Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(53)

“Yes . . . maybe. Look. He’s part of my past, Mom. That’s where I want to keep him.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Georgie. First you wanted to stay up there for the summer, rejecting Mr. Berenger’s kind offer to intern at the bank. Embarrassing me, I might add. Now you’re not even interested in patching things up with Harris. I don’t know who you are anymore.”

The disappointment was there, ripe in her voice, and I felt suddenly suffocated. Like I couldn’t breathe under the pressure of it. That I could break apart from it at any moment.

“Mom, I have to lead my own life and do what’s right for me. Just because I don’t make the choices you want doesn’t mean my choices are wrong.” Did I honest to God just say that?

“Georgia,” Mom’s voice sharpened with authority—it was her principal voice. “Let me remind you that these choices you make are at my expense. Your father and I are paying your way. You are not as free as you think you are. We had an understanding when we let you go so far from home—that you would be there with Harris had a lot to do with our agreeing for you to go to Dartford.”

I sputtered and tried to remind her that he dumped me, but she barreled ahead.

“You were supposed to come home in the summers. And after graduation. You would get a sensible, useful degree and settle down here after graduation.”

There was an edge of desperation to her voice as she flung out these reminders. Before I could stop myself I heard myself snap, “Deviating from your plan doesn’t mean I’m like him, you know. It doesn’t mean I’m less of a person. I’ll still be your daughter. You can still love me.”

Silence met my outburst and for a moment I wondered if we had been disconnected. I almost hoped we had. That she had not heard me bring up that most taboo of subjects—my father.

I tried to imagine her face. Was she sitting at the kitchen table or in her bedroom with shades of pastels all around her?

“Georgia,” Mom began in carefully modulated tones and I released a breath, thinking this was it. We were finally going to have that talk—address the elephant in the room that happened to be my father and her need to create me in an image that was the antithesis of him.

“You will be here before August third. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Do you understand?”

My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles ached. I was a fool to ever think we would have a conversation of substance. “Yes. I understand.”

A few more empty words were exchanged and the call ended. A frustrated scream welled up from my lips. I tossed the phone down on the futon, watched as it bounced twice and then clattered to the floor. Like it was some living thing trying to get away from me.

She’d never understand. She didn’t want to. I’d be what she wanted or I could kiss good-bye her support. Financially. Emotionally. If I wanted her love and approval, I had to live the life of her choosing.

I pressed my knuckles to the backs of my suddenly aching eyes. I hated her right then . . . hated myself because I let her do this to me.

It was like Logan had said. I was buried away in my closet. Too afraid to let myself go. Well. Except for when I was with him. I’d embraced my wild nature then, shutting off the voice in my head that sounded a lot like Mom, warning me to be sensible, good, well-behaved, and dignified.

I hated that voice. I hated that me.

A sudden burn started in my gut. I scrambled for my phone. Hanging half my body off the futon, I snatched it from the floor and texted Annie. I hadn’t forgotten what night it was or her offer.

My fingers flew over the keys, punching in just a few words, making certain the sensible Georgia that Mom insisted be home by August third was gone. At least for tonight anyway.

Me: Hey, A. Can I still come with you tonight???





Chapter 18

ANNIE HADN’T BEEN KIDDING. Pillared and eggshell white with a wide veranda that faced an infinite stretch of green lawn, the house was something out of Better Homes and Gardens. Jasmine crawled over the porch, and flowerpots brimming with colorful buds swayed in the evening breeze. It was elegance bordering on decadence. The kind of place I imagined Ina Garten hosting one of her cooking shows.

All the houses on the street sat on big lots, promising a semblance of privacy. Several cars were already parked in the large horseshoe drive. Annie parked on the street and we walked past the parked vehicles, our heels clicking in unison. I couldn’t stop myself from scanning for Logan’s Bronco. I didn’t see it, but I also didn’t know what Rachel drove.

At the front door, Annie pushed the bell, sliding me an approving glance. “You look hot.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Damn right. This is my night.”

I smoothed a shaking hand down the skirt of my snug dress. After Annie told me what she would be wearing, I’d decided to dress up, too. As tempting as it had been to wear basic black, I had reached for the bright blue dress in the back of my closet. I’d bought it a year and a half ago to wear to a dinner that Harris insisted I attend with his parents. I probably weighed five pounds less then so it hugged me like a second skin now. Even if it wasn’t so tight, it would be hard to fade into the background in the peacock blue.

I had vowed that the Georgia my mother had worked so hard to create . . . the only Georgia she would accept and tolerate . . . be nowhere in evidence tonight.