My hands were shaking so much that I actually hung up instead of accepting the call. I cursed, and Jaz grabbed the phone away from me. “Just call her back.”
“As if she’ll pick up. She never did before.”
“She never called you before either, so…” She held the phone out to me. “It’s ringing.”
I pressed it to my ear just as Amanda said, “Hello?”
Jaz backed away, making a kind of see you later gesture. I had half a mind to grab her and keep her next to me. I had a feeling I’d need some kind of emotional support for this conversation. But I smiled weakly and waved as she left.
“Hi, Amanda.” Now that I’d gotten in touch with her, I could hardly think of what I’d wanted to say. “I’ve been trying to reach you,” I finally said dumbly.
“I know.” She sounded like she was chewing gum. “I’ve seen the missed calls, big sis. You didn’t have to look up everyone I’ve ever met and try to get to me through them.”
“I didn’t know if you were getting my calls. I thought maybe you changed your number.”
“Nope, same one.”
“And you finally decided to call me back.”
“Yep.”
Impatience was clear in her voice, and I felt the need to cut to the chase before I lost her. “Where are you now?”
“Why do you care?”
Now I was losing patience. “Because you dumped a baby on me,” I spat. “You came out of nowhere, dropped her in my office, and then disappeared off the face of the earth for three weeks. That’s why.”
“God, you make it sound so awful,” she said. “I thought you’d be happy. You like babies.”
“I might’ve liked some warning before getting saddled with one I never asked for.” Breathe, Faye. Don’t put her on the defensive. She’ll just hang up, and you’ll be back to square one. “But it isn’t important. Are you in Rosebridge?”
“No.”
“Nearby?”
“Not especially.”
I sighed. “Can you meet me? We’ll get coffee and talk about this baby thing.”
Amanda’s voice hardened. “I don’t want to see her.”
She was never going to take Gretchen back. And she shouldn’t have. What kind of mother could abandon her child so coldly?
Still—she was the mother. I had to give her a chance.
“I’ll leave her with someone else,” I told her. “It’ll just be you and me.”
“Why do you have to see me so bad?”
“Really, Mandy?”
I hadn’t called her Mandy in years. She’d forbidden the nickname as soon as she turned eighteen, insisting that she was a grown-up now and needed to be addressed by a grown-up name.
I was betting that hearing the nickname would bring her back to the days when I let her tag along and play in the streets with my friends. When we broke into our mom’s make-up stash and put on a play for an audience of none. The days when we were closer.
It was a dangerous bet, but after a long pause, I knew I’d made the right one.
“Fine,” she said. “Next weekend.”