Chapter 22 Eliza
Eliza
Maybe he got absorbed in his work. Reed’s the type to lose track of time when he’s focused on his trees. I tell myself this is normal, that entrepreneurs get tunnel vision, that I’m overreacting.
But the damaged part of my brain keeps whispering that rich boys always bail once they get what they want.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it eagerly, hoping to see Reed’s name. Instead, it’s another text from my mother.
Can’t wait to see my successful girls! I have so many exciting opportunities to share. What’s your address, sweetie? I want to surprise you!
I stare at the message, my stomach clenching. Emma wanting my address is never good news. She only shows up when she needs something, and the fact that she’s being coy about it means whatever she’s planning is big.
I power off my phone and shove it in a drawer. If Reed wants to ignore me, fine. If my mother wants to play games, she can do it without me.
I throw myself into evening chores with more aggression than necessary, mucking stalls and refilling water troughs as if I’m being watched by someone other than my animals. Chiron stares with what might be concern, or maybe judgment. Hard to tell with donkeys.
For dinner, I eat three cookies from the batch Reed and I made together, standing at my kitchen counter in the dark.
If I turn my phone on, I might have a call from Reed, but I also might not and so I just keep eating cookies until my stomach hurts.
The butter and vanilla taste like yesterday’s happiness, before everything got complicated.
I’m ankle-deep in morning goat manure, trying to work out my frustration through physical labor, when I hear a car door slam in my driveway. My heart leaps—maybe Reed came to explain himself.
But when I look up, it’s not Reed’s hybrid. It’s a silver taxi, and stepping out of it with a giant suitcase and an armload of boxes labeled “Diamond Elite Wellness Journey” is Emma Storm.
My mother looks exactly the same as she did six months ago when she tried to convince Eden to sell her beeswax products through some sketchy multilevel marketing scheme. Blonde hair in a perfect blowout, expensive-looking coat, and that smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
“Eliza, sweetheart!” she calls, waving like we’re old friends instead of a mother and daughter who haven’t spoken since June. “Surprise!”
I set down my pitchfork and walk toward her, hyperaware of the manure on my boots and the contrast between her polished appearance and my work clothes. “How did you find me?”
Emma laughs as the taxi bumps down my lane.
Mom’s giggle is the tinkling sound she makes when she’s pleased with her own cleverness.
“Property records, darling. Amazing what you can find online these days. I tried calling your sisters, but they seem to have changed their numbers.” Her smile falters. “Can you imagine?”
I don’t need to imagine. In fact, I know exactly why my sisters stopped taking her calls. The last time my mother showed up, she kicked over Eden’s beehives and melted her stockpile of wax. Everyone but me did a good job setting boundaries.
“What are you doing here, Emma?”
“Emma?” She presses a hand to her chest in mock hurt. “I’m your mother, darling. I’m here because I have the most incredible opportunity to share with you.” She sweeps a Vanna-White-style wrist, gesturing at the product boxes lined on my lane.
I frown, but resist stabbing them with my pitchfork.
“Come on,” Mom says, grabbing her suitcase. “Let’s get inside, so I can tell you all about Diamond Elite Wellness Journey. You’re going to love this.”
I don’t move. “You can’t just show up here unannounced.”
“Of course I can. I’m your mother.” Emma looks around my property with an expression somewhere between amusement and pity. “This is charming, Eliza. Very rustic. Like a hobby farm.”
The casual insult hits exactly where she intended. “This is my business.”
“Of course it is, sweetie.” She pats my arm. “It’s adorable, but wait until you hear about the income potential with Diamond Elite. We’re talking about real money here.”
She pushes past me toward the house, and I follow, feeling like a child again. This is how it always goes with Emma—she sweeps in, takes control, and suddenly I’m reacting instead of acting.
Inside, she sets down her suitcase and immediately starts commenting on everything. “Oh, this is cozy. Very… minimalist. Are you going for that shabby-chic look on purpose?”
I scowl, noting the difference between her response and my sisters, who noticed my decorations, and Reed, who seemed charmed by my candles. “It’s just how I live.”
“Well, that’s about to change.” Emma opens one of her boxes and pulls out glossy brochures and sample products. “Diamond Elite Wellness Journey is going to revolutionize how we think about health and financial freedom. And you, my dear daughter, are going to be one of my first distributors.”
“I’m not interested in—”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve always been my entrepreneur.” She spreads brochures across my coffee table, marking her territory. “This is exactly what you need to take your little animal service to the next level.”
I need something to do with my hands to avoid wringing her neck, so I turn on my phone. It starts buzzing immediately with missed messages. Emma’s eyes immediately dart toward the sound.
“Aren’t you going to check that? It might be important.”
I glance down, hoping it’s one of my sisters texting back about Emma’s arrival. Instead, it’s Reed.
Sorry for disappearing yesterday. Got caught up in a work emergency, but that’s no excuse. On my way over with apology cocoa and possibly mistletoe for next year’s tree repertoire. Hope that’s okay.
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by panic. Reed cannot meet my mother. Not like this, not when she’s in full pyramid scheme mode, and I’m barely keeping my head above water.
“Who’s that?” Emma asks, noting my expression. “You’re smiling. Is it a boy?”
“It’s nobody.”
But Emma’s already moving closer, trying to read over my shoulder. “Reed Nicholas? As in Nicholas Industries?”
Shit. “How do you know about Nicholas Industries?”
Emma’s face lights up and I can practically see her spinning plans. “Darling, everyone in Pittsburgh knows about Nicholas Industries. They’re major developers, big money.” She grabs my arm. “Are you dating Charles Nicholas’s son?”
I shake my head. She cannot have this. Not Reed. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? Eliza, this is incredible. Do you know what this means for Diamond Elite? If we could get Nicholas Industries to invest, or even just endorse our line—”
“Stop.” I pull my arm away. “It’s not like that.”
“Not like what? Sweetie, opportunity doesn’t knock twice. If you’re involved with someone from one of Pittsburgh’s most prominent families—”
“Reed isn’t like that. And neither am I.”
Emma stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Not like what? Ambitious? Smart enough to leverage your connections?”
“Manipulative.”
The word hangs between us, sharp and cutting. Emma’s smile falters for the first time since she arrived.
“That’s a horrible thing to say to your mother.”
“Is it? You showed up here planning to use me for something, and now you want to use my relationship, too.”
“I want to help you succeed.”
“By selling potions and oils to my friends? By turning my boyfriend into a business contact?” I shake my head. “That’s not help, Emma. That’s using people.”
For a moment, Emma looks genuinely hurt.
Then her expression hardens into something more familiar—the look she gets when people don’t play along with her schemes.
The look she’d give when we couldn’t quite manage to keep social services away when we were living in a car between evictions, for instance.
“Fine,” she says. “I can see you’re not in the right headspace to discuss this rationally. I’ll just stay in my room until you come around.”
“You’ll what?”
“My room, silly. I’m sure there’s more than one in this old farmhouse. I don’t have anywhere else to go, and we’re family.” She settles onto my couch like she’s planning to nest. “It’ll be fun. Like a girls’ trip.”
“Emma, you can’t just—”
“I’m your mother, Eliza.” For just a second, her mask slips, and I see something vulnerable underneath. “Please.”
The please gets me, just like it always does. Despite everything, despite knowing better, part of me wants to be the daughter who can fix things for her.
But I think about Reed, about the therapy promise we made, about the boundaries my sisters have learned to set.
“Okay,” I say finally. “You can stay, but there are rules.”
Emma brightens. “Of course.”
“No pyramid schemes in my house. No using my relationships for business contacts. And this is temporary—one week, maximum.”
“One week?” Emma’s smile falters. “Sweetie, it’s the holidays. That’s hardly enough time to—”
“One week, or you can find somewhere else to stay.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. Finally, Emma nods. “Fine. One week.”
I grab my phone and start texting:
STORM CLOUD GROUP CHAT
EMERGENCY. Mom is here with MLM boxes and needs a place to stay. Send help.
Then I reply to Reed.
Rain check on cocoa? Family emergency. Will explain later.
As I hit send, I catch Emma watching me with that calculating expression I know all too well. One week feels like a lifetime.
I have a sinking feeling even that might be too long.