Page 37 of Silken Chains
Dad (7:24 a.m.): “Laura, what have you screwed up now?”
Dad (7:27 a.m.): “This is on you. Don’t expect me to bail you out again.”
His words sting like a slap. I grit my teeth, feeling that familiar wave of resentment.
Dad (7:31 a.m.): “Can’t you do anything right? The bookstore was fine before you took over.”
Dad (7:35 a.m.): “You’re just like your mother, making a mess of things. I won’t fix your blunders forever.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out his harsh words. My breathing is ragged, each text a reminder of his constant criticism.
No, not now. I can’t deal with this now.
I switch to Serena’s messages, desperate for a shred of sanity.
Gothic Goddess Ser (8.55 a.m.): “Lulu, where are you? Haven’t heard from you since last night. Are you okay??”
Gothic Goddess Ser (9:12 a.m.): “Seriously, I’m starting to freak out here. *Worried face emoji Please just text me back.”
Missed call from Gothic Goddess Ser at 9.13 a.m.
Gothic Goddess Ser (9:35 a.m.): “Okay, now I’m imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios. Are you safe? *Anxious face emoji”
Gothic Goddess Ser (10:03 a.m.): “Hey, if you hooked up with some hot billionaire and ran off to Paris, at least send a postcard! *Laughing face emoji”
If only, Ser. If only my life was that kind of mess.
Gothic Goddess Ser (10:07 a.m.): “Lulu, if you don’t text me back soon, I’m calling the cops. *Angry face emoji”
I glance at the clock. It’s nearly 11:00 a.m.
Gothic Goddess Ser (10:19 a.m.): “Alright, that’s it. I’m coming over. *Angry face with steam from nose emoji. And you better not be in Paris!”
Missed call from Gothic Goddess Ser at 10.32 a.m.
I tap the screen to call Serena, and at the first ring, her voice blasts through both my phone and from just outside my door.
“Laura!” she yells, her voice a mix of concern and a drill sergeant’s command. “Laura Anne Thompson!” The second call-out is even louder, accompanied by a series of frantic knocks that sound like a SWAT team’s about to breach.
I can’t help but crack a smile. I open the door, still clutching my phone.
There stands Serena, phone pressed to her ear, her other hand raised mid-knock like she’s ready to break down the door.
“I’m right here, Ser,” I say, half-laughing.
Her eyes widen in mock horror. “Thank God! I was about to call in a search party! Or worse, your dad!”
She barges in, still on the phone, now eyeing my apartment like she’s expecting to find a secret passage or a hidden hostage.
“Ser, you can hang up now,” I say, ending the call on my phone.
She dramatically presses “end call” and then turns to me, eyebrows raised. “You go MIA, miss calls and texts. What was I supposed to think? That you’d run off to Vegas to marry a Chippendale?”
“Sorry, I…” I pause.
Still in high gear, Serena strides over to my kitchen. She grabs a glass, filling it with water, her movements exaggerated, almost theatrical.
“Or worse, what if you got nabbed by a horny werewolf looking for his moonlit soulmate?” she quips, a mischievous glint in her eye, no doubt a spark from her latest paranormal romance.
