SYLAS
I could be in a submarine, smack in the middle of Point Nemo and somehow, someway, my mother would find a way to reach me.
I’d been avoiding her calls and text messages, but I couldn’t anymore. I knew if I kept dodging her, she’d get on a helicopter and fly out to see me. I wouldn’t put it past her. I wish she were like my father, who hasn’t talked to me in the five months since he found out about the trade.
Maybe a few years ago, his cold shoulder would have messed with my head. I’d be afraid of the possibility of getting blacklisted or God knows what, but since his silent treatment started in March, I’ve felt less stressed.
“You know, Florence is single again,” Mom says after I turn down the idea of being set up with Daphne, a model everyone is obsessing over.
“I wasn’t interested all those years ago, and I’m not interested now.”
I step out onto the terrace, dropping on one of my chairs and picking up the pack of cigarettes I left out here. We’ve been on the phone for an hour and all our conversation has revolved around is her job, updates on my condo’s decor, and finding me someone to settle down with.
So I desperately need this cigarette, but before I light one up, a slew of notifications pops up on my phone, followed by a phone call.
Marc: You home?
Marc: Why aren’t you picking up your phone?
Marc: Answer the fucking phone!!
Marc: I’m heading over. You better be home
“Mom, I need to let you go. Marc is calling me and it seems urgent. Love you, bye.”
“Wait, don’t hang up,” she rushes out.
I roll my eyes, stuffing the stick in my mouth, but that’s all I do. “Yeah?”
“You’re not going to be young forever. I know you hate talking about this, but think about it. I’d love to be a grandmother one day, and I just know you’d be an amazing father.”
I never thought about kids, not until Anna Lopez, but since I fucked it all up, I have no desire to have them.
Swallowing my frustration, I flick the flame on the tip, inhale, and slump back in my chair. “I told you I don’t want kids.”
She gasps, appalled by my statement. “You’re almost twenty-eight. You still have time.”
I roll my eyes so hard it makes my head hurt. I draw the stick out, blow out a cloud of smoke into the hot August air, and stuff it back into my mouth.
“We’ve been over this. I don’t want them, and I never will.”
“That’s so unfair. I can’t believe this.” She scoffs, her disappointment ringing loud and clear. “First Thea and now you?”
Leave it to her to be selfish. It’s not that Thea can’t have kids, but she has endometriosis.
My phone buzzes in my palm. Another text message from my best friend.
Marc: You better be home. I’m almost there.
Marc: I hope you have alcohol. We’re going to need it!
“I need to go.” I tilt my head from one side to the other until I hear a soft crack.
With my mother, I’ve learned to just let it be. She’ll throw a fit one way or another.
“If you change your mind about Florence, let me know. I’m sure she’d love to see you. Love you. Bye, sweetie.”
She wouldn’t. I found out a few months after Anna and I started dating that she was never interested in me. Like my mother, hers had been trying to set us up. It obviously didn’t work, but now that we’re both single, they’re trying hard to make something between us happen.
I hang up and smoke until Marc shows up. I’m stepping back inside when he’s dashing out of the elevator with a paper bag filled with who knows what.
“I’m going to need you to sit down.” The words spill out of his mouth so clustered together, I almost don’t catch what he said.
“What? Why? Why are you blowing up my phone like that? But also, thanks. Mom wouldn’t stop—”
“Sylas, shut the fuck up and sit down.” He sets the bag down and opens my fridge, rummaging through it and huffing out a disgruntled breath. “You don’t have alcohol?”
“You’re freaking me out. What the hell is wrong with you?” I stand behind my kitchen island, watching him rifle through my cabinets. “I don’t have anything.”
“Seriously?” He spins, pinning me with an exasperated look. “You’ve been living here for how long and—”
“I need you to calm down and tell me what’s wrong. I have a massive headache, and I can’t deal with you acting like this. I already agreed to go out to Neptune again next week.”
Marc stares at me for a long moment, frantic expression softening as his eyes roam over my face. He stands on the other side of the island and braces his palms on the edge of it. “If you had one more chance to speak with Anna, would you?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate to answer. “You know I would. Why?”
I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what I would say to her if I ever saw her again.
Apologizing for starters, dropping to my knees, begging for forgiveness, and then doing it all over again.
I’m not delusional enough to believe she’d forgive me, but I’d spend the rest of my life trying if it meant I’d get to be around her again.
“Well, I have good news. She’s here.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s here?”
“Anna. She’s here in Boston.”
My heart beats out of control at the sound of her name. It always does. It always has.
“Stop fucking with me.”
I hold my breath, desperately hoping he’s lying, but I know he’s not. He looks at me with so much sincerity.
White noise, it all becomes that. His lips move, but I can’t make out what he’s saying as I’m flooded with my last memory of her.
“Let me in, please.” Anna’s voice breaks.
“I have. I always have. I don’t know what else you want from me.” My hands tremble at my sides, but I quickly stuff them in my pockets before she can see.
“To let me in. To talk to me. To just open up to me and—”
My head pounds viciously, in time with my heart. “How can I when we’re miles away from each other? I don’t ever see you. I hardly speak to you. You’re only here because I got hurt.”
She looks at me as if I slapped her. “I thought you understood. I thought—”
“And I do, Anna. I do.” My vision doubles. Fuck, don’t throw up. “I’m proud of you. I’m happy you’re getting all these opportunities. You deserve them. But…” I trail off.
“Say it.” Her nostrils flare, eyes glossing over.
“We should break up.”
“Sorry, what? Are you fucking with me?” I blink out of the memory.
“I told you we would need drinks.” He scrubs a palm over his beard. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine. How do you know she’s here?”
“She owns Everything Everything.”
I think back to Harlow’s comment at the end of our last meeting and shake my head, disbelieving. “H-how do you know?”
“I went to the bakery because Gianna kept telling me how good it was. And she was there.” He slips his palm into his pocket and draws out a few business cards, sliding one my way.
I pick it up, reading everything the tiny card says, and feel an immense wave of pride. She did it. And of course she’d name it Everything Everything. Her name and another girl’s name is at the bottom, along with their socials, phone number, and email.
Anna did it.
“I know you’re probably dying to talk to her, but before you start making any decisions, I brought up your name and she didn’t want to hear it.”
“Oh…”
“So if you plan to see her, be sure it’s what you really want.”
“No, maybe I should stay away.” My brain is fighting against the words I spoke out loud, but she’s doing better without me. She doesn’t need me. I’ll only fuck up her life. “Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do.”