Chapter 8: Facing the Storm

As soon as I slid into the back seat of the taxi, I pulled out my phone and messaged Alice. My thumbs flew over the keyboard, spilling everything I could about the past 24 hours.

Me: OMG, Alice, you won’t believe it.

Alice: Spill. All of it. Now.

Me: The date was amazing. Like, AMAZING. We spent the night together, and the whole day after was just… wow. She’s so perfect. I can’t even describe it.

Alice: 😳😳 Hold on. Spent the night?? Details, please.

Me: I’ll tell you everything later. But seriously, it was unreal. I’ve never felt like this before.

Alice: Girl, I’m so happy for you!! But good luck with your mom. She’s probably plotting your murder by now.

I groaned, leaning my head against the taxi window. Alice was right—my mom was probably fuming. As we pulled up to the house, I could see her waiting on the porch. Her arms were crossed, her foot tapping impatiently. She looked like a doll—short, blonde, and perfectly put together—but the expression on her face was anything but sweet. When my mom was angry, she wasn’t a doll. She was a killing machine.

I stepped out of the car, bracing myself. “Hi, Mom,” I said cautiously, trying to gauge just how bad it was.

She wasted no time. “Emma, do you have any idea how worried we were? You didn’t come home, you didn’t call, you didn’t even send a text! We didn’t know if you were safe, if you were—” She stopped, her voice shaking slightly. “We were worried sick.”

I winced, her words hitting me harder than I expected. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to make you worry. It was… a sudden thing. I forgot. I should’ve called.”

Her eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze cutting through my attempt at an apology.

“Forgot?” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Emma, forgetting is leaving your lunch at home, not failing to tell your parents where you are or who you’re with. Do you have any idea what went through my mind last night? The things I imagined?”

I shifted uncomfortably, guilt twisting in my stomach. “I know. I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.”

She held my gaze for a long moment, her lips pressing into a tight line. I braced myself for another round of scolding, but then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. You’re home now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Her hands moved to her hips, her demeanor softening slightly as she eyed me carefully. “But next time, at least send a text. Even just a single word. I don’t care what it is—‘alive,’ ‘busy,’ ‘not dead.’ Something.”

“I promise,” I said quickly, eager to defuse her anger.

For a moment, the tension lingered between us, but then her expression shifted, curiosity replacing frustration. “So,” she began, her voice taking on a lighter tone, “who is he?”

I froze. “He?”

She rolled her eyes. “The guy you were with. The one who apparently made you forget everything else. What’s he like? How was the date?”

“Oh, um…” I stammered, my brain scrambling for a convincing response. “It went great. He’s very handsome.”

Her expression softened into a pleased smile, and she tilted her head slightly, studying me. “Handsome, huh? What else? Does he treat you well? What does he do?”

“Uh, he’s… really nice,” I said, feeling the lie tangle around me. “And funny. We had a good time. We went to the park and to the restaurant. He is very gentle.”

She nodded, satisfied with my vague answers. “Good. You deserve someone who treats you well. And thank God you’re moving on from Josh. I never liked that boy.”

I blinked at her, caught off guard. “You didn’t?”

She gave me a pointed look. “Of course not. He was possessive, rude, and honestly, a bit of a brat. I kept hoping you’d see it for yourself. You are too good for him.”

“Well,” I said awkwardly, “you got your wish.”

She smiled, her tone turning lighter still. “I’m glad. It’s about time. And this new guy sounds like an improvement.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile as guilt began to creep into the edges of my thoughts. “He’s… great.”

I wasn’t ready to tell her that it was not a guy—not yet. How could I? Everything with Irene was so new, so fresh, and I wasn’t sure where it was going. Telling my mom that I went on a date with a woman, that I stayed the night and spent the day in a whirlwind of emotions, felt too big, too soon.

But as we stepped inside, the guilt lingered. I hated lying, but I needed time to figure things out. Who Irene was to me. Who I was becoming. And when the time came to tell my mom, I wanted to do it right.

“Go clean up,” she said, breaking my thoughts. “You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

I nodded, retreating to my room with a mix of relief and apprehension. As I closed the door behind me, I sank onto the bed, pulling out my phone to see a message from Irene waiting on the screen:

“Hope you got home okay :)”

I smiled despite myself, the knot in my chest loosening slightly. Whatever came next, I knew one thing for certain: Irene was worth figuring it all out for.