Crime (h.s. au)

Chapter Seventeen

Ava

"I could be better. How are you?" I ask my mother, her call coming through on my work phone.

"I'm doing well. I haven't spoken to you in what feels like ages and I needed to check in," she says, and I smile. I don't talk with my mother much, simply because of what happened all those years ago. I figured she needed space, not only from me, but to get her life back on track after what happened to my father. It took a toll on both of us.

"I'm good. Just finished up a really hard case and it kind of wore on me. I don't let this happen. Ever, and I did on this one," I tell her, rubbing my forehead.

"Is everything okay?" she wonders, and I sigh. I hadn't really wanted to talk about it, but the case of Alexander Cross is making news. It's public information now, and with his trial beginning soon, I can talk about it with select people.

"This guy killed his girlfriend's best friend. It was a murder of passion," I sum up, and she gasps on the other end. It's a horrific scenario and anyone who hears the story tends to react the same way.

"Are you okay?" she wonders, and I nod despite her inability to see the action.

"I got overwhelmed when we found the murder weapon. The man who did got inside my head; made me overthink a lot of things. He deserves to be locked up," I tell her, and she agrees with me.

"Have you thought about coming for a visit?" she asks hopefully, and I bit my lower lip. It's not that I don't want to visit her; I just don't have time.

"I want to, but I don't know," I tell her, hoping she'll understand. It's been this way since I got the promotion a few months ago.

"You know where I'll be if you decide to visit. But I have one more question before I let you go," she insists, and I roll my eyes. It's how she ends every conversation we have.

"What mother?" I ask, giving her the same attitude each and every time before she starts.

"Drop that tone. I just want to ask if you're seeing anyone?" she wonders, curiosity getting the best of her.

"No, mother, I'm not seeing anyone. Nor do I intend to do so," I reiterate the words from last time. She's relentless about the subject, simply because she doesn't want me to 'die an old maid'. That was a fun conversation last year.

"Evangeline, I want grandchildren before I die," she remarks, and I groan.

"Children are not high on the list of things I want. Besides, I'm almost 26 and I have plenty of time left if I choose to have them," I comment. "And I told you to call me Ava. I hate it when you call me that."

She snorts. "It's the name your father and I gave you, so I will call you by it as much as I please. I'm thankful you didn't change it when you did your last name."

I still for a brief moment, recalling the events of when I was 18. I shortened my last name because I no longer felt I needed the association with my father's last name after he died. I waited two years after his death to do so.

"You know I needed to," I whisper, and she sighs.

"I'm aware. I'm just glad we've moved past that part of our lives. And I'm glad you're safe," she reminds me, and I nod.

"Do you need anything else? I do have to get back to work," I tell her, and I can almost see the pouting face she has on her face.

"I suppose. Don't be too much of a stranger Evangeline," she exaggerates my name, and I can't help but laugh.

"Good one. I'll talk to you soon," I say, hanging up the phone. I put my head in my hands and lean on my desk, feeling a distant recollection of my past. There are so many reasons I don't visit, and that part of my life is constantly brought up as soon as I see pictures of my father.