The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,15
away. Except, right now, somber loneliness numbed her outlook.
She pulled her earbuds free and tossed them onto the counter. They skittered over the granite. One plopped into the sink, splashing into a glass of water as her cell phone rang again. “Shoot.” She fished the bud out, then grabbed her phone with a wet, soapy hand. The caller ID read White House Switchboard. Thank God. Amanda answered on the fourth ring. “Mom?”
“Hi, sweet pea. Good time?”
“Sure.” She wiped her hand on her pants. “But can you give me a sec?” She reached into a cabinet but dropped the phone. “Sorry, Mom! Hang on.” Amanda wanted to save her pricey earbud and grabbed a box of boil-in-a-bag rice. Did it matter if the rice had been parboiled? Without another option, she tore it open over a bowl. Rice spilled everywhere but where it was supposed to go. “One more second,” she shouted toward the floor, then swiped enough rice into the bowl to cover her earbud. Unsure if that’d work, she slumped, then remembered her mom and picked up the phone. “Sorry, I dropped you.”
Her mother had been humming as she waited. “Must’ve been a long fall.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” Amanda swept rogue pieces of rice into the sink. “I bought new earbuds and then dropped one into a cup of water.”
“Why would you do that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
Mom hummed again but sounded like she was wondering about life’s meaning.
“What, Mom?”
“You’re usually so…careful.”
“It was an accident.”
“I gathered that,” Mom said. “Is everything okay?”
“Why do people keep asking me that—never mind.” Amanda pinched the bridge of her nose. “I put it in rice. Maybe that will dry it out.”
“Submerged electronics never come back from the dead.”
“Don’t use your professor voice on me.” Amanda thumped her head against the wall that separated the kitchenette from the foyer. “I can’t handle it tonight.”
“What’s wrong?”
If Amanda could’ve told her teenage self how close she’d grow to her parents, she’d have passed out. Funny how that had changed, and she hadn’t realized it until now. “Jared Westin wants me to make a friend.”
“Oh, the horror. That cruel, cruel man does such mean things to you.”
“Mom.”
“Halle’s a friend who has never left your side, and, not for nothing, your dad was my friend before he swept me off my feet and into bed.”
“Can we avoid that visual, please?”
“Jared will always have your best interest at heart. Give him a chance and try.”
“I think that maybe, I sorta tried.” Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and thumped her forehead against the wall again. “It didn’t go well.”
“Nothing’s ever perfect the first time.”
“It was a guy.” She waited, unsure if her mom hadn’t heard her or if she’d shocked the woman into an early grave. “Mom?”
“I’m here, honey.” She faltered. “I think that’s great news, and when a guy’s involved, nothing ever goes exactly the way we hope. No matter what rules or contracts or—”
“I kicked him between the legs.”
“Oh…was he pressuring you to—”
“No!” Oh God. Maybe she shouldn’t have broached this landmine over the phone. “We were…” She gestured for a mom-appropriate description that wouldn’t trigger a conversation about hormones and nuclear reactions. “Talking. I just freaked out and kneed him in the ’nads.”
“The ’nads,” Mom repeated.
“Do you know how much The Washington Daily would pay to hear the First Lady say that?” Amanda muttered.
“At least I know you were listening when I taught you the proper names for body parts.” Mom laughed. “But honey, it’s gonads.”
“Okay!” She blushed. “Thanks for the reminder.”
The laughter over the phone line quieted. “Will you see this gentleman again?”
“What? No!”
Mom hummed. “You can’t go on a second date if you never see him for a first.”
“I can’t.”
“You can do whatever you’re ready for,” Mom said. “Just remember that one day I would like grandchildren.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “It has nothing to do with what I’m ready for or what I want. It’s—you know this—I can’t.” The back of her throat ached. “It’s not safe for anyone.” She bit her lip. “Can we forget I brought it up?”
Mom sighed, then yielded. “All right. A conversation for another day.”
She played with the bowl of rice, swishing it over the earbud. “Thanks.”
“Other than torturing you, how’s Jared doing?”
Amanda half-laughed. “Oh, ya know. Snarling and growling his way through the day.”
“Sounds like he’s doing well.”
She grinned and nodded. “The project is coming along nicely.”
“Terrific. You know, your dad wants to visit.”
“Please don’t.” Her parents’ annoying habit of surprise visits always occurred at the worst