Page 110 of Force a Date

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LIV

The last few days working at Rapture Ink have been the absolute worst of my life.

It’s like everyone knows what happened between Hudson and I, but they don’t because it’d be a cold day in hell when Hudson would give anything about his personal life to anyone.

I try to get through the days like normal. My creativity in making witty social media posts for the tattoo parlor is at an all-time low and I know this isn’t going to last. My mental state will not be able to bear another moment of watching Hudson stride through his shop completely ignoring me.

There’s no broody stare. No random stop at the receptionist desk. No urgent orders to grab him coffee or lunch.

No anything.

After day three, I’m a rubber band of mixed emotions and hurt. It’s time to move on. I ignored all the red flags and consequences of what would happen if I got too deep with Hudson and now I’m reaping those.

Which means, I have to find a new job and continue on my path because my life doesn’t stop just because Hudson and I did.

On my lunch break, I spend it in my car applying for jobs at local food trucks so I can get some experience. My mother calls me eight times, adamant on getting a hold of me because Norah’s birthday is coming up and it’s the usual five-course dinner at a restaurant that makes me feel awkward as hell.

On the ninth ring, I pick up. My temper already flaring and my mood completely shot. It’s a reminder of how, even though things are changing in my work and personal life, my mother will always be the same.

She will always be up my ass and never supportive of me.

“I really hope this is an emergency, Mother,” I state as my greeting. “Because you know damn well I’m at work.”

“Then why don’t you answer your phone, Liv?” she haughtily throws back, clearly not listening to everything I just said.

“I’m at work,” I repeat. “What part of that is confusing for you?”

“Norah’s birthday is coming up,” she mentions, completely ignoring me and getting to the point of her call. To what she believes she was made to do—which is make sure our family is together for everything—but that still doesn’t include Rory. “And I wanted to let you know that we’re doing it this Saturday.”

“Who’s invited?”

“The usual.”

Not good enough.

“Oh, great,” I sneer, keeping my voice calm. “Did you finally buy that booster seat then?”

Silence is my answer and I know she hasn’t. There’s nothing in her life that has changed since Rory was born.

I was never thrown a baby shower. My mother never asked me for the ultrasound results or questions about what I was naming my baby.

It was as though she never existed and it was business as usual.

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” I taunt back as though it’s absolutely appalling that my mother forgot anything that needs to be done in her life. “I’ve only been asking you about it for?—”

“Olive, don’t start,” she chides, her voice tipping into a state of being aggravated. “This wasn’t a call for us to start arguing.”

“I just asked you a question.”

“And you know the answer to it.”

There it is.

There’s never been a moment in my life where I ever felt like I was home. A place that felt like it suited me well enough to where I was fully comfortable.

Whenever I lived at my parents’ place, I felt as though I lived under a microscope. If you moved a throw pillow off the couch, my mother would notice. If you added a spoon to the dishwasher, she’d ask you about it.

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