Page 23 of Austen Persuaded

“Yes, toMinn-e-sota.” She said Minnesota as though it were a foreign word to her, never uttered before, something strange and perhaps even unsavory. As though her only daughter hadn’t lived there for her entire adult life. “It’s as I mentioned earlier, though Alcott has decided he wants to move sooner. Dear Caroline needs to find a position and a new home in St. Paul before the end of this year.”

“Mom, hold on,” I said, frustration rising above the meekness that had taken hold earlier in the conversation. “What are you talking about? I have no idea who Alcott and Caroline are, for starters.”

My mother gasped. “Anastasia, you—I—” she sputtered. “I can only assume you’re still suffering from severe illness. Dear Carolineis Ricardo’s lovely daughter, just finishing her residency at Johns Hopkins. Alcott is her dear husband. Surely you remember.”

I remembered nothing of the sort, but the name Ricardo sounded familiar. I searched my brain as quickly as I could. “Ricardo … the drug company guy?”

“Yes, he owns a pharmaceutical company,” my mother said testily. “Anastasia, you are severely trying my patience.”

I exhaled slowly. It would be easier to just play along. “Sorry. So what can I do for you, Mother?”

“We expected you could provide assistance to Caroline as she looks for suitable positions and of course a new home in St. Paul.”

“I … well, I’m not a medical recruiter or a real estate agent, Mother.”

“I’m aware, dear. What is it you do again?” My mother paused. “Never mind. I only meant that you could provide any assistance that Caroline requests, perhaps serving as her virtual assistant as she arranges their new life from afar. Surely even you could manage that.”

I swallowed the wave of nausea rising in me. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

“But I could have informed you of this by text message or email, darling. The true reason I called is to inform you that I’ll be visiting. We all will, actually. I wanted you to be one of the first to know, as my daughter. We want to make sure you have plenty of time to make due preparations for our visit. When I have the exact dates, I will let you know.”

“Oh, uh, I—wh—” Something like a word salad came out of my mouth.

“I had thought to ask if you had a sufficient number of guest rooms in your home with Brendan, but if he’s left you, I gather that is no longer an option. Or is it? After all, you didn’t inherit my stunning beauty for nothing … perhaps you will lure him back.”

Oh, so now she remembers his name, does she? Well, almost. But not the name of my best friend for over a decade.

My stomach turned, and I felt a slight wave of dizziness as her words echoed through my mind. Finally, I replied, “Brandon doesn’t even live in town, Mother. He—he was only visiting. Staying at the Four Seasons. And no, we’re not together anymore and never will be. He’s a terrible person. He cheated.”

I heard a clucking sound. “Oh, darling. You still have much to learn. It’s fortunate I’ll be visiting soon, and we can work on your … perspective, among other things.” And then shegiggled. I nearly expired from shock. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. As I said, we shall let you know when we have firm dates for travel. The Four Seasons is exactly what I had in mind. Thanks for the suggestion, darling. I will be in touch—”

“No!” I croaked. “Not, I mean, I’d rather you didn’t stay at that hotel. I don’t know how long Brandon will be there, and I’d hate to run into him—”

“Nonsense, dearest. Ricardo will want only the best for dear Caroline and Alcott and, of course, for me, the love of his life.” Her tone turned accusing. “Not everything can revolve around you, Anastasia. One would think I erred greatly as a mother in indulging your feelings far too much and too often when you were a child. But I could hardly be to blame. I’ve only done the best that any mother could, under the circumstances. If I indulged you too much, well, it is only because I am such a loving person …”

And on my mother droned. I didn’t hear any more but merely set the phone down on the bed next to me. Jacqueline would end the call eventually, none the wiser.

I stared at my nails, but not really seeing them.

There were no tears. I was somewhat numb, but not numb enough.

If the guys won’t bring me the liquor, I’ll just go find some.

As the second shot of whiskey burned a path down my throat, I realized this stuff tasted much worse now than it did in my teens and early 20s. Jack Daniels was no longer my drink of choice, but it was all I’d been able to find in the kitchen, besides beer and wine, which were obviously far too weak for a day like today.

Just like I was.

But even as my throat burned and my taste buds objected with each shot, a calming, pleasantly heavy feeling began to spread through my core and then my limbs. Eventually, I could barely taste it, and I knew from experience that meant it was time to slow down.

I wanted numb. I wanted to not feel. But I didn’t want to be violently ill.

I knew my limits. Or at least I thought so.

In the last couple years, drinking hadn’t held nearly as much appeal as it once did. Sure, I drank at parties and bars or occasionally threw a few back to relax with my roommates. I was the consummate party girl, so of course I drank socially. Sometimes a lot. But I almost never drank when alone or sad.

Not since …

Well, him.

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