Chapter 1
I dropped the last moving box onto the floor of my new apartment and wiped the sweat from my brow. It was cute. A little rough around the edges, sure, but charming in a “I-might-be-haunted-but-in-a-fun-way” kind of vibe. With some paint and a few candles that smelled like ambition and trauma, it could definitely feel like home.
I poured myself a glass of wine, because that’s what independent women do when they’re one stubbed toe away from a meltdown, and started unpacking. Hours later, the furniture was placed just right, oky fine the furniture was placed good enough, most of the boxes were empty, and all that remained was my bedroom. Which could wait. My legs felt like boiled spaghetti.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. I shuffled through the cardboard battlefield to answer, groaning at the caller ID but answering anyway.
“Hi, sweetheart! How’s unpacking going? Are you sure it’s a safe neighborhood? Have you eaten? You can come over, and I’ll make you something to eat—” A rapid-fire question attack followed by an unsolicited offer of food. She’s more terrified of me living alone than I am of clowns. And I hate clowns. She’s always been a bit overprotective; it gets annoying sometimes, but my brother and I know she means well.
“Hi, Mom. I’m fine. Almost done unpacking. Yes, it’s safe. Yes, I ate. No, you don’t have to cook.”
(Okay, I lied about the food part, but the neighborhood is lovely. A neighbor even brought me muffins. Unless they’re laced with something sinister, but I’ll take my chances.
“Alright, alright, I just wanted to check. Your father and I had a little talk, and there’s something we want to discuss with you over lunch tomorrow.”
Oh no. That tone. Nervous. Too careful. My stomach sank.
“Mom. Please tell me you and Dad aren’t getting divorced.”
“No, honey, relax! Your father and I aren’t getting a divorce. He loves me too much! I can’t even sleep if he’s not next to me, snoring. We’re still too much in love for something so silly as divorce. He did get his toe stuck in the bathtub tap again, though. I swear, one day I’m just going to leave him there. Alright, gotta go! Love you!”
She hung up before I could process any of that. I laughed, shook my head, and took a quick shower before crawling into bed.
The sun punched me square in the face the next morning. I groan, pulling my blanket over my head, mentally scolding myself for not putting up curtains last night. Note to self: buy blackout curtains before the sun commits homicide. After tossing and turning for a few more minutes, with sigh I get up, I dragged myself to the kitchen, turned on the coffee machine like it owed me money, and shuffled into the shower. Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in a navy-blue sports bra, a tank top, black leggings, and my Nike running shoes.
Perched on my windowsill with a mug in hand, I watched the world go by, Dogs, Kids and just Lif in general.
My gaze drifted to the framed photo on the windowsill.
Elly.
My breath caught. My chest tightened, but I blinked it back. Not today. After washing my mug I gabbed my keys and made my way to work music blasting all the way there.
The gym’s AC hit me like a snowstorm in hell, nipping at my exposed skin. I walk over to the front desk to get my schedule for the day. First up is a 10 a.m. Zumba class, followed by two clients I’ll be training for the next three months. I pull off my tank and stuff it in my gym bag, leaving it in my locker before heading out of the private staff area.
I stepped outside to greet my class. Cue the catcalls. I ignore them and walk over to the group waiting for me and dove straight into the Zumba playlist
By noon, I was drenched in sweat and pride. My clients didn’t throw up, and no one tried to flirt mid-squat. Success.
Being a trainer to newcomers can be tough; they tire easily. But by next month, they’ll be more fit and capable of lifting weights instead of just playing with them. I got Mom’s “On my way!” text just as I finished my post-workout shower. Out came the trainer gear, in came the fishnet stockings, heeled boots, a black-and-red skirt, and my vintage Nirvana tee which I tucked into my skirt. I let my hair loose, spritzed on some perfume and headed out.
Mom had, of course, picked a table with an ocean view. I sit across from her, and her eyes light up at the sight of me. “Hey, sweetie! How was work?”I smile and share everything about my job, including how some of the guys at the gym are extremely hot and well-built. The waitress arrives, and we place our orders before she disappears again. My mom tells me my gran is driving her crazy. Apparently, my gran, known as the “crazy lady” at the old folks’ home, even booked herself in is now throwing wild parties like a college kid.
I had made a big mistake going over to her house to surprise her for her birthday last year. I was taking a day off from classes and went to visit but when I opened her door there, she was as naked as the day she was born with some of the other old folks living there. Equally as naked playing Scrabble. After that incident, my gran and I came to an agreement that I would call before visiting her.
My mom eyes me warily as the waitress sets down our food. “So, honey, about that thing your dad and I talked about. We want you to see a therapist.”
With a huffing groan I let my chip fall back in my plate. “It’s been three years, Tessa. No boyfriend—or any action, for that matter. We don’t want you to be alone-”
“Mom, I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist because I’m single. That’s not how this works. And how would you know if I have gotten any action for all you know I get some every night"
She gave me the glare. I stared right back.
She sipped her wine, cool as a Bond villain. “You have two choices: therapy and deal with what happened in high school, or we set you up with dates.”
I hate when my parents want to fix my love life “Mom, I’m not going to a therapist just because I don’t have a boyfriend! and as far as dealing with my past goes, I’m okay, really. but I’m not going to a therapist” I refuse to budge.
She can glare at me all she wants but I’m not going. I can’t stand shrinks- sitting there sizing you up, judging you. No, my parents must be smoking something strong down in their basement if they think I’m going to a therapist.
"I heard that nice kid Jerry you went to school with is single and he seems like a good fit.” she begins ranting on a list of weirdos I used to know when I was little.
I roll my eyes “You’re kidding, right? So, let me get this straight you and Dad decided that I either go to a head doc or you’ll set me up with dates? and really ma? Jerry? The one who would look up my skirt on the swings and threw sand in my face? Not to sound rude Mom but I don’t see how you can make me do any of those horrid things” I state, stuffing my face with food.
A smirk spreads across her face; an evil glint sparks in her eyes as she calmly sips her wine. “Tessa, you will choose one. Yes, Jerry could have grown up to be a nice young man. And to answer your question about how we’ll make you do it—it’s simple. You choose, or I’ll give every guy I see your address and number. I might even let your gran and her gang visit your work; you know how she loves young, hunky guys and their firm buns” she laughs evilly I choked on my fries and flinch away in distaste.
I really need to go check what type of meth lab my parents are cooking up in their basement It’s useless fighting her. If I don’t choose, she’ll follow through with her threat. She’d done this before when I moved into my dorm room when I started university. She asked my roommate to hook up with me it took him a year to accept I’m not into him and she even signed me up for online dating, so this means only one thing ”“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll go to therapy.” I grit through my teeth.
“Great” she squeals “Now I owe your dad money” she sighs “You and Dad made a bet on my decision!” I huff sitting back my blood boiling, the nerve of my parents. I’m their child, not their next gambling addiction. “Your first session starts at nine tonight.”
I blinked. “You already booked it?”
“You know me. I like to be prepared.”
“And because I know you wouldn’t want me to know who they are, I took one of the best, but I don’t know who it is. I only spoke to their assistant. And don’t even think about ditching—I’ll call the office to check if you showed up.”
She and Dad had bet on this.
“It’s been nice catching up, Mom, but I have places to be and people to see who won’t judge my sex life or my personal life, so goodbye Mother” I say sarcasm laced in my voice I leave a tip for the bill and storm out, sliding into my car and driving straight to the gym to blow off some steam on the punching bag.
9 p.m. came too fast the time for my dreadful appointment, With a dramatic sigh and one last internal protest, I got into my car and drove to the address she’d texted me.
