Page 75 of Written in the Stars
“Well, that would be hard to do,” she said, “seeing as I’m selling the house.”
“You’re selling Grandma’s house?” Darcy’s voice nearly cracked, so she coughed.
Mom squeezed her fingers. “It’s just a house, Darcy. A house your grandmother hasn’t lived in for years. A house, quite frankly, you haven’t lived in for years, either.”
It wasn’t just a house. The three-story Victorian with its steeped, gabled roof and bright, stained glass and broad bay window was full of memories. It was weekends spent baking scones and slathering them with homemade strawberry jam and afternoons curled up on the sofa watching soaps with Grandma. It was creaking stairs and an ornate bannister Brendon had broken his arm sliding down when he was eleven. It was summer nights on the porch swing under a blanket and slumber parties with Annie.
To Mom it was a house, but to Darcy it was home.
Darcy twisted the platinum band on her middle finger. “Why? Do you need money because I can—”
“It’s just time for a change.”
“What if you rented it? That way if you change your mind—”
“I won’t change my mind.” Mom gave a sardonic laugh, lips twisting in a way that said there was more to this story than she was letting on. “I’m selling it. I’m moving. End of story.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t, but what else was Darcy supposed to say? It wasn’t her house, and while she had a nice nest egg put away, it wasn’t enough to buy a house in San Francisco.
“Darcy, baby, you’re not usually this sentimental.” Mom patted her on the arm.
Darcy covered her flinch by reaching for her wine. “I said, it’s fine.”
Mom heaved a sigh. “Your brother and I are planning on looking at houses this weekend.”
Darcy’s head snapped to the side. “Here? You’re planning on moving here?”
“Well, I don’t know where exactly.” Her head waffled side to side. “Mercer Island, maybe. Somewhere close to the water. Doesn’t it remind you of the Bay?”
Something didnotcompute. “If you’re looking for something that reminds you of the Bay why are you moving?”
Mom pressed her fingers between her brows. “Darcy. Can I not want to move closer to my children?”
Darcy stared.
“Fine.” Mom dropped her hand and sighed. “Kenny and I broke up.”
Of fucking course this was about a guy. Whenwasn’tit about Mom’s latest flavor? “Ah.”
“Yes,ah.” Mom huffed. “And where did he decide to move to? He’s renting an apartment two blocks away. I see him all the time.” She reached for her wine and nearly drained it. “I’m sure you of all people can understand what I mean when I say I need distance.”
Mom had effectively backed Darcy into a corner. Because what could she say? She’d packed up her life and moved all the way to Seattle after... after she’d broken off her engagement with Natasha. Beenforcedto break off her engagement. It wasn’t so much a choice as an act of self-preservation. She wasn’t going to go through with it, not knowing what she did. And staying in Philadelphia had been too hard, her life there too integrated with Natasha’s to make for an easy break. It had been messy, their group of friends entirely assimilated. Darcy hadn’t just wanted a fresh start, she’d needed one.
“Sure.” Darcy nodded. “I get it.”
Except she had learned her lesson, whereas Mom clearly hadn’t. She bounced from relationship to relationship, building her life around whoever she was seeing. She didn’t know how to justbe, let alone be alone and so she’d move on to the next guy until the pattern repeated itself and she wound up with a broken heart. Again.
The corners of Mom’s mouth lifted. “I thought you would.” Her veneer of happiness was flimsy at best, her smile not reaching her eyes. “Brendon and I are going house hunting this Saturday, then we’re grabbing drinks and a show at Can Can. You should come with us. You could use a little fun in your life.”
She might not begrudge Mom her attempt at a fresh start,but house hunting with her?Drinks? Darcy could already feel a tension headache forming at the base of her skull. “We’ll see. I might have plans.”
“Plans?” Mom wiggled her brows. “With a friend?”
Darcy reached under her chignon and jabbed her fingers into the space where her head met her neck. “Yes, Mom. A friend.”
“The same friend who leaves cheap wine in your kitchen?”
A strange surge of protectiveness rose up in Darcy’s chest. “Honestly, Mother?”
