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“Hey,” I said. “What’s up? How was your day?”
“It’s been all right. Same old.” There was slightly more energy in her voice as she continued. “How about you? Did you send off your game?”
“Yeah, and I told my parents about it. Now they want to play it.”
“From what you’ve told me about your parents, that sounds like a terrible plan.”
“Most definitely.”
“So, are you going to let them?”
“Not a chance.” I hesitated. She was engaged with the conversation, asking me questions, but something was off. She didn’t sound like her usual self. “Are you mad at me, baby?”
“Of course not.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry, I’m a little off today.”
“Did something happen?”
“No, no. It’s… PMS.”
I frowned. I guessed that came part and parcel with dating a woman, but I’d known Tara for months now, and she’d never had mood swings before. “Do you feel okay? Can I bring you anything? I can come over just for cuddles.”
“You’re sweet, babe. I’m fine, honestly.”
I tried not to sigh. If I wasn’t feeling well, I’d want her there with me. “So it was really okay that I worked on the game last night instead of hanging out with you?”
“Of course. I wanted you to.” Her voice sounded slightly hoarse. “I gotta go. My—my doorbell is ringing.”
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up with a pit in the bottom of my stomach. Tara didn’t have any neighbors who’d be ringing her doorbell, and she didn’t have any nearby friends.
She was lying to me. But why?
23
Tara
After I hung up with Chelsea, I held the phone for a minute. She could tell that something was off with me, and I felt awful for letting her believe for one second that it was about her. She was the best part of my life, the light that shone on everything else and made it glow. I should’ve been honest with her—and I was going to. I just had to talk to Ava first.
I’d done a lot of thinking over the past day. Although I hadn’t mentioned it to Chelsea, I’d called in sick to work. I’d used the time to pace around my apartment, thinking and musing. As many times as I went over the question, I kept coming to the same conclusion.
I couldn’t delete the message and let this go. I had to hear Ava out and find out what she wanted—why she was contacting me now. I’d decided this hours ago, and I’d kept putting it off. Not many things scared me, but right now, I was scared. What was I going to say? How was this going to go?
It was past nine at night now, too late to call. I set my phone beside me on the bed, then shook my head at myself. I was chickening out, making more excuses. Ava had said “call anytime.” The woman was reaching out to me after twenty-six years, and besides, nine wasn’t even really late.
I took a deep breath. I’d read the messages so many times, the phone number was engraved into my mind. Now, I dialed it.
“Hello?” The voice that answered was female and middle-aged. It sounded tired, maybe weak, and a little bit hopeful.
“Ava?” My own voice came out rough at first. “Ava Corney?”
“Speaking. Is this…”
“Tara Carter.” I cleared my throat. “I got your message.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I thought you might not see it.”
“Sorry it took me a while to respond. I was… processing.” I had so many questions, I didn’t know where to start. “Why exactly do you think you’re my aunt?”
“Twenty-six years ago, my brother got his girlfriend pregnant. She was a nice girl. We all liked her.” She sounded more relaxed as she got into the story, as if she’d been rehearsing the way she’d say this. “I guess he wasn’t as serious about her as she was about him. When she found out about the baby, she was happy. He was furious.
