Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
TORI
“ W hy don’t you just ask him?” Lily says as I sit in front of the mirror the following evening, applying makeup for my poetry event.
“I don’t know…” Cleo sounds unsure.
“What don’t you know?” Lily snaps.
“Easy, Lils. No need to bite my head off.”
Cleo is right. It’s rare for Lily to sound angry, but when she does, it comes like thunder.
“You’re the one trying to stand between her and a man she cares about.”
“That’s why I think backing off might be for the best,” Cleo says. “Look, Lily, you found the man of your dreams. I get that. You’re the one-in-a-million case where it worked out perfectly. But not everybody is going to be as lucky as you. And, well, Tori… You already care a lot. Too much, honestly. This was supposed to be fun.”
“Who said I care too much?” I hiss.
“Babe, you don’t have to say it.”
She’s right. I’ve known these girls for far too long to be able to hide my true feelings from them.
“Why would the name of his nephew be in quotes? Why wouldn’t he have any texts?”
“Oh, gosh,” Lily says. “Next, you’re going to say you think he arranged to save you from that Damien freak?”
“Well…”
“Tori,” Lily says firmly. “All that stuff with your mom has made you doubt every little thing that happens. I’m sorry, but that’s a fact. I think you owe it to yourself to ask him.”
“Maybe Cleo’s right. Maybe I’m too young to care this fast,” I whisper.
“You’ve always been an old soul,” Lily says.
After our latest group call ends, I think about what Lily said. She’s right. I even told Alex the same thing early on in our texting. I stand in front of the mirror, brushing down my denim overalls.
When I walk into the hallway, Mom is waiting for me, wringing her hands in front of her. We haven’t spoken since last night when she dropped the bombshell. Damien’s attention might not be organic. It might be a warped form of revenge for his dad, who my mom cheated on.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“Out.”
“Is that a good idea?”
When I try to push past her, she touches my arm. “Hey, Tori.”
I turn reluctantly.
“Can I say something?”
Her voice is so vulnerable, bordering on desperate, I can’t tell her no. When I nod, she goes on.
“I know I haven’t been the best mom since your dad passed away. I drank too much and had too many boyfriends. I know I’m not perfect. But I love you, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to a busy poetry slam night on your own…”
I gasp. “How do you know about that?”
“I found a flyer a few months ago. It explains why you sometimes sneak out. At first, I thought you were going on dates. But then I found one of your notebooks, too. I’m right, aren’t I?”
My cheeks burn as I look at the floor. “Maybe.”
“Hey.” She touches my chin and guides my gaze to hers. “This is nothing to be embarrassed about. This is something to be proud of, in fact. Just let me come with you, please. When you’re at work, with all those people and Rowan watching you like a hawk, that’s one thing. But this is something else. Please let me come. Please .”
Her voice trembles. It’s as if she wants to make up for every missed opportunity that passed us by when I was a kid.
“Oh, Mom, come here.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my embrace. She hugs me tightly, desperately, making me feel like the world’s worst daughter. We’re the only family each other has got. We need to make an effort.
“I’ve never had someone I know watch one of my performances,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. I’ll hide in the crowd.”
I swallow. “Okay. We should get going.”
“Let me call us a cab. My treat.”
Moving into the living room, I sit on the couch, taking out my phone. My nerves always sizzle before a show, but somehow, this is even worse. It’s not even the idea that Damien might appear—though the threat of that psycho is constantly looming—but the fact that Mom will hear my words.
I’ve been scrawling in my special notebook all day. Despite my tangled emotions regarding Alex, that notebook is special. And my body is still aching from what we did last night.
My phone vibrates.
Alex: Evening, gorgeous. I’ve just finished taking Elliot to the archery range. He loved it. He’s started calling himself ‘LEGO-las’ because he loves LEGOs and the Lord of the Rings character so much. Good luck tonight. I wish I could see it.
“Is something wrong?” Mom asks.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You look simultaneously angry and excited. It’s a very Tori expression.”
I chuckle. Things might be tense between Mom and me, but they’re never completely shattered. “Remember that guy I told you about? He wants to see my performance tonight.”
“This is the guy who saved you, right? But you think he might’ve lied about having a nephew.”
“It sounds nuts when you say it out loud.”
Mom’s expression softens. “No, Tori, it doesn’t. It sounds like the appropriate response to the example I’ve set. On that note, by the way, I ended things with my Tinder fling before they even began. This stuff about the Kents, Damien, and his dad—I think I need a cooling-off period.”
“That’s mature, Mom,” I say, shocked and pleased. “Really mature.”
She smiles. “Thanks. But that doesn’t mean the same needs to apply to you. Why not let him come to the performance?”
“Because he might be a liar, a manipulator.”
“I think you’re using this as a defense mechanism,” Mom says sagely. “I think I’ve shown you such a terrible, twisted example of dating that you refuse to believe that real love exists. So you’ve built this whole story up in your head so you don’t have to deal with how you feel.”
Mom’s speech reminds me that she was studying psychology before Dad passed. She wasn’t always this wild wine-drinking woman leaping from fling to fling.
“You could be right,” I admit. “ Could be.”
“Invite him,” Mom says. “Then tell him what’s been on your mind.”
“But what if you’re right? If I’m wrong, and he’s not a liar, I’ll have to date him.”
“Good. I want you to be happy,” she says, smiling widely.
“Dating doesn’t end happily, though, does it, Mom?”
That’s petty, Tori. The thing is, it’s also true .
“I started this thinking I could keep it casual,” I say. “That was the whole point—some casual fun. I’m not looking for love. There’s a reason I’ve never dated before. I don’t care. I don’t need it. I’ve got my work. I’ve got my poetry. I’ve got my friends. That’s enough to keep me busy.”
“But don’t you want more from life, angel, than to keep busy? Don’t you want to live?”
I bite my lip, looking down at my phone.
Tori: Are you sure you want to come? A lot of people find poetry slams lame and cringy. Obviously, I’m not one of them, but I know that the stigma is out there.
Alex: I’m positive. First, because I want to see you showcase your talent, and second, because I’m your Valentine’s guardian angel, remember? I don’t want you to go alone.
Tori: I’m not going to be alone now. Mom is coming with me.
Alex: That’s great! I’m glad you two have reconciled.
Tori: I wouldn’t go that far, but we’re trying. My performance tonight… let’s just say I find my greatest inspiration from my real life. Usually, this means talking about my dad, my hopes for the future, or even funny stories from the bar.
Alex: What about your dad?
I swallow. Here we go again, a voyage into the not-even-a-little-bit-casual.
Tori: He and Mom were in the middle of a nasty divorce when he got cancer and died shortly after. I guess you could say it left an impression on me.
Alex: Of course. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Tori.
I swallow.
Tori: Listen, this is going to sound nuts, but can you send me a photo of your nephew to prove he’s real?
I stare at the message and then delete it. I feel like a crazy person.
“Ride’s here,” Mom says.
Tori: You can come. I’ll send you the address. But please don’t expect fireworks.
Alex: All I expect is to see you doing something you love, beautiful. That’s more than enough for me.
Despite my better judgment, I smile as warmth floods my body.