Wrong Number Right choices

Chapter three - Zee

It had been five days since I'd spoken more than three words to my mother.

Not that she hadn't tried, I just ignored every attempt.

I bought my own groceries, cooked my own meals, cleaned up after myself, and spent most of my time hidden away in my room. At this point, I was basically running a tiny one-woman nation.

This morning, however, I had a mission.

My brother was bringing the kids over for the weekend, and those little gremlins would commit actual crimes for apple pie.

I checked the time on my phone.

Six thirty in the morning.

Perfect.

Most people were still asleep, which significantly lowered my chances of running into someone who knew my business.

I pulled on a hoodie, grabbed my keys, and slipped out of the house.

I ducked into the grocery store before anyone could stop me for a conversation..

Grabbing a basket, I headed straight for the baking aisle and began tossing ingredients inside. Flour, sugar, butter, cinnamon, apples, vanilla extract. Apple pie wasn't complicated, but it was comforting, and right now comfort sounded pretty good.

I was reaching for a package of pie crusts when a familiar voice spoke behind me.

"Zee?"

Every muscle in my body froze. I knew that voice.

Slowly, I turned around and nearly dropped the bottle of vanilla extract.

"Mr. Donovan?"

Standing in front of me was the same man I'd spent a deeply embarrassing amount of my teenage years crushing on.

Only somehow he'd gotten more attractive.

Which felt incredibly unfair.

The man had to be in his fifties now, yet time seemed to have taken one look at him and decided not to bother. He was still tall, broad-shouldered, and annoyingly handsome. Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, giving him the kind of distinguished look that belonged in expensive watch advertisements.

“Mr. Donovan,” I repeated weakly.

He laughed—warm, easy, familiar. Exactly the way I remembered it. My stomach did a backflip three times .

“No.” He reached for a box of tea from the shelf beside him . “You graduated high school over a decade ago.”

“Okay…” I wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Call me Phil.”

I sighed dramatically, playing for time. “Fine. Phil.”

The smile he gave me sent heat crawling up my neck. I looked away, pretending to examine a nearby shelf of pasta sauce with sudden, intense interest.

“So,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice, “your father told me you’ve been back in town.”

A groan escaped before I could stop it. I turned back to face him, my cheeks still warm. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Genuine confusion crossed his features.

“Can my parents stop telling everyone about my life?” I gestured vaguely at the grocery store around us, as if my parents had somehow included the entire town in their personal broadcasts.

His mouth twitched. “I’m not everyone.”

A laugh escaped him, genuine and unguarded. He leaned against the shelf, relaxed in a way that made me feel like I was the only person in the store.

“Seriously. At this point, I’m expecting them to start printing newsletters.”

“Your mother probably already has a mailing list.” He was teasing now, but there was warmth underneath it.

The laugh burst out before I could stop it—the first real one I’d felt in weeks. For a moment, the tension between us eased.

Then his expression softened, deepened. He looked at me the way someone looks at something fragile.

“How are you doing?” He asked

“It’s been rough.” The words came out quieter than I’d intended. I looked down at my basket, unable to meet his eyes.

“I lost my apartment, lost my job. My boyfriend cheated on me.”

I paused, swallowing hard against the bitterness that rose in my throat.

“Apparently with someone I introduced him to.”

The last part came out like a bitter laugh—hollow even to my own ears. “And now everyone in town knows everything,” I finished, risking a glance up at him. “So that’s been fun.”

“You know,” he said gently, “for someone who’s been through all that, you seem to be standing pretty well.”

I snorted, turning back to the shelf to fidget with a can of beans. My hands needed something to do. “That’s because you’re seeing me in public. This is my shopping mall armor.”

The laugh that escaped him this time was genuine. He stepped closer, and I felt the air between us shift. “Fair point.”

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card and handed it over to me.

I looked down at the card. His name. A phone number. An impressive title that clearly showed he's really doing well .

“What’s this?” I looked up suspiciously.

“If you need anything.”

I turned the card over. “Anything?”

“Anything.” He said it simply, without qualification. Like he meant it.

“Oh my God thank you so much I really appreciate this”

His smile widened. “Don’t forget to reach out .”

“Thanks, I will .” I meant it more than I expected to.

For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stood there, smiling awkwardly, and I became hyperaware of how close he was standing. .

Then we both stepped to the left. At exactly the same time.

We stopped. We looked at each other. Moved right. Stopped again.

Then somehow managed to repeat the mistake a third time.

I burst out laughing—real laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep and surprised. “Oh my God.”

“Sorry.” He was laughing too, shaking his head at ourselves.

Finally, he stepped aside and gave a small, exaggerated bow. “After you.”

I responded with an exaggerated curtsy, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “Thank you, kind sir.”

“Goodbye, Zee.” He said waving

“Bye, Phil.” I waved backed

The smile stayed on my face all the way to checkout. It stayed there while I loaded groceries into my car, my fingers occasionally touching that business card in my pocket. And it was still there when I carried three shopping bags through the front door of my parents’ house.

The grocery bags dug into my fingers as I pushed the front door open with my shoulder.

"I'm home," I called.

I stepped into the kitchen and found mom humming to herself while arranging flowers on the counter.

"There she is!" she said brightly. "How was the store?"

"Fine."

I dropped the bags on the island.

She glanced at them. "What'd you get?"

"Stuff."

The smile on her face twitched.

I knew I was being difficult. I just didn't care.

"Well," she said awkwardly, "I'm glad you're back."

"Mm."

I grabbed my phone and headed for the stairs.

Then I went upstairs.

An hour later I came back down.

I'd showered and mentally prepared myself for the best part of my day. Baking. I had spent the last of my grocery money on ingredients for apple pie. The ingredients were sitting downstairs waiting for me.

I walked into the kitchen, then froze.

The counter looked like a bakery had exploded. Mixing bowls. Measuring cups. Flour everywhere. And right in the middle sat two giant trays of cinnamon rolls.

My stomach dropped.

Oh my freaking God !!!

I rushed toward the grocery bags.

The flour bag was open. Half empty. The brown sugar I'd bought was practically gone. The butter? Gone. Completely gone.

"Perfect timing!" Mom looked up from the oven. "Want a cinnamon roll?"

I blinked fast and turned to her "Did you use my stuff mom ?"

She frowned. "What?"

"The ingredients."

"Oh." Just oh. Like she'd borrowed a napkin. "Yeah. I needed a few things."

"A few things?" I held up the empty butter wrapper.

"Zee…"

"You used everything! ." At this point I was already raising my voice

She sighed. The sigh. The one that always made me feel like I was being unreasonable.

"You’re overreacting again honey ."

I actually laughed. A short, disbelieving sound.

"I was upstairs."

"How was I supposed to know you were planning on baking right this second?"

"Why would I buy them if I don’t want to use them?"

"Well, I thought I could use it , since it was in my kitchen " she shrugged her shoulder

The casualness of it made my blood boil. I stared at the trays of cinnamon rolls. "You didn't even ask."

"I didn't think I needed permission."she crossed her arms “like I said it’s my kitchen”

"You didn't think to ask because you never ask."

Mom straightened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means everything is always about what you want."

Her expression hardened. "That's unfair."

"Is it?"

"Zee, I have opened my home to you."

I laughed again. This time it wasn't funny. It hurt.

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"That." I pointed at her. "The reminder."

Her face fell. "What reminder?"

"That I'm living in your house."

"Well someone had to remind you if you make stupid decisions like burning down your life you face consequences ." She shrugged again

The tears rolled down my cheeks before I could stop it , I couldn’t believe this woman is my mother

Her eyes narrowed. "I took you in when you had nowhere else to go." She continued

My chest tightened.

"You know what? Forget it."

I turned away. I grabbed my keys from the counter.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

I looked at her. Really looked at her. At her cruelty If I stayed here, I was going to hate her.

"I've had enough."

Her face crumpled. "Zee—"

"No."

I walked out of the house into my car and cried my heart out.