Page 4 of Sweet Revenge
They’d talked for nearly two hours that first time and every week since. Her mother didn’t push, didn’t demand to know where Evie had been or why she’d left. Those weekly calls had become a tether that kept her grounded when she worried she might lose herself.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into today at Mass.”
Evie grinned. “Who?”
“Helen Maguire!”
“From high school?” Evie wriggled into a green sundress, contorting herself to tug up the zipper.
“Yes, I was surprised she didn’t catch on fire just from being inside!”
Evie laughed as her mother’s cheerful voice chirped in her ear. God, how had she survived so many years without this? She didn’t recognize half the names her mother mentioned as she weaved her story, but it didn’t make it any less entertaining. Gossip had always been her mother’s favorite hobby.
Every week she unburdened her soul at Mass so she could start burdening it again by sharing all the bits of news she’d collected. Who was getting married, who was pregnant, who was cheating, who was pregnant and cheating. If you wanted to know anything about anyone, all you had to do was ask Mary Elizabeth O’Brian.
“And what have you been up to?”
She asked that question every time she called, and Evie always gave some vague response about work being crazy or life being hectic. If Mary Elizabeth wanted to know more, she didn’t pry.
“Just got back from a work trip. Quick turnaround.”
“Oh, good. I hope it went well.”
“Yeah, it was great.”
There was a long pause. “Evie?”
“Yes?” Evie prompted when her mother didn’t continue.
“Well, I was just wondering if—” Evie could hear a shuffling noise in the background. “Never mind. I think your father’s home, so I’ve got to run. Hey. I love you, sweet girl.”
Evie’s frown melted into a smile. “I love you too, Mom. Talk soon.”
Feeling considerably lighter, she took the elevator down to the lobby, whistling happily, and pushed out into the early spring sunshine. The noise of the street rolled over her as she weaved between meandering tourists with their faces tilted up to admire the towering stretch of glass and steel and hurried locals with eyes down on their phones or the pavement.
When the light changed, she crossed the street with the throng of people and turned the corner. Stepping into a restaurant, she pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head and returned the hostess’s kind smile as she led her back to a table for one. The dining room bustled around her, and she filtered through the conversations while studying the menu.
The couple to her left was trying to decide where to spend their summer vacation. The wife wanted to recreate their Parisian honeymoon while the husband wanted to spend the summer boating in Greece. Evie’s money was on the wife getting her trip to Paris when she caught the husband staring at the waitress’s ass.
A table of twenty-somethings in front of her lamented about how unfair it was that their fathers actually expected them to get jobs when all they wanted to do was enjoy their summer and work on their tans. Evie snorted into her mimosa when one girl called her new allowance child abuse.
Beyond the entitled whining of the table of spoiled little rich girls living off daddy’s money, another couple caught her eye. They were younger than the married couple still arguing over Paris or Greece, too comfortable with each other to be a first date, but not jaded enough to have been dating for years. A young love where she still laughed at his jokes and he brushed his fingertips over her arm just to be close to her.
A memory she’d buried a long time ago of a boy who used to look at her with eyes full of love and promises, whose fingers brushed her arm just to feel her surfaced, and she shoved it down again. That chapter of her life was closed. She’d cried enough tears over what could never be, and she wouldn’t waste time doing it again.
As the brunch crowd faded and the buzz of conversation died, Evie pushed back from her table and took the long way back to her apartment past some of her favorite boutiques and shops. The French bakery paled in comparison to an authentic French patisserie, but she couldn’t resist the macarons and a beautiful mini lemon tart piled with fresh raspberries.
She wasn’t much for fashion other than when she could use it to start a conversation with a banker’s wife to learn more about her husband’s habits or run into a mark in a dressing room to make a copy of her house key. But she bought a couple of dresses and a new blouse at a boutique that produced only unique, handmade pieces.
Clouds rolled over the sun and darkened to a petulant gray. She could smell rain just under the exhaust and sweat, and she quickened her steps. She barely made it inside the lobby of her building before the skies opened up, and she heard the yelp of people as they raced for cover or simply kept walking in their brisk New York fashion. Nothing fazed New Yorkers.
The doorman nodded as she crossed to the elevators. While unlocking the door, her phone beeped from the inner recesses of her bag, and she set her shopping bags on the kitchen counter to dig it out. Bringing the message up with a few taps, she frowned.
Hi, sweetie. Can’t talk today. Will call some other time. - Mom
Evie set her phone down on the counter, eyes scanning the message a second time. Not once had her mother ever texted her. Evie wasn’t even sure she knew how. And why would she say she couldn’t talk today when they spoke earlier?
She turned to put the bakery box in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, taking a sip to cool her throat, which had suddenly gone hot and dry. There was probably a perfectly rational explanation for the sudden message. Maybe she’d intended to call back since their call had been cut short and couldn’t now. That was probably it. Nothing to worry about.
