Always Been You | Tom Holland

ONE

Y/N

I hate phone calls.

Let me be more specific: I hate phone calls with my mother.

Let me be even more specific: I hate phone calls with my mother about her schmooze-y dinner parties.

I also hate those dinner parties.

"I really have to go?" My phone is between my face and my shoulder as I wash my dishes and speak to my mum on the phone. Sure, it would be easier if I put it on speaker, but why would I have thought of that before getting my hands wet and soapy? "You know how much I hate these dinner parties."

"Yes, Y/N, you have to go," I can almost hear my mum rolling her eyes. She hosts these dinner parties for her clients and friends almost every other week. She's a high-up executive in a production company, so she's always trying to kiss someone's ass for more money or new talent. It's exhausting. At least now I can get drunk when I go. "Tommy is going to be back in town and the Hollands are going to want to see you. I'm sure Tommy will, too." Now she's just grasping at straws. She knows Tom and I don't get along. We've never seen eye to eye, much to our parents' chagrin, as they absolutely are still holding out hope that we're going to get married.

"Mum, he's 25. Stop calling him Tommy." I shake my hands over my sink a few times and wipe the residual water on a random rag that was laying on my counter, leaning my back against my sink and getting the splattered water all over the back of my shirt. "Fine, I'll come. Is Jack invited?" There is a tense silence on the other line. I know my family doesn't really like my boyfriend. That may be why I've been with him for so long. I really only want to bring him because I know Tom hates him, which means I won't have to speak to him much.

"Of course, he is," my mum not-so-convincingly says on the other line. "Party starts at 5, dinner is at 7. See you then. Love you."

"Love you, too."

I hang up my phone and my hands rub my face out of frustration. Fuck, I hate these things. I hate them, even more, when Tom is there. Now that he's a big celebrity, he's going to cause a ruckus the whole night. I'm going to have to bring some extra liquor tonight for sure.

I guess I should call Jack. I scroll through my contacts and tap a few times on Jack's name before putting my phone back to my ear.

"Hi, love," Jack's voice says on the other line. "What's up?"

"What are you doing tonight?" I say, skipping pleasantries.

"Ah, right to the point I see. I've got work tonight, remember?" Fuck, that's right. "Why?"

"Mum is making me go to one of her dinner parties," I groan. "Thought having you there would make it more tolerable."

"Sorry, love," he chuckles. "Next time." I don't know that he actually means that. He's always working.

"I'll hold you to that!" I laugh. "Have a good day at work. I'll talk to you later."

"Have fun tonight. Call me when you're home. Love you."

"Love you."

I hang up my phone and groan loudly. I'm so annoyed that Jack has to work. He's always working. That's a major reason my family doesn't like him. He's constantly working and bailing on our plans. And, honestly, he can be kind of an ass. He works as a high-up engineer for an architecture firm so he sometimes speaks to people like they're... dumb. It's quite annoying and I've fought with him too much about it to call him out anymore.