Page 37 of All Along

I stand. “I need to take this.”

I glance around the cabin but there’s nowhere I can go for privacy. Unless I want to stand in the bathroom – ew. Or outside – too cold. Or Caleb’s bedroom – too much temptation. I end up sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hello.”

“It’s about time you answered,” Mom snipes.

Exaggerate much? The phone rang three times.

“Hi, Mom. What’s happening?” I haven’t spoken to my mom in years. It’s hard to have a relationship with someone when they kick you out of the house on your eighteenth birthday.

“What’s happening is I want you to stop making a fool of yourself.”

A fool of myself? I haven’t made a fool out of myself.

“What are you talking about?”

“You,” she sneers. “Galivanting around the island with Caleb. A man who will never love you.”

Those words hit their mark but I don’t let on. She’d enjoy pouring salt on the wound and rubbing it in if she realized she injured me.

I snort instead. “I haven’t galivanted anywhere.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she hisses. “Everyone on the island knows you went to dinner with his family atSmuggler’s Cove.”

“Dinner and galivanting aren’t the same thing.”

“You always think you’re so much smarter than everyone else. Where has being the smart girl gotten you? Huh?”

I don’t bother answering. She’s on a rant and won’t hear me anyway. Trust me. I’ve had enough experience with her rants.

“You’re living on Smuggler’s Hideaway all by yourself. You’ll always be all by yourself. Who the hell could ever love you?”

She stops ranting and I wait for her to continue. When she doesn’t, I ask, “Are you finished?”

“Stop making a fool of yourself. You’re embarrassing me and your father.”

She hangs up before I can explain how I’m not embarrassing anyone. How is having dinner with Caleb and his family embarrassing to her? What does she think I did – fawn all over Caleb?

I throw my phone on the table and rub a hand over my forehead where I feel a headache coming on.

“Who was on the phone?” Caleb asks from right next to me and I startle. I forgot I wasn’t alone. Great. Now, I’m the one who’s embarrassed.

“No one.”

“No one?” He raises an eyebrow. “It didn’t sound like no one.”

It’s stupid to lie when he could hear the conversation. Or, at least, my part of the conversation. “Fine. It was my mom.”

His brow wrinkles. “I thought you didn’t have contact with her.”

“She rings every decade or so to remind me how unlovable I am.”

“Unlovable?” He growls. “You’re not unlovable.”

“Mom thinks otherwise,” I say instead of admitting how true her words feel to me. How else should I feel when the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally don’t?

“It’s their loss. It has nothing to do with you.”

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