Chapter 31 Allie
ALLIE
You know that feeling that everything is too perfect, and you’re just waiting for it all to go wrong?
As humans, we’re conditioned to believe that every aspect of life is temporary.
We’re mortals, so we only have so long on this earth.
It’s a depressing thought, but it’s reality.
Being human also means we’re vulnerable to whatever life feels like throwing at us.
So when we’re happy and healthy and the sun is shining down on us, we know it’s only a matter of time before the storm comes.
That’s how I feel right now. Work is amazing.
Ashton has given me free rein to write not only about local food and beverage happenings, but he also gave me a second byline, working with Dan to write about food culture around the world.
Dan has traveled just about everywhere and I’ve never left the Northeast, so he does most of the heavy lifting with writing and anecdotes, but I’ve been contributing my expertise on the culinary side of things.
I’m choosing to believe Ashton gave me this because he believes in my skills as a writer, and not because we’re sleeping together. A lot.
I haven’t actually slept at his house since the night before the concert, a little over two weeks ago.
That whole weekend was intense, and I needed to dial it back a bit.
When I told him I didn’t want to spend the night again, he was disappointed, but we made a compromise.
We could still kiss. Honestly, it was a dumb rule anyway.
Kissing is a part of sex, and we have sex, so I don’t see what the problem is.
Things with Ashton have been easy. We still drive each other crazy and argue daily, but it’s just who we are.
Everyone outside of work knows we’re seeing each other if that’s what you want to call it.
We haven’t told anyone at the paper except for Skylar, and that was less of us telling her and more of her just knowing.
In general, we’re keeping it simple. We haven’t gone out on any more dates outside of our homes, but I do make him dinner most nights.
I’ve always cooked for two, whether it was my mom or Emory, so it’s been nice to be able to cook more elaborate recipes again.
It’s hard to justify making Coq au vin for one.
Even Craig is completely out of the picture.
He tried to reopen Willow & Thyme, but everyone was scared to go back, so he closed it permanently.
There was always going to be a sign in the window that there was a health code violation, but people may have assumed it was mislabeling of containers or improper storage of utensils.
My article exposed exactly what the violation was, and I guess people tend not to like the idea of dining with rodents.
Last I heard, he moved to California to “start over.” Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson.
Still, as I drive home from work today, I can’t help the nagging feeling that it’s all going to come crashing down, and when my phone chimes with an incoming message, my heart sinks.
I don’t know why, because it could be anything.
It could be Ashton telling me his sister decided to reschedule their dinner and he’s free to hang out now.
Or it could be Emory telling me she thinks she’s in labor again.
She’s been having Braxton-Hicks like crazy and has texted me at least once a day, convinced she’s having the baby.
But deep down in my soul, I know it’s neither of them.
When I stop at a light and pick up my phone, seeing ‘Mom’ staring back at me, I know this is it.
This is what I’ve been dreading. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to check in on her in the last week, and guilt crawls up my belly and gnaws at my chest at the thought.
I pull over to the side of the road, not wanting to wait until I get home to read it.
Mom: I’m so sorry
I immediately tap on her number. It rings several times before she answers.
“Sweet pea,” she sniffles.
“Mom? What happened?”
“I thought it would be different.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard her say those exact words.
“Thought what would be different?” I press the speakerphone button and place the phone in a cup holder.
“He promised to take care of me. All he wanted was a companion. She promised me it would be different.”
He promised? She promised? What is she talking about?
“Mom, you’re not making any sense.”
“You’re gonna hate me.”
“I won’t, Mom. Tell me what’s going on.” I pull off to the side of the road and swerve my car around, heading toward Rocky Falls.
“I took Celeste’s deal,” she whispers, and disappointment claws at my throat.
“Listen to me, Mom. Are you in danger right now?” I want to know exactly what I’m walking into.
“No,” she whispers.
“Did you—” I can’t even get the words out. “Like last time?”
“No, he just left.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
“You don’t have to come—”
“Mom!” I scream. “Lock your door and do not go anywhere.”
“Alright,” she finally relents, and I end the call, not bothering to say goodbye.
I speed down the dimly lit back roads, praying that I don’t get pulled over, and breathe a sigh of relief when I finally arrive at my mom’s house.
It’s been months since I’ve been here, and it never gets any easier.
Everything in the yard is in disrepair. The small fence around the perimeter is rotted and falling over.
The grass is overgrown and littered with weeds.
Even though our house was small, she always kept things nice growing up, but I guess she stopped caring after I moved away for college.
She may not have taught me how to cook like I told Theo Aldridge all those months ago, but she did teach me how to grow my own flowers and vegetables.
Now when I pass by our little garden, neglected and decomposing, I’m reminded of the thought I had earlier. All good things come to an end.
I knock on the old wooden door, dusty pink paint chipping off the edges.
We painted it together on one of her rare days off from work when I was ten.
She comes to the door, and I have to hold onto the frame to keep my knees from giving out.
Her face is blotchy from crying, her lip is split and bleeding, and there’s a purple bruise blooming over her right eye.
“Mama.” I can’t contain the tears anymore. They fall freely down my face as I wrap my arms around her, and she winces. Stepping back, I notice another bruise forming on her collarbone. It’s in the shape of fingerprints.
“He thought I was cheating on him,” she whimpers, and my hands ball into fists. “I wasn’t. I was talking to the realtor to see how much I could get for this house. Mark asked me to move in with him, but I wanted to have a little of my own money set aside in case…” she trails off.
I walk into the house and motion for her to sit on the couch. I’m relieved to see the house is in much better condition than the outside, but I do notice glass all over the floor in the small kitchen area.
“I was talking to a realtor in secret,” she goes on.
“Mark thought something was up and went through my phone. He misunderstood our text conversation and thought I was meeting up with the man to cheat. He confronted me about it at his house and raised his voice at me, so I stormed out and took a cab home. He didn’t follow me out, so I thought he was giving us both space.
I was even relieved that maybe I had finally found a man who was capable of doing that. ”
My heart breaks knowing she had hope, only for it to be crushed.
“I was such a fool.” She shakes her head, her blonde waves brushing her shoulders.
“A few minutes after I got home, he stormed in here, and it startled me so bad I dropped the glass I was holding. It turns out he had been following me the whole time. He started demanding answers, and it scared me, so I threatened to call the police if he didn’t calm down.
He didn’t like that. He smashed my phone on the ground, and then he… ”
“It’s okay, Mama,” I assure her, rubbing my hand over her hair and wiping a tear from her eye with my thumb.
“He grabbed me by my throat and shoved me against the wall, and then he backhanded me. I was crying so hard I could barely see him. He punched me in the eye, and I braced myself, thinking he was going to keep hitting me, but then I heard his phone ring, and he just walked out.”
I bring her closer to me, holding her in my arms and rocking her back and forth like a baby while she sobs. “I’m such an idiot. How could I let this happen again? After last time?”
“He won’t get away with it,” I tell her.
“No, Allie. I can’t go to jail again. And you—” My heart breaks all over knowing that she thinks the only way to make sure he pays is to resort to violence that would get her locked up again. After all, the justice system failed her once. Why would she have any faith in it now?
“No, Mom,” I say. “You’re not going to prison. He is.”
It’s almost nine o’clock by the time we pull up the stamped concrete driveway.
I held my mother for hours while she cried in my arms. Then I got up and made the only thing she had in her kitchen—boxed Mac and Cheese—which she barely ate.
She was never a good cook. If it didn’t come from a can or a box, she didn’t know what to do with it.
I guess I was only half lying when I told Theo my mother inspired me to cook.
She didn’t teach me how, but it was her lack of skills that led to mine.
At some point, I got sick of frozen TV dinners, and I decided to learn how to do it myself.
I took out cookbooks from the library, and that’s when she agreed to grow a garden because seeds were cheaper than fresh fruit and vegetables.