Chapter 4 Larissa
“You don’t have to scream at me,” I say, wincing.
“I’m not screaming,” my mother insists.
Her voice screeches through my car’s speakers. I wince as my ears threaten to bleed.
“It might help if you held the phone to your ear and didn’t put it on speakerphone while you do … whatever it is you’re doing,” I tell her.
She groans. The sound mixes with crumpled cellophane.
“You have me on speakerphone,” she says. “What’s the difference?”
“I’m driving. I’m being responsible. You’re supposed to use the speakerphone in this situation.”
The loudest static sounds through the car again as my mother makes a show of picking up the phone. I can’t make out a series of muted protests and mumbles—which is probably a good thing for both of us.
“There,” she says, her voice clearer and, thankfully, quieter. “Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I imagine the smile I hear in her voice and the way it touches both of her ears when she’s happy. It’s a look I don’t often see on her. Sure, she grins, and with her chipper voice, she can sell the idea she’s having a great time in life.
Mom is a gifted actress.
She’s exchanged the exuberance of life for an overbooked calendar. The sparkle in her eyes that I saw when I was a little girl has been replaced with … something else.
Jack, my stepfather, provides well for her.
He’s a co-owner of the Savannah Seahawks, a minor league baseball team, and treats my mother to a lifestyle that most women only dream about.
It’s not like she’s stressing about making ends meet.
But she can’t slow down long enough to enjoy the life she has, and that bothers me.
I truly believe she adds more to her plate when I suggest she ease up.
“What are you doing, anyway?” I ask.
“Hang on a second.”
I blow out a breath.
My head still hurts a little from the wine I drank last night in a futile attempt to sleep. My mind, and body, raced until the sun came up, thanks to my fake boyfriend.
The mixture of greens and golds in Hollis’s eyes is unforgettable. I can’t stop thinking about his smile either and how it sent a zap of electricity up my spine. The way his voice wrapped itself around my name and the way his hands did the same to my waist—it was too much to forget that quickly.
I know it’s all because it was something new and exciting. That and Hollis is downright gorgeous. But even with that in mind, it was impossible to set him aside mentally and get things back in regular working order.
“I just had cosmetics delivered, and they pack the tiny boxes in boatloads of paper. You could fill a full-sized boat with this stuff. It’s such a waste.”
“So, stop shopping at those stores. Or may I suggest that you drive to the mall, walk inside, and buy your stuff yourself instead of shopping online?”
She gasps.
“I know. My bad. Forget I ever went there,” I tease.
“You better hope I do if you want to stay in my will,” she says, distracted. Finally, the crumpling stops. “There. Done. Now, what are you doing today?”
“Driving to Aunt Siggy’s.”
“What are you going to do over there?” she asks.
“She wanted me to come by and help her choose a few things for the New Year’s Party. They’re behind schedule, and you know how much she hates that.”
I make a right-hand turn onto a tree-lined street.
It’s one of my favorite streets in Savannah.
Large southern oaks stand guard at equidistant intervals, their branches heavy with spectacular doses of moss.
The late morning sunlight streams through like the effect of a filter, creating the most beautiful and soothing environment.
My dad’s brother, my uncle Rodney, and his wife, Aunt Siggy, have lived here my entire life. I used to beg my mom to let me come to play on the weekends and every day in the summer. Not only was their youngest son, Boone, my buddy, but their next-door neighbor was Bellamy.
It was the perfect situation. Lucky for me, Mom and Siggy maintained their friendship after Mom and Dad divorced when I was eight.
“I bet she’s not behind for long,” Mom laughs, knowing exactly how her former sister-in-law operates.
“I bet not either.”
“When does her new line launch?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe around Valentine’s Day, I think?”
I glance down at the delicate gold rope ring wrapped around my pointer finger. It has chips of sapphires and rubies, my two favorite gemstones. Aunt Siggy had it made especially for me on my twenty-first birthday.
It doesn’t suck to have an aunt that’s a jewelry designer. It definitely doesn’t suck to have one that has five sons and one niece. Me.
“It’s going to be great though,” I say. “I’ve seen a few pieces and they’re incredible. She went super feminine with this collection. Rose gold. Lots of sparkle.”
“She’ll kill it. She always does.”
“Yeah.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night then?” All of a sudden, her voice gets louder again, and I know I’m back on speakerphone. “The fundraiser starts at eight, but Jack wants to be there at seven. You could show up around seven-thirty, if you want.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot.
Most people look forward to the week between Christmas and the New Year. It’s filled with family, food, and free time to vacation or just hang out at home and read.
But me? Nope. It’s one of the busiest weeks of my life.
The week between the holidays is always crammed with end-of-the-year engagements that I’m somehow obligated to attend.
I don’t mind them, usually. Jack’s sports events are always fun and full of a ton of eye candy.
My father’s side of the family has get-togethers and dinners and is way more intimate and familial.
But this year? This year, I’m not feeling it.
This year, something feels off and I’d rather stay at home with hot cocoa and Hallmark.
“Do I have a choice?” I ask my mom.
“Is that a serious question?”
“I don’t know. Was yours?”
I can almost hear her eyes roll. “Larissa,” she says with an exhaustion that is more dramatic than necessary. “You act like it’s not a terrific opportunity for you to come and rub shoulders with these people.”
“Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“The sound of my eyes rolling into the back of my head,” I say.
It’s a joke that the audience didn’t appreciate.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she huffs.
I sigh. “That means that you are obligated to attend these things. You’re Jack’s wife. It’s his schtick. I’m his stepdaughter—”
“There are no steps in our family, Larissa.”
I regrip the wheel and say a silent prayer for guidance.
“Has it ever occurred to you that being invited to these things is an opportunity that many people your age would kill to have? These are your future clients, Larissa. These are the people with giant checkbooks that will want their summer homes and expansive landscapes refreshed and beautified. They’ll be looking for a landscape architect and having your name on the tip of their tongue once you graduate in May is how you network. Use this to your advantage, darling.”
“I’m going to have years to build a business. I might not even want to have my business in Savannah,” I say, although that’s not true. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. “I might not want to work on residences and estates.”
“You’re being difficult.”
Learned from the best.
“I do expect you to be there tomorrow night,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You didn’t mention that you were not going to attend, and you come every year. So, show up with your date, please.”
I pilot the car around a roundabout while trying to determine how to handle my mother. Usually, I would change the subject and never actually address it to avoid an argument. But Bellamy’s voice keeps rolling around inside my head.
Stand your ground.
“If I do attend,” I say, “I will be coming alone.”
Her displeasure is evident. “You cannot come alone.”
“And why not?”
“For one, Jack bought you two tickets. Those are not cheap.”
“No one asked if I wanted them.”
She groans. “Larissa, cooperate with me, please.”
“I’ll tell people my date got sick. They’d probably be grateful I came alone rather than bringing an ill guest.”
“Can you just bring somebody so you aren’t sitting by an empty plate?”
I squint into the sunlight. “Why does the idea of sitting alone bother you so much? It doesn’t bother me. I’m great company. You should hear the conversations I have with myself.”
She takes a long, deep breath. I can imagine her looking at the ceiling with a hand on her neck, mumbling something quietly about God giving her strength.
“Can we not do this right now?” she asks. “I have a ton of things to do and arguing with my baby girl is not on the agenda today.”
“I’m not arguing with you. I’m just telling you I’ll come despite not agreeing beforehand like an adult should have the right to do. But I’m coming alone.”
“I don’t understand you,” she says, her voice clipped.
“That is obvious.”
“All I do is try to help you. I try to give you every advantage in the world. I get you tickets to events, invitations to banquets—I surround you with men who could take care of you someday and—”
My eyes about bulge out of their sockets. “Whoa. Hold up. I don’t know why you think I need taken care of.”
“Because you do. It’s not a personal fault. It’s the way life works.”
There aren’t words in the English language I can string together to accurately display my outrage and shock.
“I want you to have a great life,” she says, quieter this time. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I have.”
“I’m twenty-four. My job is to live my life and make mistakes so I can learn from them. I think maybe you didn’t realize that when you were young.”
She goes back to rumpling paper and I know she’s mentally checked out of this line of questioning. It’s what happens when a topic even remotely comes close to touching her past.
“I worry that you’re going to end up alone someday if you don’t start being serious about dating,” she says.
“Would being alone truly be the end of the world?”