“Don’t give me that,” Mom says with accusation in her tone. “We both know there was more to it than that.”
“Yeah, well.” I throw the shirt I was folding onto the couch, using more force than I need to. “That’s how it goes sometimes.”
“You can talk to me, you know,” she says more gently. “You’re never too old to lean on your mother.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just have a lot to do before the move.”
“Was the hospital sorry to take your resignation?”
“They did offer me a significant raise to stay, but I think this will be a better opportunity.”
Another lie. There is no better opportunity for me that doesn’t include Mackenzie.
“I just hate that you’re moving so far away. You’re going to be all on your own.”
“I’m used to it,” I mumble.
“Well, you shouldn’t be,” she sighs. “I worry about you so much, son. You’re nearing forty, and you still have no one to come home to. I don’t want you to work yourself into an early, lonely grave.”
My mother can’t possibly know how much this conversation is making everything I’m feeling a hundred times worse, and I’m struggling to keep my emotions in check. If she finds out how badly I’m doing right now, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Really, Mom. I’m fine with the way things are. I like my life.”
Fucking liar, I think miserably. You only thought you did.
“Well. I’m just saying, you could—”
A knock at my door means that I miss the rest of what she’s saying, stepping back to peer down the hallway warily. There isn’t a single person who comes to mind who would be coming to visit me, save for maybe Paul—but even that seems unlikely.
“—someday you’re going to look back and wish that you—”
“Just one second, Mom,” I mutter into the phone.
I don’t think she actually hears me, because I can still hear her ranting even when I hold the phone away from my ear and start down the hall. There’s another knock as I approach, one that is more insistent than the first, and I glance at the clock on the wall to notice it’s nearly ten o’clock, so even a package delivery doesn’t make sense. Not that I was expecting one. I reach for the handle just as a third knock sounds, one that’s practically a fist beating at the wood, pulling open the door and nearly dropping my phone entirely when I see who’s standing there.
It takes me several seconds to remember how to form words, but then: “Mackenzie?”
Her hair is wild, almost like she’s been running, and she appears out of breath, her eyes bright but hard under her knitted brow. I notice she’s still in her scrubs, which makes no sense, given that she got off hours ago. Which I know. Because I still know her schedule. Like a pathetic weirdo. She looks almost angry, pointing a finger at me.
“You’re a fucking liar, Noah Taylor.”
I rear back, thrown for a loop. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but that was definitely not it. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I can’t believe you would—” She notices the phone in my hand. “Are you on the phone with someone?”
“Shit.” I remember my mother, who is still lecturing me, oblivious to the fact that I haven’t been listening. I put the phone back to my ear, cutting her off. “Mom, I’m going to have to call you back.”
“I’m not falling for that! You and I both know you won’t—”
“Talk soon,” I say, still addled.
I put my phone in my pocket slowly after I hang up, still reeling from the angry woman standing on my porch. “Did you want to come in to yell at me?”
“Oh.” She looks less irate for a moment. “Yes. Sorry.”
She walks right past me without sparing me a second glance, and I shut the door slowly behind her, wondering if I’ve finally lost it. Maybe this entire thing is a hallucination. When I find her in the middle of my living room—her arms are crossed as she regards me irritably, tapping her foot.
“How could you lie to me?”
“Mackenzie, I . . .” I’m torn between utter confusion and elation that she’s here. That she’s within reach, for however brief a time. Fuck. Her scent is thick with her anger, and I have to resist the urge to close my eyes and inhale deeply, knowing that would most likely worsen her mood. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”