My father’s own security guard is waiting at the bottom of the steps of the plane. “Miss Madison,” he says.
“’Sup, Watkins?” I ask flippantly.
He smiles. “I like the hair.”
“Look at it while you can, because Daddy will make me change it as soon as I get home.” I heave a sigh. I’m so tired. I buckle up, because it’s what I’m supposed to do until we take off and stabilize. The pilot comes to greet me. I know him, too, but can’t remember his name.
“Miss Madison,” he says with a nod. “I’m glad you’re flying with me today.”
“I’m not,” I mutter.
He doesn’t respond. He just goes and gets things started. It’s early and still dark, so I can’t even watch the city pass me by as we take off. I see the lights, but they’re not what the city is to me. This city is so much more.
After the pilot says it’s ok, I unbuckle and go lay down in the bedroom. “Can I get you anything, Emily?” Watkins asks. I bury my face in my pillow so he won’t see my tears. I shake my head. “Let me know if you need anything, Em,” he says softly. Then more firmly, “Anything.”
I nod, my face still buried in my pillow.
I sob until I am too exhausted to do more. Then I sleep the rest of the flight. They wake me up to buckle when it’s time to land. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, brushing my hair and cleaning up. My dad is going to have a shit fit no matter what. But I can at least look presentable.
The limo pulls up beside the plane just as soon as it lands. Watkins opens the door and I slide inside. But then I stop. My mother is inside. She’s perfectly put together, as always. Her brown eyes are not the ones I want to be looking into. I want Logan’s blue gaze. His are the eyes I want to see. She looks at me, and at Watkins, who closes the door behind me and goes to sit with the driver. He never does that. But my mother can accomplish just about anything with nothing more than a look. “Emily,” she says crisply.
“Mom,” I reply.
“You look like hell,” she says. And her face finally cracks into a smile.
“Where’s Dad?” I twirl a lock of my black hair around my finger.
“Your father is in the doghouse I’m afraid. He bungled this terribly. And so he’s no longer in charge of this little matter.”
My mother never does this. I didn’t think she had a spine at all. “What?”
“Your father is the reason why you ran away from home. Your father is the reason why you have been gone for more than six months. Your father and his conniving are the reason why I lost my daughter.” Her voice cracks on the last word. My mother never falls apart. Ever. But she does now. Tears roll down her cheeks and she reaches for me. I fall into her. My mother is offering me everything I need right now.
“I’m going to mess up your clothes,” I warn, sniffling.
“Mess me up. I don’t care.” She squeezes me to her. “Tell me everything.”
I sit back. “You don’t want to hear everything.”
She sighs. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Mom,” I complain.
“I’ll start it for you,” she says, smiling. She mocks my bored tone and says, “Well, there’s this boy…” She motions for me to finish.
I tell my mother the story about why I left, where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.
At the end of my story, she says, “Your father still expects you to marry that boy.”
I nod. “I know.”
“But that will never, ever happen.”
My gaze shoots to her.
“We’re going to the salon. And then we’re going to take care of this.”
“Mom,” I breathe. “I promised Dad.”
She pats my hand. “You’ll see. Trust me.” And for some reason, I do.
For the next four hours, we change my hair color back to its natural shade, paint my nails a glossy pink instead of black, “because we don’t want to buck the system but just so much,” and she sends someone to get me a new outfit. She has a flock of people doing her bidding.
When we’re done, I feel like my old self. But I’m not. I never will be.
We pull up to our home and the gates are open. I’m so confused. There are news vans everywhere. “What’s this, Mom?” I ask.
“This is me handling this situation for you.” She absently runs a hand down the length of my hair. “You’re a smart girl, Emily. You can make your own choices.”
Tears prick at the backs of my eyelids. I’m a smart girl. Someone other than Logan said it.