diego’s busy streets, my mind races with what-ifs and regrets.
What if I had never ghosted them? What if I had stood up to my mom back then? Would things be different now?
But those questions are pointless. The past is done and gone.
I drive aimlessly, my mind a whirlpool of regret and anger. What the fuck, Bia? Why did you let yourself think this time would be different? Tears blur my vision, and I pull over to the side of the road, parking haphazardly. The sobs come hard and fast, each one more gut-wrenching than the last.
I wipe at my eyes, but the tears keep coming. The sting of my mother’s words and the pain of the guys breaking up with me are too much. It's like I'm suffocating under the weight of it all.
What made me think Mom would ever be okay with this? After everything back in college, her disapproval was a given. I knew that, yet here I am, hoping for some fairy tale where she suddenly accepts my choices.
“Stupid,” I whisper, hitting the steering wheel with a clenched fist. “So fucking stupid.”
The car is stifling, so I roll down the window. The cool evening air hits my face, but it does little to calm me. People walk by on the sidewalk, chatting and laughing, completely unaware of my meltdown. Their normalcy is like a slap in the face.
I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes. The tears keep falling, hot and relentless. And the tears roll down my cheeks, the thought creeps in—maybe the guys were right. Maybe things were never going to work.
I wipe my eyes, staring blankly at the traffic passing by. Was I that naive?
They probably saw this coming from a mile away. Liam’s cold determination, Alex’s reluctant nod, James’ sad eyes—they knew. They fucking knew.