I shuddered in a sob. It felt like my heart was clawing out through my chest.
I should leave Hunter’s company. I should leave Hunter.
My phone rang again. This time it was Kimberly. I silenced it and heaved myself off the bed. In a fog, I left my phone behind and made my way out of my apartment and down to the street. I walked to the bus stop and boarded the next bus, out of spite.
I couldn’t deny that I wanted to work for Bruce. His project was as fun as it was rewarding. Writing the code, and then watching what it created, sparked my happy sensors. I felt at home with it in a way that I never felt I belonged in the admin role.
I belonged in that job the same way I belonged with Hunter.
I wiped another tear from my face as I stared out of the bus window. The woman next to me hawked a loogie and spat it into a paper bag. That action wasn’t as revolting to me as leaving Hunter for good.
“I’m in a fix,” I muttered at the window.
I was surrounded by people, but none of them even turned my way. They ignored me chatting to myself, just like they ignored the woman spitting into a bag. Welcome to public transportation in San Francisco.
If I took Bruce’s job, I could stay in the city. Near Hunter.
I ran my hand over my eyes. “I’m just not getting the picture. He doesn’t want me!” I mumbled furiously.
In a way, it kind of felt good to blend in with the crazy people that frequented the bus system. I felt crazy. I felt like I was losing a piece of myself. A very important, central piece.
I thought of my dad. I wanted to tell him my woes, cry in his arms, and listen to his words of wisdom. He’d know what to do. He’d know how to help me.
As the bus made its slow way through the city, I knew where I needed to go to make a decision.
Chapter Twelve
“What are you doing here?”
I stared at my mother with barely contained irritation. “I’m visiting the house I grew up in. I still have stuff here, or did you sell it all for more space?”
I pushed past her into the moderate space of her three-bedroom house located in San Rafael, a city north of San Francisco.
“At least you’re not embarrassing,” my mom said with a flat tone as she looked me over. I had on jeans, as normal, but I’d paired it with a nice sweater Hunter had bought me. I’d also done my hair and makeup, as Kimberly had instructed. She’d said the worst thing for a person with heartache was to mope. If I did myself up, looking good on the outside would make me feel better on the inside.
Turned out, she’d been completely wrong. But looking better on the outside made people think I was doing okay, and left me alone. That was enough.
“It’s Sunday—aren’t you supposed to be at a garden party or something?” Only then did the murmur of voices drift to me from the living room.
“I’m having a small soiree here. I thought it might be nice for Sean to stay here while he’s in town. More homey than a stuffy hotel in the city.” My mom lifted her chiseled nose in the air. She’d had two nose jobs, both gifts from two different boyfriends.
“Sean is…new?” I asked.
“Yes.” My mother smiled with plump lips she was not born with. “I met him at a party the other night. He’s an investment banker.”
“Huh. And how does his wife feel about you?”
She rolled her eyes. “He plans to get a divorce, so it doesn’t really matter. All I have to do is hold on for a few months, and then snatch him up. After that, it’s off to New York for me. He’s just out here on business.”
“Oh, right.” I shook my head. The story was always the same, and my mother always believed them.
She surveyed my outfit again.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be in your way. I just want to get a few things and then I’ll be gone.”
My mother made a noncommittal sound and swished her blond hair away from her eyes. Without another word, she sauntered off toward the living room.
The woman was a knockout, even in her fifties. It was too bad she always went for wealthy men with wives and kids. She kept believing they’d leave their old lives and start over with her, but she always got turned down. If she kept on, she’d end up lonely and alone.
Not that I was doing any better. What did they say about a living in glasshouse with a pocketful of stones?
I slunk into my room and swiped my old teddy bear off my bed. The one thing my mom had done for me was keep my room as it was. I wasn’t welcomed around all that often, as I cramped her style, but she did leave me just the tiny bit of my past that I clung on to with both hands in times like these.
I hugged my bear to my chest and dug my face into his soft, old head. Fresh tears fell, wetting his matted fur.