I laugh, pushing myself off the doorframe and stepping closer to her. “Don’t you worry about it. What were you thinking of making for him?”
“I don’t know,” she sighs. “We have enough of everything to make him some homemade lasagna, but I’m not the best cook. Come help me.”
“Lasagna it is.’’ I wash my hands, drying them off with a kitchen towel, then get started on the sauce. Blair reaches for all the veggies, cleaning, washing, and slicing them into the smallest possible pieces.
“I just remembered.” Blair turns to look at me, putting all the sliced veggies into a hot, oiled pan. “Noelle made some pancakes with strawberry syrup for Hudson. Should I get him some strawberries?”
For a moment, I’m in a state of shock. Then, I burst out laughing. Blair’s confused by the reaction, and I shake my head, a wide smile on my face. The memories of my childhood resurface, and it warms my heart.
“What’s so funny?”
“Dad’s allergic to strawberries.”
Blair’s confusion only grows. “So, was she trying to kill him?”
I shrug. “That’s kind of their thing. Trying to kill each other all the time. They’ve been enemies for a very, very long timebefore they got together and eventually married. It’s just their love language.”
“Their love language is trying to kill each other,” Blair repeats, baffled. “What an odd bunch.”
“Yeah, we’re not the most sane people around, but you love us.”
She chuckles, stirring the veggies. “That, I do.”
We cook for a while in comfortable silence. The smell of the lasagna slowly coming together saturates the small kitchen, and Blair hums in response. Over the hour we spend making the sauce, cooking everything together, Blair follows my instructions, though she does leave all the seasoning to me. Apparently, she’s terrified of not putting in enough.
Once the lasagna is in the oven, we go back to the bedroom to get ready. Something shifts in the air around us, and Blair looks at herself in the mirror once she finishes getting ready.
She’s wearing all black, and coincidentally, we’re in matching outfits. Black, fitted shirts, looser, comfortable pants, and a pair of boots each. There’s a certain glint in her eyes that I can’t pinpoint, but it’s gone before I can truly process what it means.
“Ready?”
Blair packs up all the lasagna in two bigger containers, and I grab them out of her hands. She nods, putting her coat on.
“It’s now or never.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
The room’s small. There’s nothing except a small camera in the corner, a metal desk with three chairs, two of which are occupied by Arlo and me. The last one is across from us, and the door’s behind it. A big clock is above the door, and my eyes constantly flicker up, as if it will make the minutes pass quicker.
My fingers twitch on my lap, and I fidget with them, trying to play it cool. But the thought of finally seeing Hudson makes me anxious. Is he okay? Is he sleeping, eating, or having issues with other inmates?
The thought vanishes as soon as it appears, because I’m talking about Hudson fucking De Santis. Knowing the man,he’s running the prison, and everyone’s his little bitch.
Though, the worry continues to rest in the back of my mind. After all, his cellmate is Paul Simmons. The man, albeit now incarcerated, isn’t to be trifled with. He has power, influence, and high intelligence. The three main reasons he managed to do all of the dirty work for as long as he did — until I came along.
“Are you alright, butterfly?”
Arlo’s words are spoken in a hushed whisper, though the concern lingers. He takes his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. It helps soothe the aching nerves a little, but it’s not enough.
“I’m just… nervous to see him.”
Arlo nods. “I get it. But it’s Dad. He’s fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I sigh.
“You’ll see,” he mutters, but the way he squeezes my hand tells me he’s trying to convince himself first. My heart is beating in my chest at a rapid speed, and no matter how much I try to take my mind off things, I can’t. Being inside of the prison where my abuser is makes me uneasy.
He can’t get to me, not now, at least, but I know he’s aware I’m here. He’s the man who was supposed to run for president, for fuck’s sake. Of course he knows the girl who sent him to prison is here. What’s odd is that not once did he try to send anyone to get rid of me. If this case goes to trial — and it will — I’ll be expected to testify against him. He must be aware of that fact.
