Distance. That’s what I need. A long ride. A cold shower. A hard workout in the morning to help me forget all of this.
Not cookies. Not that soft, knowing smile. Not a set of sapphire eyes that see me as so much more than scrap material and scars. Not the memories. Not any of it.
Chapter 8
Fawnie
None of this was supposed to happen, so maybe I can look at everything that has, as a bonus.
It doesn’t feel like a bonus.
It feels like I want to do all the things that I promised Shadow I wouldn’t. Oh, and I never should have name dropped him last night. What right did I think I had to use Finn? Or startkissinghim?
“Ugh, Bubby, I’m such a disaster.” I roll over in bed and come face to face with my snoring, elderly cat.
For the past few years, she’s started sticking her tongue out when she sleeps. Whether it’s going to be barely peeking out, or lolling is anyone’s guess. She’s snoring loudly on the pillow opposite mine. It’s her favorite place to sleep since I moved here.
“Please convince me not to text him.”
She snores even louder.
“I’m not going to do it. I’m going to clean up the kitchen, pack up those cookies to go to the clubhouse, and make us both breakfast.”
Still nothing.
She won’t wake up until I bring her tuna salmon pate mix in and basically wave it under her nose. She’s never been a very food-motivated cat, but that stuff never fails to get her going in the morning.
I know what I’m having for breakfast. Coffee, and my pick of a cookie.
The doorbell rings, chiming through the bedroom. Bubby doesn’t wake up, but I freeze. I’m in my usual oversized t-shirt and thin pajama pants combo.
Is it Shadow? Did he come here this morning to talk?
That’s a silly thing to think. For one, it’s daylight. For two, uh… we basically had enough closure that he wouldn’t show up first thing this morning. It’s not like he ran out of cookies and decided to come back for more. I gave him a week’s supply.
I throw on a pair of jeans that are hanging out on the end of the bed. I wrestle my t-shirt off, throw on a black tank top, and wrench the first sweater out of the dresser that I can find. It’s my old college crew neck, washed and worn so many times it’s thin enough for summer wear. I finger-comb my hair on the way to the door.
It’s probably my dad, come by to surprise me.
I run through the kitchen and pull it open. I gape at the woman on the other side. “Mom?” I one hundred million percent didnotsee this coming. As soon as I recover, I cross my arms and lean one shoulder on the doorframe. I know my mom so well that my question doesn’t come out as a guess. I know it’s true. “You drove all the way across the country to drag me home?”
I haven’t been in Hart all that long, but Mom looks different. Her sandy blonde hair is combed back severely, which only highlights the shadows under her blue eyes and the deep creases bracketing her lips. She’s always dressed nicely, but the white blouse she has tucked into a pair of dark wash skinny jeansand her knee high boots, only serve to make her looktoothin. Far thinner than when I last saw her.
“I’ve called you so many times that your voicemail is full. I’ve texted you and you won’t get back to me. What else was I supposed to do? I know that you’re mad at me for wanting you to stay in Ohiofor college, and for keeping you from your dad. You think it was wrong, but I was only trying to protect you. He left me and took up with another woman. He left the church for a biker club. He gave up all the good things that we had. Is that the kind of man who would make a good father, a proper father, to a young girl?”
“Mom!” I step outside, grab her upper arm, and jerk her in through the open door. I slam it shut. My face is scalding hot. I’m so embarrassed that she’d start airing that out on my doorstep after she freaking came all this way. “Wait. Did you fly?” I rush to the kitchen window, part the blinds, and sure enough. There’s a fancy, shiny rental car parked down in the alley.
Makes sense. It’s a thirty-three hour drive here from Ohio. I’ve done it three times now, and it is long.
Mom nods. “I wanted to buy us return tickets, but I wasn’t sure about Bubby, and you have your car here.” She grasps my shoulders and practically shakes me without shaking me, going for the good old sense knock. “You’re coming back with me, though. You moving here? It’s a mistake. It’s going to make everything more complicated for school and then there’s—”
“Mom.” I gently brush her hands away and walk to the counter. I grab a peanut butter cookie and munch on it, filling my mouth so I have a moment where I’m not going to say something I’ll regret.
“Why on earth do you have all these cookies?”
“Baking. For the clubhouse.”
That gets her going. I wince as her face gets red. Not like mine did. She’s pissed. “You can’t be serious.”
