Page 40 of Landon & Shay: Part One

She was flying to Paris?

Why hadn’t she mentioned that over the past few days?

I thought she’d be heading back to California or something.

Then, I saw the return date.

Five weeks out.

Two weeks past my birthday.

What the actual fuck?!

She was supposed to be there for me. She was supposed to come home during the shittiest time of my damn life to be there for me. She was supposed to hold me up while I was drowning. But instead, she was going to be sitting in France, eating macarons with some hotshot celebrity, and dressing them for some premiere show.

Now, it was clear to me. Her tearful moment seconds ago wasn’t because she was sad to be leaving me; it was because she was abandoning me.

I loved my mother so fucking much, but I hated her right then and there.

She’d lied to me. Well, she’d withheld the truth from me, which was pretty much worse than a lie in my book.

I pushed everything back into her purse and tried to control my emotions. I wanted to snap. I wanted to shout and cuss and tell her what a terrible mother she’d been by choosing work over me, but I didn’t.

I went back to cooking the pancakes and waited, because I knew she had to tell me. She wouldn’t actually leave the house without telling me her plans of going to a foreign country for several weeks. She wouldn’t have the nerve to do such a selfish thing.

We sat at the dining room table, and I watched her stuff the food into her mouth. She went on and on about what an amazing cook I was and how I should consider culinary school in the future. She talked about her job—except for the parts where she mentioned her travels. She told me what celebrities were like; she discussed what the latest fashion trends were going to be for the summer; and she never mentioned Paris. Not once.

As she gathered her things to head to the airport, the anger I’d been holding in for so long shifted to despair, to sadness, to loneliness.

“Come give me a hug,” she ordered. Once again, I obeyed.

I wished I were stronger. I wished I had the balls to stand up to my mother and tell her how much her actions broke my already shattered heart, but I didn’t do it. I didn’t say a damn thing, because she was my mother, and I loved her.

Love was a sickness. I didn’t understand why people craved it. It always left me feeling empty inside.

We released our embrace, and she walked toward the taxi she’d called to come pick her up.

As she climbed inside, I stood on the front porch with my hands stuffed deep in my pockets.

“Hey, Ma,” I called out. She looked up toward me and waited. “I was wondering when you were going to tell me about Paris—before you touched down or after?”

Her eyes widened with shock, and her lips slightly parted. “How did you…?”

“Your tickets fell out of your purse.”

A small tremble took over her tiny frame, and she shook her head. “Land, I swear, I was going to tell you. I just… I knew it would upset you with your birthday coming up and all. I was just given a huge opportunity to work with some amazing clients for a European tour they are doing for their upcoming film. You won’t believe—”

My cold heart? It iced over even more. “It’s fine,” I forced out. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sweetheart…” she murmured, stepping one foot toward me.

“You better get going before you miss your flight.”

Or you could stay and pick me. Stay for me.

Please, Mom. Just…

Pick me…

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