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I heard the water of Hayden’s shower turn on across the hall, and I bolted up, knowing this was my chance to grab some coffee before hiding in my room the rest of the day. Not bothering with pants, I ran to the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt and my underwear, banking on the fact I could make it back behind a closed door before the shower turned off. Was avoiding Hayden the childish choice? Probably. But I needed a day of distance to cement my resolve, so I didn’t melt into a puddle of desire at his feet.
As the coffee brewed, releasing the scent of hazelnut in the air, the liquid filled the largest mug we had in the condo. I raided the cupboards for all the snacks I could carry. I wanted to be fully prepared for a day of hermit mode. The telltale sound of the drip of coffee cutting off with a hiss signaled the cup was done brewing, and I picked it up by the handle while hugging the results of my snack foraging to my body. As I crossed the threshold to my room, I heard Hayden’s bedroom door open, causing me to whip my body around to the back side of my door, pushing it closed with my hip.
Smooth, Charlotte.
I stood with my back pressed to my door, listening to the sounds of Hayden rummaging around in the kitchen. The sound of the blender whirred, confirming my suspicions he was in post-workout mode. I heard the rumble of the TV over the sound of the blender, the pre-NFL talking heads’ voices mixing incoherently given the rest of the noise. Seems like Hayden wanted me to be very aware he would be posted up in the living room today, unlike yesterday’s low-volume considerations.
Setting my coffee down on the nightstand and dumping the snacks into the middle of my bed, I climbed back in, propping pillows up against the headboard to create the perfect nest to spend the rest of the day in. I grabbed the romance I had brought home last night off the nightstand along with my coffee, taking a sip of the perfect brew, and opening to the first page, ready to dive into a witchy romantic world.
I had been successfully losing myself in fictional worlds for years, so I wasn’t surprised when I looked up and noted the shadows in my room had changed. Checking my phone, I saw three hours had passed. I eyed both my empty water bottle and coffee mug, confirming the rumble of NFL Red Zone still continued on outside my room. My bladder would require a trip to the bathroom soon, and I should probably have some sort of protein, eyeing the empty bag of Twizzlers sitting next to me. Processed sugar and red dye do not make a balanced meal. I was just talking myself up to put on pants and reenter the rest of the apartment when my phone rang on the bed next to me.
“Mom” flashed on the caller ID, a picture of the two of us from my childhood in the bookstore appearing on the screen. It had been a few weeks since we had spoken, so I knew I needed to take the call. Maybe this conversation would be different. Yeah, and Twizzlers don’t have enough sugar to rot your teeth, Charlotte.
“Hi, Mom,” I answered, trying to effuse lightness into my voice.
“Hi there, Charlotte. How are you?”
“I’m doing all right. Got a nasty bout of the flu week before last, which was terrible timing with the gala being this past Friday, but I’m feeling a lot better and the gala was a huge success. So, all positive here.”
“Oh, that was this weekend? Well, good.”
I bit my lip as my stomach dropped. I know she hates that I’m here, but I’m positive I told her how important the gala was to me and how much work planning it was. Sharing how I had been enjoying the planning would have been a waste. She would have been insulted I could enjoy anything that wasn’t working at our store.
“Yeah, it was this weekend. I’m really happy with the results. We raised a lot of funds and brought a ton of awareness to the Bookstore Future Fund.”
“Well, you are in the big city. There are a lot of rich people there who need somewhere to throw their money. If you stroke their egos by calling a party a gala, it makes sense they would give something,” she replied dismissively, making me regret I even tried connecting with her over this work. The fund had saved Ridge Reads after all, but that was a handout and my mother was too proud to admit she had needed one of those.
“How are things with you all? With the store?” Time to move this conversation along to the reason she called.
“Your Dad and I are fine. The store is fine. Will you be coming home for Thanksgiving?”
My mother, the most descriptive woman in the world, ladies and gentlemen.
“I don’t think so, Mom. The tickets are going to be really expensive at this point and my internship is over two and a half weeks later, so I figured I’d just come home then.”
“I would… We would like it if you could come home. Please,” she reluctantly added.
I was taken aback. Was my mom getting sentimental about the holidays?
“Are you sure you and Dad are okay? I guess I would see about a tick?—”
“Yes, your father and I are fine. We want to talk to you about your future regarding Ridge Reads.”
My head fell back heavily against my headboard.
“My future with Ridge Reads,” I said, not able to hide the defeated tone in my voice.
“Yes, given your internship will be over soon, we thought it would be a good time to talk about next steps. We’ve been talking to… it just seems like it’s time.”
“We’ve been over this. The internship could very well lead to a permanent job offer. And I’m going to be direct with you. It’s an offer I would be very interested in accepting. I know you and Dad want me to take over Ridge Reads someday, but the work I’m doing here… it could help Ridge Reads and stores just like it all over the country. Do you not understand what that means to me?”
“I understand that you have a responsibility to this family and to our store.”
“But what about what I want?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer for a moment. I wondered if she’d heard me.
“We don’t always get what we want, Charlotte. You’re not a child anymore. You should understand that. I hope we’ll see you for Thanksgiving.”
