Page 121 of We Met Like This
“What?” Mom asked, confused.
I sat across from her at the table. “Where is Dad?”
“He started walking in the mornings. Something about sunlight and vitamin D.”
“You don’t go with him?”
“Honey, your dad and I spend a lot of time together. When I have an opportunity to be alone, I take it.”
“Understandable.” I took another sip of coffee, then held the warm cup between both hands. “Do you think you could give me a ride home sometime this morning?”
“This morning, I—uh, well, I think I have something,” she said in a terrible attempt to pretend she was busy. I knew what was coming next before she even said it. “But let me call Audrey and see if she can take you home.” She reached for her phone.
“Mom,” I said in a low voice. “I do not want to see Audrey today.”
“Margot, I think it’s important that the two of you talk.”
“And we will. Not today. Please.”
She sighed. “You don’t think you have an apology to make?”
My eyes stung with the suggestion. “I don’t. Not this time. She said some horrible things to me.”
“You called her a bitch.”
“And I stand by that.” Maybe I led with my emotions, like Audrey had always accused me of, but I decided if the alternative was no emotions, like she seemed to lead with, I’d stick to my way. It’s who I was and I was done thinking she was better than me for it.
Mom held up her hands. “Fine. I’m staying out of this one. Not taking sides.” For once, I wanted her to pick a side. I wanted her to tell me that Audrey had been horrible to me yesterday and everyone knew it. But apparently she thought we were equally horrible.
“Thank you.” I brushed a crumb off the table. “So are you really busy or was that a lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie. Just a motherly fabrication to help my children.”
“Okay, motherly fabricator, I’m ready to go home whenever you’re ready to take me.”
“Give me an hour.”
CHAPTER 36
The fiddle-leaf fig tree in the corner of my bedroom had dropped all but one of its leaves in my absence. My plant app would probably tell me it was just as depressed as I was if I used it for a diagnosis. Instead of confirming what I already knew, I poured the rest of my water bottle into its pot and attempted to give it a pep talk. “You’ll be fine. You didn’t need all those leaves anyway. One looks good on you.”
The last leaf dropped to the floor dramatically, like it knew I’d been lying.
“Nice.”
I gave my bed a side-eye. It was never going to see any action, was it?
My chest felt tight and empty at the same time. Like someone had hollowed it out, leaving me sore in the process.
I freed my phone from my pocket and stared at the screen, void of any notifications. Tears stung my eyes and I gritted my teeth and quickly swiped to the app store, then began theprocess of redownloading the dating apps. I felt like Ana from Kari Cross’s book, ready to turn my life over to the AI.
“What are you doing?” Sloane asked when she came home from work several hours later. I was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine next to me, my phone in my hand.
“I’m trying to find someone to sleep with who is a somewhat decent human being.”
“Somewhat?”
“Not married, doesn’t think women are second-class citizens, doesn’t have a list of demands.”
