Chapter 95 Good to Be Bad
Good to Be Bad
Tessa
It took me nearly a week to get ahold of my mom even though I'd been calling her at least twice a day.
And when she finally did answer, she sounded overly relaxed, like she'd just returned from the beach. If this was the case, I didn't even want to know. I was angry enough already.
After getting past the hellos, I cut straight to the chase. "I'm calling about my rent. You know, for my place in Chicago?"
With a tittering little laugh, she said, "I know where you live. You don't need to explain."
It was funny in a sad, pathetic way. In fact, she didn't know where I lived – not anymore, because I was still here on the island, which was feeling a lot more like home. "Yeah, well, about that—"
"And before you ask, I can't spare anything to help. I just returned from the spa, and it's wiped me clean out."
Oh, please. What she really meant was that she'd wiped Delaney out, blowing money that wasn't even hers on yet another extravagant vacation.
I'd warned Delaney to secure her account, but I'd failed at making amends. Instead, I'd had the dubious delight of telling Maisie that my sister had called, leaving no message, no phone number, and no forwarding address.
I told Mom, "I don't want your money. I just want to know why you told me you paid my rent."
"Me? I never said that."
"Sure you did. Remember? You said you paid it on your way to Paris."
"No," she said in her overly patient voice. "I told you it was settled and not to worry."
"But you made it sound like you settled it." And with Delaney's money, too. But I didn't say that part, because the waters were muddy enough already.
And now Mom was saying, "No, I checked on it, which honestly was quite a bit out of the way. Do you know what Chicago traffic's like?"
I did know, because I'd spent several years fighting it. As I recalled my time in the big city, I couldn't help but marvel at how different it was here, where the only traffic came from bicycles and horses.
I exhaled slowly. "I'm just saying, you made it sound like you were the one who wrote the check."
"Me?" she laughed. "Where would I find that kind of money?"
Funny, she always found money for clothes and vacations. "So, do you know who paid my rent?"
With a little laugh, she asked, "If you don't know, how should I?"
In fact, I did know – now, at least. But did she? I tried not to sigh. "Because you were in Chicago, and I wasn't."
"Hey, I can't help it if your job sent you to Miami." She brightened. "Are you getting a nice tan? You owe me something sweet, remember?"
In a flash, scenes from my childhood flashed into view – me trying to please while Delaney tried to rebel. It was funny in a way. The more each of us tried, the further we strayed into different corners, not quite enemies but not quite friends.
Suddenly, I was sick of it all, especially the favoritism which I'd done little to discourage.
I heard myself say, "Oh, that? Sorry, I never made it to Miami."
My mom paused. "What?"
"Yeah, I got fired. Didn't I mention it?"
"Fired for what?"
"Um…for dry-humping a paramedic?"
Sounding scandalized, she said, "You are joking, right?"
"Maybe a little," I admitted.
She breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Thank God."
"I wasn't officially fired until I grabbed all that liquor."
"Liquor!" she gasped.
"Yeah, a whole bunch of it. I brought my own bag."
"Have you lost your senses?"
"Probably."
Her tone grew accusing. "Your sister never looted liquor."
"Yeah, well…Delaney and I are a lot different, you know."
"You can say that again."
I smiled. It felt surprisingly good to be so bad. No wonder Delaney had done it. But more to the point, maybe this would help even out the scales.
Mom demanded, "And when are you coming home?"
"You mean to Chicago? I dunno…maybe never?" Until I actually said it, I hadn't realized it was true. But now that it was out there, I saw no reason to take it back.
Since quitting my barista job, I'd been working really hard to stay busy – desperate to earn some cash and even more desperate to forget Ryder.
I'd been a failure on both counts, especially after confirming with the property management company that Ryder had, in fact, paid my rent – and this was before we started dating. I even had a copy of the check sporting Ryder's signature.
And to think, he hadn't said a single word – which meant I had never thanked him.
Regardless, I would pay him back. I just had to come up with the money. And then, I could mail it to him, nice and neat, on a check of my own with a polite note, thanking him for the loan.
Not a gift.
Not charity.
Just a loan.
By the time my mom and I hung up, she was blustering, and I was calm – but not so calm that my heart didn't hurt whenever I thought of Ryder, wondering where he was and what he was doing.