The wheels touched down on the tarmac. The plane jerked and bounced as it made contact with the pavement, jolting me awake from my light slumber. I lifted my head, nudging Hannah, whose head rested on my shoulder. When we were given the all clear by the flight crew, I powered on my phone. It dinged and vibrated with a slew of voicemails, texts, and email alerts—mostly work related, a few from friends wishing me a happy birthday, and multiple missed calls and voicemails from a number I didn’t recognize.

I skimmed through and responded to the urgent ones as we waited for our luggage to appear on the conveyor belt at baggage claim.

My thumb hovered over the recording of the unfamiliar number. The area code was definitely something I recognized. It was from my tiny hometown in Texas. There was only one person I still periodically spoke to from there. The number on my phone was not her number. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard from her at all. I would have expected to, particularly today—my birthday. It was one of the few occasions she’d actually call me.

My mother and I hadn’t been close since I was a small girl. The older I got, the farther we grew apart. As I aged, I became more aware of how much appearances were more important to her over the actual happiness of me or herself.

An unsettling feeling tumbled and twisted in my stomach. Hannah returned to my side after finding and pulling her luggage from the masses. She glanced over at me, bumping her shoulder against mine.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, deciding to hold off on listening to the voicemail. “I’m good.”

Looking up from my phone, I finally spotted my own designer suitcase. I pulled it off the moving belt, following Hannah out of Sea-Tac airport to head home to my high-rise apartment in downtown Seattle.

Sliding into the backseat of the cab, I settled in next to Hannah, my head falling back to rest on the seat. Even though our trip to Milan had taken it out of me, the escape from Seattle was just what I needed after the shitstorm that took place a few nights ago with David.

I loved traveling. Luckily, I was able to do it at least a few times a year on someone else’s dime. Benefits of the job I loved—a buyer for one of the largest high-end department stores in America. One minute I could be sipping a glass of Riesling in Seattle and the following evening a glass of Merlot in Italy. That’s another thing I loved—wine. There were a lot of things I loved, just not David. And after the harsh words he spewed that night when I rejected his proposal, I was pretty sure he no longer ‘loved’ me.

I was terrible at relationships—one of the many reasons why I avoided them. My affinity for wine was probably my only successful long-term relationship. It was a give and take type of bond. Give me a glass, and I would take comfort in its deliciousness.

Yes, wine was always there for me when I needed it. And tonight, when I was sitting in my apartment alone, I’d need it to help drown my sorrows from the end of my relationship with David.

I know what you’re thinking…but you’re wrong. I’m not completely heartless.

Just because I didn’t want to marry David, didn’t mean I wanted to break his heart or end things with him. But there was no going back to the way things were after he popped the big question. It would always be in the back of our minds, festering and growing painful like a wart you couldn’t get rid of. A constant, ugly reminder.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hannah asked, her hazel eyes narrowing as she stared at me with disapproval. “You’ve been moping around for the last four days. It almost ruined my whole trip.”

Snapping my head up, I looked out the window at the passing streets with an exaggerated breath. I thought about ignoring her. A part of me really wanted to ignore her. I couldn’t. She wouldn’t stop prying until I answered.

“Nothing.”

“Well, you look like shit. I feel like I need to put you on suicide watch or something.”

“Don’t hold back, Han. Give it to me straight,” I snorted sarcastically, praying for the ride and conversation to come to a swift end. The Friday afternoon traffic moved at a snail’s pace, telling me my prayer would likely go unanswered.

Hannah was my bestie outside of work and my right-hand gal at work. She was a woman after my own heart. The ying to my yang. The peas to my carrots. The mashed potatoes to my gravy. As Meredith Grey would say, she was my person. Which was exactly why I couldn’t hide anything from her.

“Don’t tell me this is about David.”

I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes were focused downward, her fingers typing away on her phone as she spoke.

“I still can’t believe he actually proposed. I also can’t believe you said no. The man was fucking gorgeous. And rich. And good in bed. And rich.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, it’s an important quality. Especially for someone who makes a living out of shopping.” The corner of her lip pulled into a teasing grin. “So, is this about David?” She lowered her phone back in her lap to look up at me once again.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe.” Then immediately shook my head, knowing it really wasn’t. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. It had to end at some point.”

I’d miss David, sure. But my somber mood had less to do with him and more to do with the idea of not having anyone to spend what little spare time I had with. I’d gotten used to having him around. I looked away from her. My skin prickled, feeling her gaze on me, assessing me.

“Fine.” She sighed, tucking a fallen piece of her platinum-blond hair behind her ear. She picked her phone back up, aggressively pounding away at it. “God, I wish we were still in Milan. I could move there.” She let out a faint exhale. “I seriously considered it too after the hottie from the bar last night.”

I scoffed, cocking my head to the side as I stared at her. “Really? You’d pack up your life and move across the world for a man you barely said three words to? And those words were ‘Hi, I’m Hannah.’”

“Hey, when it’s true love, it’s true love.” She looked up from her phone, winking with a toothy smile. “Besides, I like them better when I don’t have to carry on a conversation with them. He was the ideal husband. Hot and didn’t speak a lick of English.”

I snorted a chuckle. “Sure, Hannah. The two of you were the picture of an ideal couple.”

She pushed my shoulder, nearly knocking me into the passenger side door, making me laugh harder while I righted myself. “Hey! Watch it!” I reprimanded through my laughter.

“At least I know what I want. It’s not like you can say the same.”

“I know what I want,” I responded firmly, slightly offended.

“Right. To die an old maid surrounded by cats.” She gave me a condescending smile before turning her attention back to her phone.

“No. I hate cats. Now dogs, maybe. But definitely not cats,” I mocked her. “Maybe even fish. They’re more self-sufficient.”

“Whatever.” She dismissed my taunting with her hand. “My point is, not everyone has your jaded views on love and marriage. And the life you’ve planned for yourself sounds like a lonely one.” She pinned me with her eyes. “Someday, Lottie, there’s going to be a man who walks into your life, knocking that ridiculous notion you have out of your head. And I’m buying front row seats when it happens.”

I squinted my eyes at her absurd prediction. “Never going to happen, Han. Besides, I won’t be lonely…I’ll always have you.” I grinned.

She laughed, relenting on the argument she knew she’d never win. The argument I was avoiding, determined to ignore the small niggling in my stomach, making me think maybe there was some truth to her words. I wasn’t going there. I’d made up my mind a long time ago. Marriage wasn’t for me. The union was a façade more often than not.

“True. And we’ll always have our trips to Milan with sexy, Italian men begging to be charmed by your American Southern accent.”

* * *

I unlocked my front door, leaving my luggage in the entry before falling limply onto my couch, kicking up my feet. I closed my eyes, exhausted from my travels, relieved it was Friday. I wouldn’t be forced to go into the office in the morning, but I’d still likely be working over the weekend. At least, I could do it in the comfort of my own home. Wearing yoga pants. And a messy bun. Without judgement.

Even when I wasn’t in the office, I was constantly working—scanning fashion bloggers’ sites, Instagrams, and watching the latest runway shows online—constantly shopping the competition. My job was my life. To be successful in my career, I always had to be at the top of my game and in the know of the hottest trending fashions. It was a twenty-four seven commitment. The only commitment I had room for. And I was perfectly content with that.

As my body started to meld into the cushions, becoming one with the couch, my phone buzzed with a new call. I groaned, lifting my head to glare at where it rested on the coffee table. I rolled my tired, aching body upward, swinging my legs in front of me to plant my feet on the floor. Picking up the phone, I stared at the screen flashing the now familiar unfamiliar number.

I hesitated answering, the eerie feeling hovering once again. I shook it off, pressing the green button seconds before it rang to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Alotta Davis?” a female voice with a Southern drawl asked.

This was definitely not someone I knew if she was referring to me as that. “Yes, this is she.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She sighed. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the last forty-eight hours. You had me worried half to death.”

“I’m sorry. Umm…who is this?”

“Oh, dear! I apologize. I guess I should’ve started with that. I’m just so relieved to finally have you on the phone. This is Mrs. Covington, Mr. Daniels’ assistant.”

“Mr. Daniels?”

“Yes. Gerard Daniels, your mama’s attorney.”

“Um…oh-kay. What can I help you with, Mrs. Covington? I’m sure whatever it is, my mother would be the better person to contact.”

“Oh, honey…” She drew out the word with a sympathetic sigh I didn’t appreciate. “I know it isn’t my place to be the one to tell you this, but Mr. Daniels is in a meeting right now and…well…honestly, I didn’t think you’d answer. I thought I’d just be leavin’ another voicemail for you to call him back.”

“Mrs. Covington, please.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. “I’ve had a long day of traveling and I’m exhausted. Will you just say whatever it is you need to tell me?”

I did my best to keep the annoyance out of my tone. I was in no mood to deal with whatever this was. All I wanted was some sleep and a bottle of wine. And the longer the woman spoke, the more agitated I felt.

“Oh, dear…all right then…I guess there’s no good way of tellin’ you this, but your mama has passed.”

“Passed what?” My brow furrowed, my eyes flicking open.

“Away, dear. Your mama has passed away. She’s gone to be with the good Lord.”

I stared straight ahead, unable to focus on anything as I processed the words she’d said. She fell silent for a moment before saying more.

“I’m sorry, hon. I know this must be a bit of a shock for you. It was for all of us here in Billingsley. None of us had any idea she’d been sick. Your mama was a pillar of the community and—”

“You must be mistaken,” I finally managed to speak, interrupting her ramblings. It couldn’t be true. My mother wasn’t young, but she was healthy and active. Annoyingly so.

“Oh, no. She was definitely loved by everyone here. We’re all gonna miss her.”

“No…” I shook my head. “She’s not sick. She’s not dead. You must have the wrong number. Have me confused with someone else.”

“I’m afraid it’s true, honey. There’s no mistake…” She sighed before continuing, her voice uneasy. “Mr. Daniels is gonna need you to come to his office so he can go over the estate with you.”

“No. I don’t want it. Just sell everything,” I irrationally demanded, still not completely convinced what she was saying was true. But a part of me knew. Knew it had to be. I hadn’t heard from her all day. And though my mother would never claim the mother-of-the-year award, she would never not call me on my birthday. “Mail me the papers and I’ll sign.”

There was no way I was going back to Texas. Not ever. I left that town as soon as I graduated high school without any intentions of returning, and I still didn’t plan to. I didn’t want the house or the farmland, which no longer produced.

“I’m sure he could arrange that for you, but…what about the funeral, dear? Don’t you want to be here for that?”

“I—I can’t…” My voice caught in my throat. And for the first time since hearing the news, tears pricked my eyes, spilling over, wetting my cheeks, the initial shock wearing.

“How ’bout you give us a call back, once you’ve had time to process. I’ll let Mr. Daniels know I spoke to you.”

I nodded my response, despite her being unable to see me.

“Take care, dear. We’ll see you soon.”

She hung up the phone, not allowing me to say another word. I curled up in a ball on the couch, letting the tears of regret fall freely as the sobs of loss wracked my body.