“Mason, no. It’s better for you to not be with me. I’m trying to give you a chance.” Her voice is steadier than I’ve ever heard it, and the surety of it hurts more than the words.

“Mom, give me a chance now.” Hot tears are blinding my eyes. “You don’t even have to take care of me. I’m almost seventeen, I can take care of myself. I’ll work, and I’ll help pay rent and for groceries. You won’t have to do anything.”

Her eyes are huge, but she isn’t looking at me, she’s looking down at the dirty linoleum, arms crossed tightly. She begins shaking her head.

“Mom?” My voice sounds strangled, tight. I don’t know how to make sense of what is happening right now. I belong with my mom; my mom belongs with me. All these years she’s been promising to get clean, to get her life on track so we can be together. What have all these years been for if it wasn’t for us to finally be reunited?

“Mason, I can’t.” Her voice is so quiet, it could be a whisper. “You deserve more.” Then before I can say anything else, she walks past me into her apartment, closing the door firmly behind her.

– 31 – Willow

Once we get back to the hotel, I shut myself in my room and I cry for what feels like hours. It’s all pretty clear now. My obsession with my family’s history, Sage’s house, the letters, all of it has been about one thing: my mom.

The Bell family curse is about female relationships breaking apart under forces that hadn’t been entirely under their control. And now history is repeating itself. I can’t control my mother. Our relationship is broken.

And I’m not even close to being okay with that.

Hours later, I wake to my phone ringing loudly. According to the space around my curtains, it’s not quite morning, and it takes me several moments of fumbling to finally locate my blaring phone on my nightstand. But when I see the name on the screen my confusion is replaced with a little rush of pleasure. Mason.

Mason, who I kissed. I can almost feel his lips on mine and for a moment I smile, because last night was so good, so right, how I’d folded into him, how his hands had felt in my hair. Regardless of how terrible the night had ended up, being with Mason had felt exactly right.

“Hi,” I say, my voice scratchy with sleep.

“Willow, is Mason with you?” The voice is decidedly not Mason’s. It takes a moment for my brain to figure out who the hyperalert woman’s voice belongs to. Emma. Why is Emma calling me on Mason’s phone?

“What?” Sleep flies away from me. “No. Why? Is everything okay?”