She catches on to what I’m trying to say.After Emery’s death.
I throw back the rest of the water down my throat and place it down on the island.
The air grows thick with silence and awkwardness, making it hard for me to stay rooted and not leave. The grief we share is still too fresh and new to talk about and it nearly suffocates the space
Mom doesn’t move from her place. She looks like she’s lost in deep thought.
I clear my throat and catch her attention. “Do you want to make those cupcakes or not?”
“Uh, yes, the muffins. They’re a bit different than cupcakes.” She fidgets with her necklace. “Maybe I can make them tomorrow.”
I shake my head, noticing the way her lower lip wobbles. If she goes to her room right now she’s going to cry a river and Dad will be on my ass.
I’m not a fucking menace.
“Tomorrow is too late,” I grumble and sit down at one of the bar stools.
Mom starts measuring ingredients and makes two bowls. One contains wet ingredients and the other dry—as she tells me when I ask.
“How was school?” she asks out of nowhere.
“It was fine.”
At once she looks up at me with a smirk. “I met one of your friends today.”
“What friend? How do you even know they’re my friend?”
“She said you’re friends.”
“That doesn’t mean they’remyfriend.”
She pauses. “She sounded like she knows you.”
I frown. Do I have a fucking stalker?
“And you believed her?” I ask, confused.
She nods. “She was the sweetest girl and so pretty.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much,” she says with a smile. “But she said you talk to her sometimes.”
For fuck’s sake, who is this girl? The only girl I talk to is Hope.
“Did she tell you her name?”
Mom grins so hard it fills her whole face with happiness. “Hope.”
Fuck me.
The muscles in my body tighten and air escapes my lungs.
“You met Hope? The one with brown hair and brown eyes.”
“Yes! That’s the one.” Mom agrees. “She was also holding a book in her hands. I think she likes books.”
Tell me about it.
