Page 122 of PS: I Hate You
One week until I see Dom in person again, and I’m frantically working. Trying to make sure there’s nothing that will come up while I’m gone and interrupt our North Dakota trip. I’m in the zone, knocking items off my to-do list left and right, which is why I barely suppress a growl when the phone in my shared cubicle rings.
I loathe unscheduled work calls. But it might be Pamela, and I’m not about to piss her off when I’m on the edge of a vacation.
A vacation with my boyfriend.
The thought of Dom brings a smile to my face and eases the tension in my shoulders. A little over a month has passed since he sang to me as I trekked up all those stairs to this floor, then said he was mine. We’ve video-chatted almost every night since, usually while I’m working on a puzzle. Unless it’s a sexy Zoom call. We play other games during those.
And even though Dom isn’t the most talkative person, he makes an effort for me. Or maybe it’s not an effort. Maybe his dry retorts to my teasing trip easily off his lips. He’s always on time for our chats. Always the one texting me in the morning asking what time I’m free to talk.
As if sensing my tendency to doubt, Dom hasn’t given me a moment to question his commitment. He didn’t just say he’s in this with me. He’s showing up.
And hell, it feels good to rely on him.
I pick up the phone, wishing I’ll hear a deep voice on the other end saying, “Maddie.”
Instead I get Toby, our reception desk attendant, with his rapid-fire nasally voice. “Maddie. Hi. You have a visitor here. I don’t have approval to send them back. Could you come grab them?”
“A visitor?” Could he…No. Dom wouldn’t have shown up early.
Or would he? Maybe dating me is pushing him to be a little spontaneous.
“Yes. Sorry. I have calls coming in.” Toby’s end of the line clicks dead, but I’m already hanging up on my end and shoving out of my chair.
Did he take the week off? Will I get seven more days of him?
Already I’m tired of the distance between us, but I haven’t figured out a solution. The idea of moving back to Philadelphia gives me stress hives. That’s where my toxic childhood home is, and I have a string of memories of Josh in a hospital bed.
Does it say something about me that I don’t think I could move there for Dom?
But how could I ask him to relocate here? Leave his job. Leave his family. Leave his home.
This is all too early. You’re moving too fast.
I may have more confidence in us, but we haven’t been together long enough to broach that topic. Not yet.
Trying not to look like I’m sprinting, I hurry through The Redford Team workspace toward the front desk, searching for a familiar head of dark hair and set of striking eyes.
But when I reach reception, I stumble to a halt, faced with a familiar figure that is not the man I hoped to see.
“Surprise!” Cecilia Sanderson chirps while tucking her phone into her purse.
“What the hell?” I mutter, which makes my mother’s smile take on a strained note.
“Is that any way to greet your mother?”
I don’t bother answering the question because, honestly, I don’t know the correct way to acknowledge the woman I haven’t spoken to in over a year. I meant it when I said I was blocking her number, and I went ahead and blocked my grandmother, too. Not that I expected Florence to reach out to me, but just in case.
“What are you doing here?” A quick glance to the side shows a once-busy Toby is now watching this exchange with curious eyes.
“It’s been so long—”
“Let’s get lunch,” I interrupt her. Whatever this unexpected visit is about, I don’t want our mother-daughter catch-up happening in my workspace. Everyone at The Redford Team sees me as a reliable, levelheaded worker. If anyone can have me ruining my reputation, it’s my mother.
She grins wide. “I would love that.” There’s an air of sincerity to her words that sends my mind reeling as I hasten back to my desk to grab my bag.
Does Cecilia actually want to have a meal with me? To catch up with me?
Maybe in the same way that this time since Josh’s death has seen me set aside old grudges, she also experienced some shifts in her outlook on life.