There are dozens of excuses that I’ve come up with over the years. Daria feeling uncomfortable in groups. Work. More work. The ‘I need to wash my hair’ excuse was a little obvious. But eventually Emilia stopped pushing.
Talon’s phone chimes. “Invite your boss to dinner while I take this call.” He walks far enough away to have a clear view of us, but out of earshot.
“My nonna is an amazing cook.” Hope smiles expectantly at me.
“Nonna?”
“Oh right, you don’t speak Italian.”
No, I don’t, though I do speak a fair bit of Russian. The man who owned—It’s over. No man will have that control of me again. The crawling sensation fights its way out of the box I shoved it in. “No, I don’t.”
“Nonna means grandmother and bisnonna means great-grandmother.”
“Emilia.” It’s hard to think the two women are related even though I’ve known this forever. Emilia looks nothing like Hope. Emilia would look petite standing next to Hope, even though Emilia is several inches taller than I am. But it’s Hope’s platinum blonde ringlets and golden skin that sets the two of them so far apart. There might be a slight resemblance in the nose.
“Exactly. Nonno means grandfather. And that has to be my favorite word not just because Nonno is the best, but because no one tells my grandfather no. It always felt like I was getting to do something illicit by saying nonno to him. I digress.”
Not many kids her age switch languages and use words like digress.
“You should come to Sunday dinner.”
“As I told your grandfather, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Do you know why my grandfather asked me to ask you?”
He thought guilt might work? “No. Why?”
“Because I’m like my great-grandmother. When I want something, I figure out a way to get what I want.”
That doesn’t sound at all threatening.
“Hope, we need to go.” Talon walks right past us and onto the street without stopping.
“Gotta go.” She waves without hesitating or a single word of backtalk.
That made my life easier. Now I can go shower.
You should really go back and work, or call your therapist. Either of those would be mentally better for me.
I head back to my apartment, stripping my clothes off the second the apartment door closes behind me as I walk to the shower.
Once I’m clean…
Not The Mom
Max
WHAT DID THAT KID JUST SAY?
Everett sinks to the floor, bawling while staring at my mom, oblivious to the shards of glass. Has this kid lost his mind? How did Maddox not know he was mentally unstable?
Whatever this is, I need to protect my family. “Daire, go get Mila and take her to your house,” I whisper so as not to startle Everett.
The next question is, what if the kid loses his mind and tries attacking Mom? I move to put my body between her and the sobbing boy. He shifts so that Mom is back in his line of sight.
This isn’t good.
Every instinct in me wants to neutralize the threat. But is Everett a threat? Anguish and pain seep out of every pore of this boy’s body.
