Page 16 of Over the Limit

“I know. I know.” I can practically see her swatting her hand at me to say she knows. “I keep telling him we don’t need another darn thing on our plate but . . .”

“But Dad can never say no to kids in need.”

“Exactly. We’re the fortunate ones so why not spread that good fortune, right?”

“What about his deployment?” I ask, knowing there were rumblings he might be sent somewhere.

“That’s on hold for the time being. All that fuss and stress and now it looks like he gets to stay here longer.” She tsks. “Bradly. Oh my God, son. Mud. On your shoes. In my house.”

The baritone laugh of my brother in the background makes me smile. “Always wreaking havoc.”

“Always,” she says. “What about you, Blair? How are you? Tell me how my world traveler is doing. You sounded excited when I picked up. Catch me up.”

“I was. I am. You know I’ve been working toward—”

“Rosco. No!” she yells at our big, clumsy mutt of a dog. “I’m sorry. Continue.”

“Well, I was finally given the chance to—”

Something shatters. It’s loud and overpowers me. “Rachel. Oh shit.”

“Mom?”

“Blair, I—have to go. Talk later?”

“Sure. Yes. Is everyone okay—”

“Yes. It’ll be fine. Olive juice,” she says, our family’s childish way of saying I love you, before hanging up abruptly.

“Olive juice,” I mouth to an empty connection before lowering the phone to stare at the blank screen.

We’ll talk later. I know we will, but it’s perfectly okay to feel a little let down. To know when I finally get the chance to tell her about my promotion of sorts, that the newness and excitement will feel massively anticlimactic.

“Hey, Blair? Guess what?” I murmur to myself as I move to my desk, take a seat, and open the folder. “I just got a huge opportunity. A promotion. Want to celebrate?”

“Definitely,” I say in a different voice. “Incredible job, honey.”

And then I laugh.

Hell, if you can’t laugh at yourself, then who in the hell can you laugh at?

CHAPTER FOUR

Blair

My knock is loud, the bottle of champagne in my opposing hand is cold, and my need to feel connected to anyone is high.

My mom got back to me via text. It was too loud at Angel’s volleyball tournament for her to talk on the phone. Telling her over text wasn’t exactly how I wanted to do it, but her response was a vomit of emojis—one after another—that showed how excited she was for me.

My dad’s cell pushed me to voicemail after four rings.

I texted my brother Joel to tell him, but the man never looks at it or responds and forgets to hit send.

Skylar is on a no-phones getaway with Russ—even though she snuck a peek at my text to her—and promised to celebrate properly over Zoom when their self-imposed restriction is lifted.

And that, their no-phones romantic getaway, only made me feel more alone.

Is it so bad that I want to celebrate my incredible day with someone? Something more than the “Good job. We’re celebrating this tonight,” text Rossi sent in response to the dozen I sent him about how excited I was to get this opportunity?