Chapter 27 Lola
LOLA
It would be dramatic to say that I cried all the way down from the mountain, but it would also be true. I had to pull over several times from how hard the tears came, surprising me with their frequency and intensity.
“Aw, I’m sorry, sweetie,” Maisie says when I call her and tell her about what I saw. After hours of waiting for him, I had plenty of time to come up with a theory.
Rowan had mentioned in passing that this was his second cabin out in the mountains, and my assumption is that he’s going to find a different place — even more remote, even harder to find — and I’m never going to see him again.
Maisie goes on, “At least you can say you tried.”
“Yeah,” I return lamely, my voice embarrassingly hoarse.
“Listen, I’m not going to be home tonight,” Maisie says, and there’s a sound through my car speakers like her shifting the phone from one shoulder to another. “But when I get back in the morning, we’re going out to Sunrise Cafe. No arguing with me on that.”
“Okay.” I sniffle, already thinking of the crepes I’ll bury myself in to feel better. If that’s even possible.
I’d deluded myself into thinking my life could be like a rom-com. That I could drive up into the mountains and make — if not a declaration of love — a declaration of… interest.
As I drive, I feel stupid for making that video. For thinking that I could make some big, declarative statement about life and love and what it means to be human. Me, who can’t even manage to have a successful romantic moment.
If I could make a video about this, it would be an hour of raw, unedited crying in the driver’s seat, numbly listening to the motivation playlist that still bops around the speakers.
The music cuts off with a call coming through the speakers, and I hit the button to answer, thinking it’s Maisie again.
But it’s not Maisie’s voice that comes through the speakers.
“Karolina, darling!”
I know, instantly, from the use of my full — shudder — government name, and from the tenor and pitch of the voice, that it’s my mother on the other end of the line.
My entire body freezes, and I pull to the side of the road preemptively, knowing that now that I’ve picked up, I won’t be able to hang up on her.
And there’s no way I can have a conversation with my mother while driving.
“Hey… Mom.”
“I’ve been calling you for weeks!” she says, sounding breathless, and I wonder if she’s on the Peloton.
A memory flashes to my mind of her sticking the bike in my father’s old study, encouraging me to use it even though I felt sick just walking into that room.
“You must be so busy, but we have been, too. The firm is absolutely running Jarred ragged.”
I bring my hand to my mouth, feeling sick.
“That’s too bad,” I say, and if she notices how muffled the words come out, she doesn’t mention it.
“Well, anyway, I know you’ll make some room to meet with Darlie.
I’m worried about her, all the way out there on her own.
I’ve made a reservation for the two of you at Salon C downtown.
It came highly recommended on the internet.
Of course, I’ll pay. I think it would be good for her to get out with a girlfriend.
You know how hard it is to head off for school like that. ”
I close my eyes, my hand gripping the phone so tightly I can picture my knuckles turning white.
With a few simple sentences, my mother has managed so much.
Reminding me of the name she gave her eldest daughter in her new family.
Darling. The name she called me when I was younger.
Being worried about Darlie coming out here for school, even though she didn’t give a shit when it was me moving out here on my own.
Then, calling Darlie a girlfriend instead of what we really are to each other — half-sisters.
Except we’ve never really been sisters to one another.
When she was born, I was spending more and more time with my dad.
And after he passed, and I was forced to return to the city, both Darlie and Angel thought of me not as an older sister, but as a sort of unfortunate Airbnb guest they would have to tolerate occasionally as a favor to their mother.
And, on top of all that, there’s absolutely no chance in hell that Darlie wants to go to the salon with me. In fact, she’s probably having a great time making friends. She probably doesn’t even remember that I exist, let alone that I lived in Seattle at one point, and could still be here today.
But I don’t say any of that to my mother. Like always, I swallow it down and, wanting to get the phone call finished as soon as possible, choke out, “Okay.”
Mom talks for a little while more about her work, about Jarred’s new role as senior partner, and about Angel’s upcoming role in local theater. I offer little noises here and there to show that I’m listening, even though I’m not, really.
If she really cared about me, she would be able to tell how upset I am. I tell myself that I just have to get through the rest of the call, then I can go home and pour a big bowl of cereal, spend the rest of the evening watching reality TV alone.
Maybe I’ll even reach out to Ecotra and formally accept their offer.
But then, as I’m expecting her to conclude the conversation and get me off the line, my mother says, almost as a throwaway line, “Jarred and I watched that video of yours, dear. My God, it brought me to tears. Reminded me so much of your father.”
There’s a ringing in my ears, almost like I’ve been slapped across the face.
I force myself to take several small sips of air. I can’t breathe.
“Karolina, are you there?”
“… it reminded you of Dad?” I ask, surprised to hear my own voice saying something other than okay, yeah, right, or too bad.
“Well, yes, I mean—”
“You mean my dad,” I say, feeling the fury rise inside me.
And I know I should cage it, put it back where it belongs.
In my entire life, I have never so much as raised my voice at my mother, and yet here I am, getting louder and louder, the small space of my car reverberating the noise right back to me.
“The guy you cheated on? The man whose heart you literally broke?”
“Karolina! Now, hold on.”
“You mean the guy who wasn’t good enough, just like I’m not good enough!
So you had to go and build a whole new family, a whole new life that didn’t have me in it!
And you know what, Mom, I think that maybe you should just stick to that, okay?
Because it’s not so bad when I’m just, like, accepting the fact that I’ve never been good enough for you, but then you go and do this shit like texting me and acting like Darlie gives a single fuck about me when she doesn’t.
And that makes it worse. So just. Fucking. Stop!”
I’m breathing hard, my hair coming loose from my ponytail and flying around my face. It’s quiet for a second, and then she speaks.
“Kar—”
“Stop calling me that,” I whisper, voice low, eyes closing, most of the rage gone now and leaving nothing behind but an aching, cavernous pain.
There’s static, and then, in a voice so small I almost feel sorry for her, “I think we got off track, dear. I had no idea…” She trails off, clears her throat, and if I didn’t know better, I might think there was real emotion behind it. “I think it would be best if we had a real talk, baby.”
I want to tell her not to call me that either, but suddenly, I can’t get any words to come from my mouth.
“Lola?”
Doing the only thing I can think of, I reach forward and end the call, the tears coming hot and fast, rolling down my face.
I take a minute to calm down and wipe my face before I pull back onto the road, but suddenly, the only thing I want in the whole world is to be home.
To climb into something that feels like home.
The rest of the drive goes by in a blur. Seattle appears on the horizon and gets bigger as I disappear inside it. I park, get out of the car, stagger to the elevator, and shiver in the lack of proper heating all the way to our floor.
All I want is something — anything — that’s going to make me feel better.
And when I step out of the elevator, turning toward our apartment, I see him already getting to his feet, his long limbs unfolding, his gaze darkening in concern.
“Lola,” he says, his voice low, his brow drawn down as he scans me, taking me in. “What—”
But I don’t let him finish asking that question. Instead, I step into his open and waiting arms.