17. Whitney
17
WHITNEY
I ’ve been a married woman for two months, and it’s been surprisingly uneventful. The leaves have started to turn, fall officially in full swing, my wardrobe shifting to an array of browns and reds.
Liam and I are on better terms than ever. We even eat dinner together, and our Scrabble nights have increasingly become my favorite night of the week. I spend nearly all my time working on the salon, and best of all, I finally came up with a name. Since I have my grandmother to thank for the funding, it’s going to be called All Rhodes.
For now, I’m on a mission to speak to my mother. Before Vegas, I tried every number she’s called me from, and none of them were functioning. She has a habit of using exclusively burners, and it’s incredibly frustrating since she gets rid of them every few weeks. I need to tell her about grandma and the inheritance, and my last option to get in touch is through her boyfriend Chuck — if he still is her boyfriend, that is.
It rings twice before he picks up. “Yo, this is Chucky.”
He’s a real keeper.
“Hello. I’m trying to get in touch with Caroline Rhodes. Do you happen to have her number?”
“Sweet Caroline? Phew, that’s a babe if I ever saw one.”
“Charming,” I reply in a low tone. “Do you have her number or not?”
“Who’s askin’?”
I shake my head, searching for my inner patience. “Her daughter.”
“She has a daughter? Damn. She must have been 18 when she had you.”
“Just about. The number?”
There’s some rustling on the other end. “You got a pen?”
He reads me the number, and I thank him before hanging up and dialing the number he gave me.
“Hello?” For the first time in months, I hear my mom’s low, raspy voice. The sound of it sends an unexpected jolt of longing through me. I didn’t think I missed her until I heard her voice.
“Mom? Mom, it’s me.”
“Whitney? Oh, baby! How are you? It’s been too long, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, well, if you’d just get a cellphone and keep it, we could stay in touch.”
“You know I don’t like those things,” she says. “Government tracking you all the damn time.”
I sigh. She’s not wrong. “Yeah, I know. Listen, did you hear about Grandma?”
“Grandma who?”
“My grandmother. Your mom. Agnes Rhodes.”
“Where the hell did you hear that name?” she snaps.
“From her lawyer.”
“Why is she fuckin’ contacting you? You tell her to stay away from both of us.”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Why did I assume that Trent had managed to contact her about the will? “I didn’t talk to her, Mom. I talked to her lawyer. She passed away. She’s… gone.”
It’s silent on the other end.
“Mom? Are you still there?”
“She’s… what? No. No, she’s not.” She laughs, but the sound has no joy in it. “She’ll never die, trust me. Not before she?—”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really, really sorry.”
It’s quiet again.
“Are you okay?” I ask. I feel awful. “You really should call her lawyer. There’s a lot to settle with her estate and will. She left me a letter and a bunch of money… which, by the way, I’m married.”
“You’re what? What the hell is this? You call me to tell me my mom is dead and you’re freakin’ married?”
“You never even told me about them! Grandma told me that she tried to reach out to us. My whole life, we’ve had this family, this rich family, and I didn’t know a single thing about them.”
“You were better off, trust me.”
“Well now I’ll never know, thanks to you. I get that you want to be this free spirit, needing nothing and nobody. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you want nothing to do with me?—”
“Hey, that’s not fair?—”
“You know what? Forget it.Talk to you in six months, probably.”
“Whitney, baby?—”
I hang up the phone and exhale a shaky breath, frustrated. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m in a worse mood now than before. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so harsh on the phone. I’m the one who wanted to talk, but something about her just sets me off. I hate carrying around this resentment towards her, but I don’t know if she understood how hard my childhood was for me. I love her for being who she is, but I’m not a free spirit like her. I didn’t want to live on the road, to be untethered all the time.
Maybe it was naive of me to think I could handle all of this by myself. Maybe this whole thing — quitting my job, getting married, chasing a pipe dream — was a total mistake. I tossed all the stability and security that I worked so hard for right out the window, and where has it left me?
It’s not like this day can get any worse, so I might as well start drinking. I cross the kitchen to the freezer and take out my trusty bottle of Casamigos. A constant source of comfort for me in times of need.
Time to get drunk and wallow in self-pity.