Wildfire (Maple Hills, #2)(59)

She owes me after I had to deal with one obsessed girl who turned out to be a drug dealer with scary friends.

“I don’t know how to feel my feelings. It’s like the opposite of the feeling scaries. What do I do?”

“You like him, like him? You don’t just like that he gives you attention? And because you know he likes you too and therefore won’t reject you?”

“I like him, like him. I think he’s a nice guy and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel seen and I don’t want to fuck it up because I don’t know how to be a functional adult. Why haven’t you made me go to therapy yet? You’re a bad friend.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t need to pay a therapist to tell me I have daddy issues?’” she says, rolling her eyes. “Okay, you want my advice? You’re not going to like it . . .”

“I’m ready. Tell me.”

“You need to wait until we’re back in Maple Hills. See how you feel when you get your freedom back and the camp goggles are gone.”

“Urgh,” I groan. “That’s terrible advice. Why won’t you just enable me?”

“Because I love you. Now move,” she orders, picking up the hot chocolate tray and nodding to the other one. “If you’re going to be annoying, at least be helpful.”

I try to be helpful, but my mind is working overtime this evening. Between the storm and Russ, I have too much nervous energy. I swear time is moving slower than normal, so I decide to do the one thing that can zap my energy like nothing else.

Leaning against the wall beside the communal phone in the main building so I don’t have to go outside in the rain and get my cellphone from my cabin, I count the rings as I wait for my mom to pick up. I’ve tried to remember to call weekly but the days are so busy here and a week passes in the blink of an eye, so I haven’t been great at remembering.

She’s pissed about it. She makes it clear she’s upset she’s not a higher priority every time I do remember to call. The rings are running out and I know this call is close to going to the answerphone because she’s screening me. She thinks she’s making a point to me, but in reality, I don’t care if she doesn’t answer because at least I can say I’ve tried.

“Hello?” She says it like she hasn’t got every number associated with this camp saved in her phone.

“Hi! It’s me.” I force as much enthusiasm as I can into my voice. “Just checking in.”

“Oh,” she says casually. “Hello.”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Now isn’t a good time for me, Aurora. I’m very busy.”

It’s a Thursday evening and there’s a storm. What could she be busy with? She doesn’t go outside when it’s raining; she doesn’t like risking ruining her blowout. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, now you’re interested in talking to me, are you?” I can feel all the nervous energy from earlier being drained. Like somehow this very predictable interaction has recalibrated me. “I can’t just drop everything because you’re suddenly free to talk to me.”

“I totally understand, Mom. We can catch up another time.” This shuffling from her side of the phone and I hear something purr. “Wait, is that a cat?”

More shuffling. “Yes, it’s a cat.”

I feel like I’m being pranked. I look around the empty room, checking to see if Emilia is somewhere in the shadows waiting to jump out on me. “Whose cat is it?”

“It’s my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat. Do you even like cats?”

“I like this cat because it’s mine. I rescued him.”

A vision of my mom becoming a cat lady and filling her massive house full of them comes into my mind. “From where?”

“He joined me for breakfast on the deck one day. I gave him some of my smoked salmon, because he looked hungry, and he kept coming back so I let him in the house. I’ve decided to keep him.”

I rest my forehead against the wall, the phone pressed close to my ear. “Did he have a collar?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t very nice. I got him a new one from Louis Vuitton. You can meet him if you decide to do that long hard drive you love to complain about.”

I reserve the right to always complain about LA traffic and she can’t guilt that out of me. “Mom! You’ve stolen someone’s pet!”

“I rescued him, Aurora. He’s perfectly happy here with me.” The purring on the other end of the line increases and part of me considers she’s tricking me into visiting her just to see if she’s actually stolen someone’s cat.

“You need to check the old collar for a number! I know the only thing you like to listen to is the ocean and Chuck Roberts slander, but somewhere in Malibu, if you listen very closely, there’s a child crying for their beloved family pet.”

“You’re being very dramatic today, darling. Are you on your period?”

Give me strength. “No.”

“Did you see that your father is spending summer break on the yacht with the weather girl and her family?” she says casually. “Elsa is very unhappy about it all. She wanted to go to Monaco.”

“Mom, where exactly would I have seen that? I’m in the middle of nowhere with next to no service trying to keep twenty kids safe,” I say with a huff. I’m not surprised that’s what he’s doing and the way it doesn’t tear me up immediately is liberating. I wouldn’t go so far to say I hope they have a nice time, but I’m perfectly happy where I am.