“Luke,” my mother repeats. “Right.” She narrows her eyes on Jamie. “I see him and Eric around town, thick as thieves, those two.”
Jamie snickers. “It’s strange hearing you call them by those names.”
My mother crosses the main room of the library to put the broom away in the storage closet. “That’s because you’re used to the terrible ones they use now after they joined that gang.”
I pull a face when I look at Jamie. “I don’t know why she stays here if she hates Mayhem.”
Olivia Decker slams the storage closet door. “Mayhem would be a fine town if the Unholy didn’t infect it.”
“They keep the town safe,” Jamie reminds her, and I don’t miss the defensive edge in her voice.
My mother smooths a hand over her brown dress. She brushes imaginary dust from her long, graying hair. Her face was never one lifted with joy, and over the years, it’s fallen more, until each feature set itself in a permanent dour expression. “With violence.”
“When there’s an enemy at the gates, you can’t defend your home with harsh language,” I tell her.
My mother pins me with a glare, and I should let this die right here. There are things we’ll never agree on, and we’re not the type of people who can civilly disagree. She’s also not the type of person who swallows her opinion. Neither am I, but what the world doesn’t see is how she’ll provoke me and then gaslight me by making it seem like I picked the fight. But today, I won’t rise to the occasion because Jamie is here, and I didn’t even plan on coming to the library.
“Mom, unscrew the scowl because not everything has to be an argument.” I stroke my brow, aggravated but doing my best to hide it. “I need to go. I have to get back to work and I’m getting hungry.”
A non-diabetic person skipping a meal isn’t a big deal. If I go too long without food, it can lead to hypoglycemia, and that gets ugly. For me, personally, first I get pale. Then shaky. Next comes the sweats. If I wait too long, next comes seizures, so… Not good.
“You know what, Faith?” Her familiar, exasperated sigh twists my gut. I can predict what’s coming. “Go, because this is what you do. I say something. You counter it to pick a fight, then you make an excuse so you can cut and run. It’s exhausting at this point. Everything about you is exhausting.”
Wow. Okay. That one stings.
Yep. Guess I’mexhaustingbecause I’m the disobedient, mouthy, Mayhem-loving, reckless daughter she can’t control.
The anti-Brianna.
I swallow a retort and instead give her a peck on the cheek. “Love you, too, Ma.” Then to Jamie, “Want to do lunch on Monday?” At her nod, I give her a tight grin. “Awesome. Thanks for making me part of the Tribe.” I barely glance at my mother before grabbing my backpack. “Talk to you soon,” I say to her as I’m out the door.
I step out onto the front porch of the converted Victorian mansion and drag in a deep, calming breath. Then I count to ten because what I want to do is march my furious ass back in the library and explain, in no uncertain terms, howexhaustingit’s been trying to live up to Olivia Decker’s expectations of who she wants me to be. But I don’t, because when I came back, avoiding Jester’s drama wasn’t the only promise I made to myself. I also told myself I would not rise to my mother’s constant baiting.
Instead, I walk down the steps and savor this quiet, residential section of Main Street. It’s funny how the red-light district is only two blocks away, yet it might as well be on the other side of the world. It’s tempting to venture there instead of heading home. But I spot Black Bean in my peripheral, and suddenly I crave a cup of iced coffee to drink with my lunch.
Preferably served up by a certain adorable barista I hope is working on this fine summer day…
* * *
“Look who’s back.” Matthew’s cheerful greeting welcomes me as I stroll up to the counter.
“Lucky you,” I tease.
Lucky me, actually.
“Very lucky.” His blue gaze travels from my Vans up to my messy bun, and I regret coming to Black Bean resembling a sweaty troll. “What can I get for you this afternoon, Faith?”
Points go to him for remembering my name.
I grew accustomed to being considered a disease. In fact, I forgot there might be men who actually find me attractive. Correction.Person.Matthew. Because Jester doesn’t count. Matthew, with his boy-next-door looks, might not be my usual type, but given my history with men, maybe it’s time I tried a new flavor and see if it doesn’t sit better on my tongue.
You know what also might sit well on my tongue…?
Okay, seriously, I need to get my mind out of the gutter. But in my defense, he’s practically begging to be mussed. His sandy hair is too neat. His uniform of a blue polo shirt and beige khakis is way too starched. I flatten my palms on the counter, painfully aware that I’m a wreck after tearing apart the library. But hey, if a man doesn’t appreciate a woman at her worst, he doesn’t deserve her at her best.
At least that’s what the meme read that I saw on the internet.
“You remembered my name. I’m impressed.”
