Her Only Chance?

Chapter One:

"Seriously though babe, when will you get over this grudge of yours and contact your folks?” my stupidly gorgeous best friend for eight years and roommate asked.

I tried to ignore him but unfortunately the gorgeous idiot had to throw a piece of bread at my head, making me raise my head. I glared at him, hard, which he hated.

Still ignoring him, I looked around the café, Sheila’s, I had been frequenting since I moved to London. It was small but really cute and always filled with hungry regulars.

He had been on my neck about contacting my parents since I told him about them. My parents’ crappy marriage and even crappier divorce began interfering with me and my siblings’ lives. At school and with our relationship with each other, my brother used to get into huge fights a lot and almost got expelled, twice.

My sister had two pregnancy scare. We couldn’t even talk to my parents at the time. How could you just fucking fall out of love after over twenty years of marriage? Or so they said, I don’t know the cause of their divorce. My older brother Damien was the first to move out of Nigeria, he was currently living in Miami with his girlfriend, Abby, of three years. He was the, I have my whole goddamned life planned out, especially after the whole divorce thing. He changed completely. My younger sister, Bethany just kept travelling since she moved. She is and had always been a live in the moment type of person, while I moved here, trying to establish my life.

So I was basically tagged the one step at a time type of girl, by my best friend, but I didn’t mind it anyways.

Since my parents divorce and after the first and only relationship I had ever been in while in secondary school, I have had commitment issues. I had been in one relationship and that didn’t work out well. He just walked up to me in the schools hallway and broke up with me. So I sure as hell wasn’t getting into one anytime soon.

A therapist I was seeing when I moved here, said that my parents divorce affected I and my siblings without us even realizing it and I thought that was pretty fucked up. I mean, what happened that they couldn’t work out with the help of a therapist or communication? Even for their kids?

My mom who’s an English woman, moved back here and I didn’t care enough to contact her. And I think that was what constantly made George pissed at me.
Not like I cared though.

“George,” I sighed his name in the way he absolutely hated, “I have said this before and I will say it again. I am not contacting either of those selfish people who call themselves my parents. Please just drop it.” He looked like he was going to say more before I raised a finger at him, “I mean it George.” I finished sternly.
He raised both hands in surrender before leaning back in his chair, giving me a look I couldn’t read. “I’ll drop it,” he pointed a finger at me, “but you know I’m right though.” I send him another glare and he just dramatically zipped his lips closed.

The thing I loved the most about this place was the fact that they served breakfast, lunch and dinner. On weekends, they even had brunch and supper included in the menu.

That was exactly what I was going to do when I started my own restaurant.

My restaurant.

Oh my freaking God!

Quickly glancing at my brown leather wrist watch, it was exactly twelve thirty. I was supposed to have left for my meeting with some investors for my restaurant exactly thirty minutes ago, and I was late.

I hastily packed my things and got up, dropping a few bills on the table.

“Whoa Chica, what’s the rush?” George asked, alarmed. His fake Latin accent coming out. He was born in Puerto Rico by his wanderlust English parents.