Page 33 of Living for Truth
Then, he hangs up, and I’m left with a lot more questions about what thehellis happening inside my heart.
Chapter 14
Hannah
My mom hasn’t spoken to me in the three days since Friday. I’ve been treading lightly so I don’t upset her, but I haven’t exactly felt the desire to chat with her either.
I’m waiting for the inevitable conversation with my dad where he tells meIhurt her feelings, andIneed to apologize because she’s sad.
Or she’ll just ignore it and pretend everything is fine.
My guess is, since my birthday is in two days, it’ll be the latter. Mom can’t resist a big birthday celebration, even if I don’t want one.
Luckily for me, work is a good distraction from everything happening in my personal life. We’re finalizing our summer programs right now, so I’ve been making sure the schedules match and confirming the dates with our guest speakers..
I dial the number for the local plant nursery, and the owner answers with a rushed, “Botanical Bliss, Santana speaking.”
“Hey, Santana, it’s Hannah over at the public library. I was just calling to confirm your participation in our summer program. It looks like we have your slot scheduled for Thursdays at two o’clock. Does that still work for you?”
Santana lets out a strangled sound that’s more like a half sob half laugh. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I’m not going to be able to participate in the summer program this year. There’s a lot of stuff happening in my personal life.”
“Totally understandable. No need to worry, we have plenty of options we can fall back on. I hope whatever you’re dealing with isn’t too bad.” Wedon’thave a lot of options to fall back on. Santana was one of two options, and the other nursery is owned by an older gentleman who has no volume control.
“Thank you for understanding. I have to run. Good luck with the program.” The line goes dead before I can say anything.
I set the phone down, take off my glasses, and rub at my temples. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now, but it’s my job to figure it out.
My best friend and coworker, Sage, comes into the office, takes one look at me, and immediately walks out.
If I didn’t know her so well, I’d think she was pissed that I look stressed, but she’ll be back in a few minutes with a water bottle and some type of food because she knows I haven’t taken a lunch break yet.
Sure enough, five minutes later she waltzes through the door with two water bottles, two wrapped sandwiches, two bags of chips, and two chocolate chip cookies about to tumble out of her arms.
“I know you haven’t eaten yet, so we’re taking our lunch breaks, and then you can tell me what’s happening,” Sage demands, setting half of the spoils on my side of the desk, then settling in with hers on the other side.
“Thanks, Sage.” I give her a small, grateful smile, and we eat in silence.
Sage Oldham is five-foot-three, has wavy, mushroom brown hair she keeps cut in a seventies shag, beige skin, and piercing blue eyes. She’s a plus size girl like me, but she’s the kind of plus size where she has big boobs, a big ass, and a smaller waist. She’s a lovely hourglass shape where I tend to be more round. She also has a penchant for loud patterns, bright lipstick, and colored mascara.
We’ve been best friends since college, and she’s the only person I tell everything to. We finished our MLS together at BYU, then both ended up landing jobs at the Salt Lake City Public Library, one of the largest libraries in the state. We’ve been friends for almost as long as I’ve been—was—married. She was integral in how I survived the divorce and also a big reason why I started questioning the church I was raised in.
Sage grew up in the Mormon church, just like me, but when we hit our third year of undergrad, she started questioning things. At BYU, you’re forced to take a religion class each semester as part of your required credits, and some of the things Sage learned didn’t sit right with her. It took a few years, but after the research she presented me with, I couldn’t argue it away anymore.
The church is a money hungry, misogynistic, lying, racist cult.
I told her I couldn’t leave without upsetting Liam, but then the divorce happened. She’s already removed herrecords, and she’s been urging me to do the same, but I just can’t bring myself to do it while I’m living with my parents.
I will one day, but today is not that day.
“So, tell me what’s going on. I know your mom is being a bitch, and you’re all befuddled over Morgan, but is there anything else?” Sage asks once she’s finished her sandwich.
As soon as I got to work the day after Morgan offered to be my fake boyfriend, I spilled everything—the texting, brunch, how hot he is, his daughter, that he’s the hot flower shop guy, his offer—to Sage so she could talk me out of it.
She didn’t, though, because she’s obsessed with drama that isn’t her own, and she thinks this is “good for the plot,” the little traitor.
“Botanical Bliss can’t do Thursdays anymore. Santana’s had some personal stuff come up, so now I have to find a replacement. Not a lot of places are willing to close early to come teach classes for free at the library.”
Sage taps her hot pink painted nails on the desk as she contemplates, then gives me a smile thatscreamsmischief. It’s the same smile she used when she said we should leave gummy bears on Liam’s car in the hot August sun after he said he wanted a divorce.
