of Bigfoot.”
I laugh through the snot.
“I’m sorry I let you feel trapped,” she continues with a tender smile.
“So you were listening?”
She winks. “I’m your mother; it’s what we do.”
“Mom, you’re fine. I just said that so Ben would leave me alone,” but I can tell from the look in her eyes she knows there was some truth to my statement.
“If I can wish for one thing for you,” she begins reaching out and pulling me into an embrace. “It’s a life without regrets.”
“Oh mom,” I sob, the wall of tears I had been holding back, breaking free.
“But so you know, I am adding international calling to our family phone plan and you better have it with you at all times,” my mom informs me.
“Of course!” I affirm through a snotty breath.
I ’VE LOST TRACK OF HOW many cups of coffee I’ve downed, but based on the tremors I keep fighting it must be a lot. I glance out the window again to see if they’ve finished fueling our plane, but my reflection distracts me. I look tired. Exhausted. I am exhausted. Between my Dad’s angry, threatening voicemails and Kitten’s midnight surprise visit that resulted in several hours of screaming on her part, the last thing I feel like doing is boarding a plane for a ridiculously long flight.
To make matters worse, I had to go and do a foolish thing like hiring an assistant with absolutely no experience. Maybe my dad was right, and I don’t think straight around a pretty face. I run my fingers through my hair, securing an ear bud that’s slipping out. What was I thinking?
The song changes. I cringe as a Nickelback song comes blaring through my headphones, causing me to question if a music subscription service is simply not for me. Pulling my phone out to thumbs down the selection, I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
My eyes dart up. Kenzie is looking down at me. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, and her skin glows with a natural and clean beauty. My stomach sinks when her eyes shift to the screen of my phone and her eyebrows lift questioningly.
“I hate them,” I shout, forgetting to adjust my voice volume to account for the headphones.
She tilts her head, puzzled.
My face flushes. I turn off the music and pull the ear buds out with a single yank. I shake my head; she’s laughing slightly.
“Sorry,” I start, standing up to greet her. “I just signed up for this music subscription service and apparently they think I’m a twelve-year-old girl with no taste in music.”
“Twelve-year-old girls have better taste in music than Nickelback.”
I shove my phone into my pocket and offer her a lazy smile. I suddenly remember one of the reasons I hired this girl. She’s quick, and not many people can make me laugh.
“Touché.”
When I catch her eyes, they shift to the floor, then aimlessly and anxiously around the room. I can’t help wondering what her story is. She’s not scared. That’s not what I’m sensing. Maybe it’s distrust? Of course, who could blame her?
“I kept it to one bag,” she offers at last.
Looking at the green duffle bag at her feet, I smile.
“What?” she asks quickly when she sees my expression.
I don’t want to tell her that I think it’s amazing she has a single, no frills bag. Kitten would have had her dozen Louis Vuitton suitcases and bags despite my restrictions on her. In fact, she would have tried to turn the trip into a vacation for her and her anorexic socialite replicas.
“Just impressed,” I reply, leaning in and wrapping my left arm through the straps of her bag.
“I can get it,” she exclaims lunging forward.
I straighten up, our heads colliding, resulting in blinding pain.
“Damn it,” I moan, dropping her bag and grabbing my forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, rubbing the collision point on her head rapidly.
She looks mortified, and I force a smile and low laugh despite the pulsing pain. “I insist,” I say, lowering a hand and scooping up her bag,
I laugh through the snot.
“I’m sorry I let you feel trapped,” she continues with a tender smile.
“So you were listening?”
She winks. “I’m your mother; it’s what we do.”
“Mom, you’re fine. I just said that so Ben would leave me alone,” but I can tell from the look in her eyes she knows there was some truth to my statement.
“If I can wish for one thing for you,” she begins reaching out and pulling me into an embrace. “It’s a life without regrets.”
“Oh mom,” I sob, the wall of tears I had been holding back, breaking free.
“But so you know, I am adding international calling to our family phone plan and you better have it with you at all times,” my mom informs me.
“Of course!” I affirm through a snotty breath.
I ’VE LOST TRACK OF HOW many cups of coffee I’ve downed, but based on the tremors I keep fighting it must be a lot. I glance out the window again to see if they’ve finished fueling our plane, but my reflection distracts me. I look tired. Exhausted. I am exhausted. Between my Dad’s angry, threatening voicemails and Kitten’s midnight surprise visit that resulted in several hours of screaming on her part, the last thing I feel like doing is boarding a plane for a ridiculously long flight.
To make matters worse, I had to go and do a foolish thing like hiring an assistant with absolutely no experience. Maybe my dad was right, and I don’t think straight around a pretty face. I run my fingers through my hair, securing an ear bud that’s slipping out. What was I thinking?
The song changes. I cringe as a Nickelback song comes blaring through my headphones, causing me to question if a music subscription service is simply not for me. Pulling my phone out to thumbs down the selection, I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
My eyes dart up. Kenzie is looking down at me. Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, and her skin glows with a natural and clean beauty. My stomach sinks when her eyes shift to the screen of my phone and her eyebrows lift questioningly.
“I hate them,” I shout, forgetting to adjust my voice volume to account for the headphones.
She tilts her head, puzzled.
My face flushes. I turn off the music and pull the ear buds out with a single yank. I shake my head; she’s laughing slightly.
“Sorry,” I start, standing up to greet her. “I just signed up for this music subscription service and apparently they think I’m a twelve-year-old girl with no taste in music.”
“Twelve-year-old girls have better taste in music than Nickelback.”
I shove my phone into my pocket and offer her a lazy smile. I suddenly remember one of the reasons I hired this girl. She’s quick, and not many people can make me laugh.
“Touché.”
When I catch her eyes, they shift to the floor, then aimlessly and anxiously around the room. I can’t help wondering what her story is. She’s not scared. That’s not what I’m sensing. Maybe it’s distrust? Of course, who could blame her?
“I kept it to one bag,” she offers at last.
Looking at the green duffle bag at her feet, I smile.
“What?” she asks quickly when she sees my expression.
I don’t want to tell her that I think it’s amazing she has a single, no frills bag. Kitten would have had her dozen Louis Vuitton suitcases and bags despite my restrictions on her. In fact, she would have tried to turn the trip into a vacation for her and her anorexic socialite replicas.
“Just impressed,” I reply, leaning in and wrapping my left arm through the straps of her bag.
“I can get it,” she exclaims lunging forward.
I straighten up, our heads colliding, resulting in blinding pain.
“Damn it,” I moan, dropping her bag and grabbing my forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathes, rubbing the collision point on her head rapidly.
She looks mortified, and I force a smile and low laugh despite the pulsing pain. “I insist,” I say, lowering a hand and scooping up her bag,
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