"Yeah," I lie. "Go to another room."
I see her looking around, telling Sophie to go get ready for bed, and finally, she focuses on me.
"Alone?" I double-check.
She nods.
I'm up in a split second, words spitting like fire from my mouth. Nyx is so shocked, she plasters herself against her seat, wide eyes following me as I pace the plane.
"Don't you ever let that motherfucker order Sophie around again, you hear me? He has no right over anything she does. And if I learn she's following any of his rules, you can kiss your return to this town goodbye, am I fucking clear?"
"Calm down, I?—"
"I still talk to Dad for you, to protect you, andthisis what you teach her behind my back? That she's not allowed to call me?"
"Martin had to tell her that because she'll always try, and we know it's dangerous. What if you're with your dad when she calls with my phone? What if he sees her?"
I run a hand across my face, all the way to my hair and messing with what's already untameable.
"I don't care. I don't care. I don't fucking care," I hiss. "I want access to her, and I want her to call me whenever she needs. I'm not stupid enough to ever pick up a call from you when I'm with Dad."
I swallow thickly, looking up as I feel my anger getting the best of me. I eye Nyx, realizing she hasn’t missed a single word of this conversation. Maybe I should’ve asked for privacy. Maybe we're not at a stage where she can know everything about me.
"I'm her big brother." I huff, calming down. "I want her to know she can reach me whenever she needs."
My mother looks away, and I understand we weren't alone. Martin, her new husband, was with her the whole time. She lied to me for him.
"Let me remind you of something." My voice is low, my lungs shaking. "The last time you had a husband you lied for, who wouldn't give you privacy, and who took control over your children, you had to exile yourself to a different country to escape him. Try to act responsibly for once."
I hang up on her but don't turn back to Nyx yet. There's going to be questions, and this isn’t what I wanted after the magical moments we had in New York.
When I finally turn around, she's eating calmly, reading my concerto again, and she gives me a quick smile before going back to the paper.
It's not until we're both finished with our breakfasts that she says, "How old is Sophie?"
"Four," I answer in what feels like slow motion, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"That's nice. I always wanted a sister. But, well, you know, you kind of need a mom for that." She laughs softly, but the sadness in it lands right in my chest.
"How old were you when your mom left?" I ask.
She smiles, welcoming my question. "Seven."
"And you've had no news since? Did you ever look for her?" The offer comes automatically. "Do you want me to find her?"
This time, her laugh is genuine. "No, thank you. I don't want to look for her because she clearly doesn't want to be found anyway. My mom always complained about us being poor, more than she did about my dad's addiction. She wanted big, shiny things. If anything, she was like me, dreamed of getting out. She just did it in a different way."
"You did get out."
Freezing for a few seconds, she only blinks at me before she says honestly, "I don't want me getting out to be related to you." She swirls her index finger in the air. "All of this is you. It could be temporary, for all I know. I'll consider myself ex-North Shore when I've made it by myself."
"What I feel for you isn't temporary," I correct her. "It's not going away any time soon." My eyes dart to the concerto, catching some notes. "Do you ever miss her?"
"No," she answers easily. "She was never a good mom, whatever that means. She wasn't a mom at all. As far as I remember, my dad always assumed both roles. That's why I'm never going to let him down. Even if he's ill. Then Kayla took care of me when my dad was too unwell."
She smiles reassuringly, and I don't see the question coming until she's made me feel relaxed enough by sharing her own past. Which I'm sure was the plan all along.
"When didyourmom leave?"
