Written in the Stars(70)

God. It was times like these, Darcy would do anything to have just five minutes to talk to Grandma. She’d give it to Darcy straight, tell her if she was behaving irrationally, if she was in danger of losing her head. Grandma had been the only person to get Mom back on some semblance of a track in life and Darcy, for all she tried, couldn’t do the same, not alone. It was too much, the weight of it crushing.

But Grandma wasn’t here and soon her house would be gone, too.

Darcy’s nails bit into her skin when she crossed her arms. “While I appreciate the concern, it’s unnecessary.” She crossed the room in the direction of the door, hoping Mom would get the hint. “Since we’re doing Christmas at Brendon’s this year, did you at least pack Grandma’s ornaments?”

Mom frowned, cigarette poised halfway to her mouth. “Those old things? Darcy, they were falling apart. I donated everything in the boxes in the basement. They reeked of mothballs.”

Darcy’s heart seized. They weren’t old, they were one of a kind. Delicate lace angels and hand-carved nutcrackers. Felt trees and mercury glass globes. They were tradition and family and Mom had tossed them out without a second thought.

Darcy opened the door with sweaty fingers and stepped aside.

“You’re not upset with me, are you?” Mom rested a hand on Darcy’s shoulder as she passed by, her cigarette tickling her neck.

“I’m—” Darcy shook her head. “Good night, Mom.”

As soon as the door was shut, Darcy pressed her back against it, sinking slowly to the floor.

Talking to Mom was like speaking to a brick wall and expecting it to understand, to empathize. But Darcy needed to talk to someone or else she was going to go crazy.

Who? Normally she could talk to Brendon about anything—almost anything—but certainly not this. Annie was still in Berlin, working on behalf of her company, an independent human resources consulting firm, to facilitate a corporate merger. It was just after seven, which meant it was the middle of night there. Then there was—

No one. She’d done an admirable job of accomplishing what she’d set out to do—isolate herself. Before this moment, she’d never realized what a lonely job it was, protecting a fragile heart.

Darcy clutched her phone, staring at her contacts. No. Not no one. She had the phone pressed to her ear before she could second-guess herself.

“’ello,” Elle’s voice came through the line, so vibrant and happy it made Darcy ache inside. “Darcy?”

She sniffed as quietly as she could, covering the receiver. “Hey.”

Her voice quivered, but held, flimsy but unbroken.

The line was quiet, the sound of Elle’s breathing a near-silent whistle. “What’s up? Let me guess, can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Darcy laughed, the edges of her self-control fraying, thinning, split in too many directions. Elle had no idea how right she was. “Something like that.”

“You know, this is the first time you’ve called me.”

Darcy took a shallow breath. “I hate talking on the phone.”

Elle chuckled. “And yet you called? You could’ve texted.”

She scrunched her eyes shut. “I hate talking on the phone but I—”

Wanted to talk to you. Elle was the exception to so many rules it made her head spin.

“Darcy?”

“Sorry.” She had to clear her throat. “I just— My mom’s here.”

She could hear Elle shift, fabric, a blanket maybe, rustle. “Right now?”

“No, I mean, yes. She’s in town, but she was at my apartment. She just left, but she’ll be here through Christmas. She’s, um, she’s selling my grandmother’s house. No questions, just like that. She’s selling the house and she got rid of the Christmas decorations and . . . and I just wanted to . . .”

She trailed off, not because she didn’t know what she wanted but because she did. She knew what she wanted but she didn’t have the slightest idea anymore what she needed. If they were one and the same or polar opposites.

Elle cursed quietly beneath her breath. “God, Darcy. Are you okay?”

“I’m—” It was there, on the tip of her tongue. Fine. Darcy always had to be fine, always had to be okay, because if she wasn’t, who would be? She always had to hold it together, be strong, keep her chin up. But she wasn’t. She was anything but fine. “Not really.”

Two words and she split straight down the middle, her voice breaking and her chest cracking open, all the feelings she’d kept compartmentalized, carefully tucked inside boxes set neatly on a shelf deep within herself, spilled out. Messy overflowing feelings seeped out in the most inopportune places, eyes leaking and nose running. Fuck.

“Darcy—”

“Sorry,” she said, hating how her voice quivered. “I didn’t mean to call and dump all over you.”

“You didn’t.” Elle sounded sincere, vehement even, her voice a firm contrast to Darcy’s weak everything. “You didn’t dump all over me. I swear.”

Nice of Elle to say that, but it wasn’t true.

“Still.” Darcy swiped a hand across her face, the heel of her hand coming back smeared with mascara and smudges of brown and cream eyeshadow mixed with her concealer. “It’s getting late. I just couldn’t talk to Brendon about this and I—” She needed to stop. She had no business making herself more vulnerable than she already was and especially not to someone like Elle, someone who Darcy had no guarantee would be a permanent fixture in her life. She’d make herself vulnerable, crack herself open, and . . . then what? “You know, I should let you go. I should . . .” Darcy scrunched her eyes shut, shoulders bunching by her ears because this was awkward as hell. “Bye.”