“I think it sounds like an absolutely amazing idea!”
“Yes!” Jazz clapped her hands, and she did bounce in her seat.
What the hell. Holly let out a small squeal and bounced right along with Jazz.
“Hey, you said you’re new in town, right?”
Holly reached in the box and snagged a hunk of the scone. “Yeah, only been here about ten days, but my parents live here too. They moved about three weeks ago,” she said right before popping the delicious pumpkin spice concoction in her mouth. Damn, that paired so well with Jazz’s strong coffee.
“You got any plans for tonight?” Jazz asked, mouth slightly stuffed with a giant bite of cinnamon roll. “I’m not even sorry I’m talking with my mouth full. This is just too damn good to care.”
Well, shit, what chef didn’t love a compliment like that? “Nope, no plans. I’m officially a friendless loser.”
“You have plans now.” She rattled off her phone number. “Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up tonight at nine. We’ll go out. Dance a little. Drink a little. You can meet my crew. It’ll be fun. Whatdaya say?”
As Holly pulled out her phone to enter Jazz’s number, she noticed a slew of missed text messages and calls from her mother. Fourteen texts and three calls in all. She’d silenced her phone for this meeting, and immediately her mind went to the worst-case scenario. With her heart pounding out a rhythm of dread, she opened the text app. “Jesus,” she muttered. The first text was a good morning note, asking Holly what she was up to today. From there, each grew more frantic as Holly hadn’t answered until the final, and fourteenth said her mother was going to have her father send some officers to her apartment.
This was getting out of control
“You okay?” Jazz asked.
“Yes, sorry. Family drama. But, I say that sounds like a great plan for tonight. I sent my address.” And it did sound like a fun night out. Holly desperately needed to get out and make some new girlfriends. Otherwise, she was doomed to spend every weekend being fixed up by her father. A shudder ran through her. No, thank you. One of those dates was plenty.
“Great! Just wear something you’d wear to any bar.” Jazz said as the jangle of bells indicted the door was opening. “Staff’s starting to arrive, so I need to get moving. I’ll see you tonight.”
“See ya.” After leaving the diner, Holly immediately placed a call to her mother.
“Holly, finally!” her mom said by way of greeting, tears evident in her voice. “I’ve been beside myself. Your father has a patrol car swinging by your apartment now. Are you okay? Do you need help?”
Holly pinched the bridge of her nose as she leaned against her car. “I’m fine mom. I was just busy and couldn’t answer the phone.”
“Well, Holly, that can’t happen again. You always have your cell phone on you, so I don’t see why you can’t just answer when I call or text.”
Staring up at the early morning sky, Holly blew out a breath. This had to stop. Her mother’s need to know where she was at all times had only grown worse with each passing year. It’d almost reached the point of pathologic.
“Mom, I’m an adult, and even though I carry a phone with me, there are going to be times I’m unable to answer it. You know this. Everyone knows this.”
“Well, I—”
“Look, mom, I don’t have time to get into this right now. I’m fine and have a packed day and plans tonight, so you probably won’t hear from me again until tomorrow, maybe even Monday, okay?”
“What? No, please let me know when you get home tonight, so I can sleep.”
Holly hung her head, the word no at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t do it. She’d had to learn to live with the guilt of failing her sister, but couldn’t handle knowing she was the reason her parents suffered at night. They’d been through enough. “I’ll text, but that’s it. I gotta go.” After hanging up, she shook her head at her weakness. How many twenty-four-year olds who lived alone still needed to let their parents know when they arrived home?
She spent the afternoon hours working on a few ideas for breakfast pastries she had a feeling would be fantastic for the diner’s menu. At least it seemed as though they would complement the menu items she’d found on the diner’s website.
By seven, she was covered in flour, egg goo, and sugar. A good scrubbing took care of the mess both to her and her kitchen, then she spent the next ninety minutes fretting over what to wear and working on her hair and face. Most of the time, since she baked for a living, she spent the day in yoga pants and makeup-less. Since this was the first time she’d actually had plans—not made by her father—in an embarrassing amount of weeks, she went a little heavier on the makeup and considerably lower-cut on the clothing than she might have, had she actually had an active social life.