A breeze sweeps through the covered airport pickup area, a vague threat of the winter to come in a few months. The chill sends a shudder through my body. I’ll definitely miss Londonwhen January strikes Chicago with a flurry of white and freezing temperatures.
Nigel notices my chill with a grin. “Let’s get you warmed up.” Despite insisting I can load my own bag, he grabs it off the sidewalk and pops it into the back of the Land Rover. “I get paid for this,” he reminds me as I linger outside the vehicle.
“I know, but...” I trail off, not wanting to admit that I’m worried about his aging because he’d definitely be offended. “I don’t mind helping, is all,” I say instead, shivering again. It’s so cold in the shade.
“London made you soft,” he observes, shaking his head. “Get in the car before I put you there.”
If he ever spoke to my parents that way, he’d be fired, but Nigel developed a fatherly bond with me and my brother when we were kids. I’m not mad that he cares. I kind of wish my own parents felt the same way.
“Okay, okay, old man. Don’t wet your Depends.”
His mouth pops open in shock and he barks out a laugh. “London was good for you,” he says once he catches his breath. His expression sharpens, and I scurry to the passenger door before he has a chance to saydon’t make me tell you twice, young lady.
The familiar groove of Nigel’s favorite Grateful Dead album spills out of the speakers, and I buckle myself in with a funny little grin. I never particularly liked jam bands, but while Jerry sings about Casey Jones, warmth blooms inside my chest. As much as I dread living with my parents for a few months while I search for my own place, at least I’ll have this.
Nigel slides into his seat and turns the song up, humming along with the Dead while he navigates out of the airport with ease. Right on cue, he taps his finger on the steering wheel and starts singing.
The smile I’m wearing makes my cheeks ache.
Some things never change.
“Oh my god, what happened to your hair?” Mother gasps, heels tapping along the marble flooring in the foyer. She’s wearing a pink Chanel dress and dainty nude heels. Her hair is perfectly styled, shoulder length, and shiny from a recent gloss treatment. The same treatment she forced me to have once a month after I turned thirteen.
This is how an omega keeps her pack happy,she would say.
The smile Nigel put on my face immediately falls.Some things never change. The same thought from earlier echoes through my head, only this time, it’s doused by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy.
I finger the strands of my hair that I’ve been growing out. “Um, I like it.”
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s so dull.” Her gaze sweeps over the rest of me, and I can see every fault she finds.
My nails aren’t done.
My lack of foundation and contouring is practically a sin.
My leisure wear gets a curled lip.
“I see you’ve been lost without me,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Don’t worry, though, Mommy will fix everything. I already scheduled a salon appointment for this afternoon and ordered a few dresses, which hopefully will fit. Your hips are a little”—she clears her throat—“wider than I anticipated.”
Each word is like a slap to the face, and I avert my gaze as she prattles on about everything she plans to fix. The confidence I built in London wavers on its shallow foundation.
“I missed you,” I try when she finally pauses to breathe.
She smiles at me. “Oh, stop it, you just want to know the surprise I have for you.”
Disappointment pours through my veins like acid. I should know better than to get my hopes up. She’s never been big on affection. Scrolling on social media hasmade me think two things—her parents never gave it to her, or she simply doesn’t love me.
For my own sanity, I choose to believe the former.
“Well,” she says, one perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting. “Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”
Forcing my features into a pleasant mask, I ask, “What‘s the surprise?”
“You’re going on a date tonight with Pack Johnson!” Squealing, she does the tiniest little dance. “Isn’t it fabulous? They’ve been building their company and haven’t had time for an omega, which is perfect because while you’ve been frolicking around London?—“
“I wasn’t frolicking,” I cut in. “I was working on a very important research project to help feral omegas.”
She pulls a face. “Ugh, those vicious things should be put down.”
