Page 13 of One Day

Flynn’s laugh follows me down the hall to my bedroom, telling me to say hi between them. With a groan, I step into my room and shut the door behind me.

“Hey, Mama,” I answer the phone, bringing it to my ear when I push off the door and head for the queen-sized mattress in the middle of the room.

Aside from the artwork hanging on the wall above my bed—courtesy of my mom—my room lacks color. My dresser, bed frame, and bookcase are all black-stained wood, while the white duvet is the one bright spot in the room. A decision I made when we moved into this place, not because I don’t like color, but because I can’t be bothered to coordinate them together. Neutrals are safe, and I like safe.

“Hi, Peach! Is now an okay time?” Her voice is like a warm blanket wrapping around my body, settling whatever anxiety might be lingering in my chest.

“Yeah, I just got home,” I tell her, running my fingers through my hair as I plop down on my bed. “How are you? How’s the gallery?”

“I’m good! Gallery’s good! How are you? It feels like I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

“I’m okay,” I tell her. “Just busy with the start of the new semester. You know how it is.”

Being away from her has been hard. It’s always been the two of us against the world, and there’s nothing I want more than to make her proud. The same way she’s always made me. She had me at only nineteen, and no one believed she had it in her to be a single mom and successful, but she pushed through. She went to night classes and eventually graduated when I was six before becoming the art curator for Ashmore’s one and only art gallery and turning it into the small-town hot spot destination it is now.

“And how’s Flynn?” she asks the way she always does.

“She’s good. She says hi,” I tell her, falling back into my mattress. “We were just talking about going to the campus art gallery tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you had a campus gallery. Do you go often?”

“They built it a few years ago. I haven’t been yet,” I say, tucking my arm under my head.

If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t say. She’s always had an eye for art, and while I’ve spent more than my fair share of my time in art galleries growing up, I spent my time people-watching, studying them and their body language. I got to see people in all different walks of life, and it made me realize while art wasn’t my interest, people were.

I wanted to work with them more than anything, but it wasn’t until the summer before my senior year, when I worked in the town lawyer’s office, that I realized how I wanted to work with them. There wasn’t much going on in our small town, but I saw how people flocked to Mr. Richards for help. They trusted him, and I wanted to be that. I wanted to be someone that people could find comfort in when they didn’t think they had any, someone to have their back when they’re at their lowest. I wanted to be an aid in finding someone’s light again.

“Speaking of art galleries, Mr. Richards came in the other day. He says hi.”

I smile at the mention of my mentor. “Yeah? How is he?”

“He’s good! Was asking about you and what trouble you’re getting yourself into.”

At the mention of trouble, my thoughts drift back to Sonya. Trouble is the last word I’d use to describe her. At least it was until yesterday. Now, my head is a mess, and it’s all her fault.

“I don’t know about trouble.” I let out a light laugh. “Haven’t gotten into much of that.”

Except maybe wanting to fuck my best friend, but I’m not about to voice that to my mom. That will stay firmly planted in the back of my mind where it belongs until I eventually press it into dust and can finally breathe again.

“Peach? What do you think?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I say before realizing I haven’t heard a word of what she said. Sonya is taking over all the empty corners of my brain.

“Really? Great! I’ll let Mr. Richards know you’re up to interning with him again for the summer. He’ll be so happy to hear.” The excitement in her voice feels like ice water running down my back. I zoned out and agreed to something I didn’t mean to, something I can’t agree to because I’m already looking for internships, and not one of them involves Ashmore.

“Wait, I didn’t—”

The sound of a bell on her line brings me to a pause before she cuts me off herself. “Sorry, Walk. I have to get back to work, but we’ll talk later, okay? I’ll let Mr. Richards know. I’m sure he’ll reach out with more details.”

“Mama, wait, I didn’t—”

“Love you, Peach!” she says before ending the call, leaving me to sit with the abrupt end of our conversation. I let out a low curse and toss my phone onto the bed next to me.

Not only did I let my thoughts drift back to sex with Sonya after effectively deciding we are just friends, but I agreed to spend my entire summer in Ashmore. Something I had planned to do for a week, maybe two, if I could swing it with an internship for a firm focused in family law on this side of the country.

Now I have to break my mom’s heart, and I’m still thinking about Sonya and sex.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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