Her thought process is chaotic and has been going on as long as I remember.
Which, I realize with horror, sounds way too familiar.
“Hey,” my dad says, patting my knee and snapping me out of my thoughts. “You can stay as long as you want, okay? But you’re not going to lose your job, right?”
“Nah. I sorted everything out with Piper and my boss at Scents.”
Quincy didn’t bat an eye when I told him I needed a break. He simply told me to take as long as I need, which is more than generous.
I told him I would be back in two weeks.
“Good. Well, you want to help me make dinner, or not? We’ll start in two hours; you should take a nap. You look awful, kid.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“Arthur,” my mom warns, rubbing Mervin’s black and white belly. “Be nice to her.”
“I am! I’m telling her to take a nap,Marcia.”
I’m not in the mood for their playful banter. I’m not in the mood for their healthy, cute relationship.
I’m also not ready to deal with the awful realization that I had just moments ago.
“I’m going to take a nap,” I tell them, standing. “I’ll be back downstairs to help with dinner.”
“Sure, kiddo,” my dad says.
But by the time I make it to my childhood bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, my mom has followed me in. She closes the door behind her quietly and stands in front of it, her arms crossed and her lips pursed.
I study her. Her hair is golden like mine, long and straight with streaks of white mixed in. Her high cheekbones and dainty nose make her look ethereal, and I’m lucky to have inherited even a percentage of her looks.
Even in her older age, my mother is still stunning.
Her concerned expression would be unsettling if it wasn’t for the teal Furr and Purrs sweatshirt she wears.
“Nice outfit,” I nod at her, and she looks down at the sweatshirt.
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “My daughter owns a cat rescue.”
I chuckle weakly. “Everything okay?”
“You don’t have to help dad with dinner,” she says. “He was just giving you a hard time.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind. I might as well make myself useful around here.”
She clicks her tongue. “Hmm.”
She studies me for a considerable amount of time, just staring at me.
“Mom?” I ask gently. “What are you doing?”
“You never told me about your pack,” she says. “You only mentioned them once you were planning on visiting.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah,” I admit. “I hadn’t really told anyone about them.”
“So, what exactly happened? What made you leave?”
“I just wasn’t good for them, mom.”
