Chapter 24 A Family Reunion From Hell
Harper's Pov,
We hadn't spoken in five years.
Not since I'd told her I was moving to Seattle with Joel and she'd told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
"Harper?" Maya appeared in the bathroom doorway. "Do you want me to answer it?"
"No. Just—" I set down the toothbrush, my hands suddenly shaking. "Just let it ring."
So Maya left it on the table and it rang for about 4 minutes. Once. Twice. The third time... Then silence.
Voicemail.
"When's the last time you talked to her?" Maya asked quietly.
"The day I left Colorado. She said if I moved to Seattle for Joel, I was choosing him over family. I said “fine, I choose him." I went back to shoving bottles into my toiletry bag, movements jerky and angry.
"We haven't spoken since."
"And now she's calling."
"Obviously because she saw the news. Because her daughter is all over the internet being called a violent psychopath who attacked a pregnant woman." I zipped the bag harder than necessary.
"She's probably calling to tell me how right she was about Joel. That she knew he'd ruin my life. And that I should've listened to her five years ago."
"Or maybe she's calling because she's worried about you."
I sighed, "My mother doesn't do ‘worry’. She does judgmental and I-told-you-so." I carried the toiletry bag to my suitcase in the bedroom.
"And apparently, I don't have the energy to deal with her on top of everything else."
My phone started ringing again.
"She's persistent," Maya called from the bathroom.
"She's relentless. There's a difference." I walked back to the living room where my phone was lighting up on the counter.
'Mom - Mobile'
Underneath, a notification: '1 Voicemail'
I stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen.
Five years of silence.
Five years of building a life without her input or approval. And now she was calling because my life was falling apart publicly enough that even Colorado was paying attention.
"Well, you don't have to answer," Maya said, coming to stand beside me. "You don't owe her anything."
"I know."
But my thumb was already moving, opening the voicemail, raising the phone to my ear.
My mother's voice filled the apartment, and I was suddenly seventeen again, standing in our kitchen being told I wasn't smart enough for medical school.
"Harper. It's your mother. I've been trying to get to you for days but your phone keeps going to voicemail. I saw the news about that fight and the lawsuit and everything with that hockey player. We need to talk. Call me back as soon as you get this. Today, Harper. Not tomorrow. Today."
The voicemail ended.
Not “Are you okay?” Not even “I’m worried about you.” Just “We need to talk,” like I was a child who’d gotten in trouble and needed to explain myself.
"What did she say?" Maya asked.
"She said we need to talk." You know, that tone she saves for when she’s about to tell me exactly how I’ve ruined my life and what I should do to fix it
I set my phone down on the counter.
"I'm not calling her back."
"Harper—"
"No. I moved across the country to get away from her judgment. I'm not inviting it back into my life just because she decided now's a good time to play concerned mother."
I went back to my bedroom and started pulling clothes from my closet, folding them into my suitcase with more force than necessary. Maya followed, leaning against the doorframe.
"You know she's just going to keep calling," she said.
"Then she can keep leaving voicemails I won't listen to." I grabbed an armful of hangers.
"Let's just finish packing. I want to get out of here before those photographers figure out we're still inside."
We didn’t say much after that. The only sounds were boxes opening and closing, tape ripping, drawers sliding shut.
My phone rang three more times while we packed.
I ignored it every time.
"She's really not giving up," Maya said as we carried the last boxes toward the door.
"She never does. It's her superpower." I took one last look at my empty apartment.
"Come on. Let's go before I start crying about water stains and nail holes."
We loaded everything into Maya's car and drove back to her apartment in tense silence. I watched my neighborhood disappear in the rearview mirror, all those familiar streets I'd walked hundreds of times, now just another thing I was leaving behind.
As we pulled into Maya's parking garage, my phone buzzed with a notification.
Not a call this time. A text.
Mom: Harper Elizabeth Sinclair, I know you're avoiding my calls. Your father and I are flying to Seattle. We land tomorrow at 3 PM. Send me your address.
I read it twice, my stomach dropping.
"What does it say?" Maya asked, turning off the engine.
I showed her the screen.
"Oh shit. Both parents?"
"Both parents." I leaned my head back against the seat. "My mother saw me on the news and decided an intervention was necessary. And worse: she's bringing my father as backup."
"When's the last time you saw your dad?"
"Same time I saw my mother. Five years ago. The day I left." I closed my eyes. "This is a nightmare."
"We'll deal with it." Maya squeezed my hand. "They come tomorrow, you tell them you're fine, they leave. Easy."
I snorted. "Yeah, right. You’ve never met my mother. Nothing about her is easy.”
We were still talking when another text came through.
Mom: And for God's sake, stay away from that hockey player until we get there. I won't have you making this situation worse than it already is.
I showed Maya.
"Oh, I don't like her already," Maya said.
"Welcome to my childhood."
We hauled everything upstairs and piled it in Maya's living room. The guest room was already starting to look like my permanent residence; clothes draped over the chair, toiletries on the dresser, my life slowly taking over her space.
"I'm sorry," I said, looking at the mess. "I promise I'll find my own place soon."
"Stop apologizing. You can stay as long as you need." Maya started organizing boxes.
"Now go shower. The stench oozing out of that sweater is killing me."
"It’s called anxiety sweat, thank you very much," I muttered, grabbing a towel as I locked myself in the bathroom.
The water was so hot it turned my skin red.
As I scrubbed, I tried to wash away the feeling of Mr. Patterson's sympathetic expression, the empty apartment, my mother's voicemail playing on repeat in my head.
I stayed in until the water ran cold, then stood there shivering for another minute because at least physical discomfort was something I could control.
When I finally emerged, wrapped in Maya's bathrobe with my wet hair dripping down my back, I heard voices in the living room.
Maya's voice, which made sense.
And two other voices that made my blood freeze.
No. No no no no no.
I walked down the hallway in bare feet and stopped dead in the living room doorway.
My mother was standing in the middle of Maya's apartment, wearing a crisp blazer and slacks like she'd come straight from a business meeting, her steel-gray hair cut in the same severe bob she'd had my entire life.
My father stood next to her, hands in his pockets, wearing that same uncomfortable look he always had whenever my mother dragged him into confrontations.
They both turned to look at me.
"Harper," my mother said, and the single word carried more judgment than most people could fit in an entire paragraph.
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out strangled. "You said you were coming tomorrow."
"We took an earlier flight." She set her designer purse on Maya's coffee table like she owned the place. "I wasn't going to wait another twenty-four hours while you continued to make headlines for all the wrong reasons."
"How did you even get this address?"
"I have my ways." My mother's eyes traveled over me; the bathrobe, the wet hair, the general disaster of my appearance… and her mouth tightened. "We need to talk. Privately."
She looked at Maya with that expression that had made my childhood friends scatter like frightened rabbits.
"This is my apartment," Maya said, not moving from the couch. "Harper's staying here. If you want to talk to her, you
can do it in front of me."
"I don't think this is appropriate for—"
"Mom." I found my voice. "Maya stays. If you have something to say to me, say it. But she's not leaving."