Come To Me | Jerrie

Chapter 12

We check into the upscale Ocean View Hotel. It's chic. The concierge informs us that we both have rooms on the fifteenth floor—right next to each other. Thoughts of how close she'll be float through my mind. I enter my room and the sheer beauty of it takes my breath away. There's a four-poster king size bed that faces the ocean. It's adorned with a fluffy white down comforter and luxurious soft blue linens. However, nothing is as beautiful as the wall of windows that opens to a balcony overlooking the waves. I put my bags down and explore the rest of the room. The bathroom is contemporary but still has the beach feel to it with blue and white accents that match the bedroom area. A huge two-person shower all done in marble is on the left, and in front of it is a square white soaker tub. Everything about this hotel is picture-perfect.

The sound of the hotel phone startles me. I rush over, picking up the receiver.

"Hello," I say, a little breathless.

Jade's rough voice meets my ear. "Hey, I know we were going to leave right away, but I had something come up at the office that I need to handle." She sounds frustrated. I picture her pacing the room and rubbing her hands over her face.

"Sure, that's fine. Take as long as you need."

"Shouldn't be more than two hours. Sorry, but I have to go," she says quickly and hangs up.

I flop onto the king size bed in my beautiful hotel room and stare at the ceiling. I'm dead tired, even after my nap. It's only 2 p.m. but I feel like it's 2 a.m. Jade exhausts me—hell, my life exhausts me. Instead of taking yet another nap, I decide to take this time and call my mother. I'm still beyond pissed that she left a voicemail, but she's all I have left and I need some answers.

I dial her number and press the send button. After two quick rings, I hear her voice come through the line.

"Oh Perrie. Hi, honey." She sounds so happy to hear from me.

"Mom." My reply is clipped and full of sadness. I'm trying to control my emotions.

She huffs. "You got my message, I assume."

"Yes, Mom, it was wonderful hearing that on a voicemail." I roll my eyes even though she can't see it. I need to keep calm. I walk over to the balcony overlooking the ocean and stare out at the horizon.

"Perrie, what was I supposed to do? Huh?" she asks and takes a deep breath. "You don't answer your phone. You don't call me back. I do the best I can with your attitude toward me. If you answered your damn phone, I wouldn't have to leave you messages." She sounds exasperated. I don't have an answer to that. Talking to her usually ends with one of us upset. We both argue and fight, and most of the time it's about something I'm doing wrong—according to her.

I've always felt second best to my mother. Either I wasn't smart enough, didn't try hard enough, or was too much like him. She would cry at night about how I was a constant reminder of my father. My father and I were pretty much identical, so I can understand how looking at me was difficult, but it was even harder having her push me away. The pain of having both parents walk out that day—one physically and one figuratively—was excruciating. I lost every idea I coveted about what my family was like the day he packed and left. He took more than just his belongings with him—he took my childhood. All I've wanted was for her to see me without seeing my father.

I let out a deep sigh. "Really, Mom? A voicemail? Why didn't you call Taylor?" I'm trying to restrain my voice, but I'm growing more and more agitated with her.

"I shouldn't have to call your damn secretary!" she yells. Then her voice softens. "I'm still your mother. I don't know why you hate me. You never think of anyone but yourself. I wish just once you cared about what I'm going through."