Written in the Stars(68)

“You can’t smoke in here,” Darcy said.

Cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth, Mom waved Darcy off. “Oh what? Like your landlord’s ever going to find out if I—”

“I don’t want you smoking in here.” Yes, it was a building policy, but it was also a Darcy policy. One she wouldn’t budge on.

Mom tugged the cigarette from her mouth and gestured to the wall of windows. “What if I crack a window?”

Jesus. “We’re on the ninth floor. The windows are floor to ceiling; they don’t open.”

With a huff, Mom threw the cig and lighter back into her purse, which she then tossed on the floor. “Okay, Mom. Jeez, I never raised you to be such a tight-ass.”

Darcy bit the tip of her tongue, swallowing her retort. Mom had barely raised Darcy at all.

“So you’re here for Brendon’s Christmas party. You must be planning to fly home around the same time as Brendon and me.”

“About that.” Mom tucked one leg up on the couch, turning to face Darcy.

Ah, the but. It had only been a matter of time, a matter of how long Mom was going to beat around the bush before she came out with the real reason why she was here. Not only in town, but at Darcy’s apartment, on her couch, guzzling her wine down like it was water, and gripping the stem of her glass so hard Darcy worried it would break.

“I was thinking we’d have Christmas here this year,” Mom said. “Save you and Brendon the trip.”

“We already have tickets.”

Mom opened her mouth only to pause. She took a deep breath and smiled tightly on the exhale. “Your brother canceled those.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t say anything.”

“I asked him not to.” She scooted closer, sliding across the cushions. “I wanted to tell you myself. Preferably in person.”

Darcy’s pulse stuttered then sped. “Is everything okay? You’re not—”

Mom rested a hand on top of hers. “Everything’s fine. God, you worry too much.” She reached up, poking the space between Darcy’s brows. “It’s gonna give you wrinkles one of these days.”

Darcy batted her fingers away. She worried for good reason.

“Then what is it? Why aren’t we having Christmas in San Francisco?”

“Well, that would be hard to do,” she said, “seeing as I’m selling the house.”

“You’re selling Grandma’s house?” Darcy’s voice nearly cracked, so she coughed.

Mom squeezed her fingers. “It’s just a house, Darcy. A house your grandmother hasn’t lived in for years. A house, quite frankly, you haven’t lived in for years, either.”

It wasn’t just a house. The three-story Victorian with its steeped, gabled roof and bright, stained glass and broad bay window was full of memories. It was weekends spent baking scones and slathering them with homemade strawberry jam and afternoons curled up on the sofa watching soaps with Grandma. It was creaking stairs and an ornate bannister Brendon had broken his arm sliding down when he was eleven. It was summer nights on the porch swing under a blanket and slumber parties with Annie.

To Mom it was a house, but to Darcy it was home.

Darcy twisted the platinum band on her middle finger. “Why? Do you need money because I can—”

“It’s just time for a change.”

“What if you rented it? That way if you change your mind—”

“I won’t change my mind.” Mom gave a sardonic laugh, lips twisting in a way that said there was more to this story than she was letting on. “I’m selling it. I’m moving. End of story.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t, but what else was Darcy supposed to say? It wasn’t her house, and while she had a nice nest egg put away, it wasn’t enough to buy a house in San Francisco.

“Darcy, baby, you’re not usually this sentimental.” Mom patted her on the arm.

Darcy covered her flinch by reaching for her wine. “I said, it’s fine.”

Mom heaved a sigh. “Your brother and I are planning on looking at houses this weekend.”

Darcy’s head snapped to the side. “Here? You’re planning on moving here?”

“Well, I don’t know where exactly.” Her head waffled side to side. “Mercer Island, maybe. Somewhere close to the water. Doesn’t it remind you of the Bay?”

Something did not compute. “If you’re looking for something that reminds you of the Bay why are you moving?”

Mom pressed her fingers between her brows. “Darcy. Can I not want to move closer to my children?”

Darcy stared.

“Fine.” Mom dropped her hand and sighed. “Kenny and I broke up.”

Of fucking course this was about a guy. When wasn’t it about Mom’s latest flavor? “Ah.”

“Yes, ah.” Mom huffed. “And where did he decide to move to? He’s renting an apartment two blocks away. I see him all the time.” She reached for her wine and nearly drained it. “I’m sure you of all people can understand what I mean when I say I need distance.”

Mom had effectively backed Darcy into a corner. Because what could she say? She’d packed up her life and moved all the way to Seattle after . . . after she’d broken off her engagement with Natasha. Been forced to break off her engagement. It wasn’t so much a choice as an act of self-preservation. She wasn’t going to go through with it, not knowing what she did. And staying in Philadelphia had been too hard, her life there too integrated with Natasha’s to make for an easy break. It had been messy, their group of friends entirely assimilated. Darcy hadn’t just wanted a fresh start, she’d needed one.