New vocabulary. Nice.
“I’m so glad you went back to blonde. The red was hideous,” Ambrosia deadpans. A second later, she loses her composure, falling into boisterous laughter.
“You’re hilarious,” I say.
She gestures for me to follow as she lets out the last of her incessant giggles. We enter an alcove that separates in two opposite directions. Ambrosia steers me to the left, closing the office door after I enter the room.
Her aunt, the leader of the Angelics, appointed Ambrosia co-captain of the Angelic Guard. Feels oddly reminiscent of my days on the football team. Some would claim nepotism, others would fault her after the incident at the warehouse, but I think she’s deserving of such a regarded position. She sits down on the leather chair and lounges her feet atop the desk, considering me.
“You okay?”
“Any news?” I ask instead.
Ambrosia frowns, but she doesn’t pry any further. I’m always appreciative of how she never butts in more than she should.
“It took us a while, but I think we finally waited out most of your mom’s unwanted attention. It’s safe to bring her to Proctus now.”
“When?” I shoot, excitement coursing through my veins.
“Soon. You and Ezra are officially declared dead, and everyone’s returned to their lives. The police no longer care for a mother in mourning, so their eyes are directed elsewhere now. We just need to find a team that can extract her.”
How morbid.
“My mom thinks Ezra and I are dead?”
“No. She’s aware you’re alive. We’ve been in touch.”
The relief that floods inside me is paramount. Mom gets to come here, live with me and Ezra, and although I’m grateful Atlas’s parents finally concluded it was about time to see their son again, I have no idea how our living situations will work once they all arrive. The MacPhersons have each other, but Mom has only me. She can’t live alone in unfamiliar surroundings. Atlas could continue to stay with us, but what if Mom doesn’t like him? What if she doesn’t come to love him the way she loves Ezra?
Of course she’d love Atlas.
“Earth to Bresshet?”
Ambrosia uses my last name to get under my skin. It pulls me out of my reverie quite efficiently.
“Sorry. Thinking,” I quip.
“Yeah, I can see the smoke coming out of those cogs of yours,” she says.
Haha.
“Thank you for taking the time to do this for me. She means a lot to me and Ezra.”
“I know she does,” Ambrosia mutters. Her entire face scrunches in concentration and she mercilessly chews her bottom lip as she does when something is bothering her. I know this because she had that same look every day after I was discharged from the infirmary—every instance she saw me.
“What?” I say.
“How’s Ezra?”
“He’s fine.”
“That’s good.”
“Would you like to come to his performance Friday night?”
She’s reluctant, twisting her thumbs in awkward motions, permeating that awkwardness all over. She shakes her head quickly.
“I probably shouldn’t. He wouldn’t want me there.”
