Page 142 of Becoming Us
I don’t want you to get hurt
please answer your phone
My eyes prickled. Her name flashed. I declined it and typed again.
Me
I’m fine Hols
everything is under control
Holly
don’t go see him again
come back home
let’s have a night in
movies, that bougie pistachio ice cream you like
the works
I’ll even watch the Molly Ringwald ones
no complaining
I shook my head at the screen, rubbing a hand over my nose and sniffling.
Me
I’ll think about it
I pocketed it once more and ignored the ache in my chest.
The door swung open into the lobby, and immediately, something felt off. It wasn’t empty, but it may as well have been. A few boxes were stacked neatly against one wall, but the rug was gone. The paintings. The entrance table. The lights. It was bare. Sterile. Like someone had scrubbed away the past.
“Mom?” I called, stepping inside. The click of the door echoed behind me through the hollow space.
“In here, muñeco!” she called back, far too cheerfully.
I followed her voice through the vacant hall and into the living room. The couches were gone. So was the coffee table. She stood in the middle of the room, perfectly put together—makeup and nails done, long dark-brown hair cascading down her back, heels in place like she’d just stepped out of a magazine ad.
“What the hell?” I asked quietly, eyes darting around the gutted space.
“Noah! What do you mean?” she said, walking over to kiss my cheek. “I told you the move was tomorrow. I’ve sent you a dozen messages.”
Messages I’d ignored. On purpose.
I hadn’t really been awake the past few weeks. Months, maybe. Not since he left. Not since the funeral.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this sober—and even then, I’d taken a couple bumps before leaving River’s apartment.
“Moving where?”
“I got a penthouse in Belltown. I sent you pictures! The decorator said it’ll be ready tomorrow. We’re staying at the Four Seasons tonight.”
Belltown. The priciest, most glass-and-steel part of the city. My stomach dropped, heavy and hollow.
