He did his best to ruin her. She still bears the emotional scars to this day.
But she never let him break her. She’s never let anything break her. Not that she’s made her way through life without stumbling or faltering or doubting.
But she’s still here. And I’m grateful for that every single day.
I’m gentle as I run the trimmer through my mom’s short hair. I leave about an inch on the top because she does like to style that small amount. And then I lean in close, doing my best to craft a daisy over each of her ears.
The result is decent. Better than anyone else in this room could do.
That’s why I’m in charge of the razor.
“I love it,” she says when I pass her a hand mirror, smiling at her reflection. “You are officially the best daughter.”
Guilt is a thick twist in my gut.
No, I’m not, I’m tempted to tell her, thinking of the text I just sent to George Bunsen.If I was a good daughter, I wouldn’t let anything related to BBN touch our lives ever again.
Chapter
10
After showering offthe clinging scent of fried food that I always leave a shift at the diner with, I hop into my aged Saturn and head into the city for book club. The radio in my car is broken, the knob to change stations no longer working, but luckily it last stopped on a Latin pop station. I listen to the upbeat club music and manually crank my window down to let in the fresh spring breeze, enjoying my drive from small town to suburbs to city.
Shawn technically doesn’t live too far from me. I could make the drive in thirty minutes if traffic behaves. But the change in scenery is stark. From fields and strip malls to high-rises and paid street parking. Thankfully, my brother gave me a swipe card for the parking garage under his building. On Christmas a few years ago, he presented me with an E-ZPass so I wouldn’t have to worry about the increasingly expensive tolls into Arlington, either. I accepted because the pass was a gift, and there’s no way I could afford to visit him otherwise.
The infrequent times Shawn comes by our house, the atmosphere is…stilted.
Mom is never mean or dismissive to Shawn, of course. But neither does his normal charm work on her. She tends to be quieter in his presence. More watchful, her eyes flicking between the two of us as we inevitably start bantering with each other.
Maybe Shawn’s charisma reminds her too much of how Karl was when he first wooed her.
Whatever the reason, Mom is reserved, Marge bustles about, and Shawn babbles. Plus, as if picking up on the tension, Grumps tends to keep up a steady, low-level growl from his recliner in the living room.
Visiting Shawn at his place is a much more relaxed affair.
Even if his place is dauntingly upper class. But I’m mostly used to the penthouse by now. Or at least I tell myself that as I shift from foot to foot on the ride up to the top floor.
“I opted for Thai,” Shawn announces when he tugs the door open at my knock.
“Works for me.” As does any food from a five-star restaurant. “I brought a pie. Lemon curd with a meringue topping. Darla made it.”
My brother’s face lights up, and I suppress a snicker.
At first, I thought his attempts to flirt with my friend were his normal need to have everyone like him. But more and more, I get the sense that Shawn actually likes the porcupine of a woman.
I wish him all the luck.
“Mmm. How did she know lemon is my favorite?” He leads me into the open living area and places the dessert among a collection of take-out containers.
“She didn’t. I didn’t tell her I was bringing it.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want her to spit in it.”
My brother sighs with a goofy grin, as if he enjoys reminders of the Cornfield’s surly behavior.
“Still, I’ll thank her next time I’m in the diner. If George is with me, you’ll have to thank him, too.”
