“I know.” I’m the one paying her tuition. And her housing. “It’s covered, I promise.”
“What if she decides she wants her master’s after?”
“Then I’ll cover that too.” I’ve put three other siblings through college already. I’m not about to drop the ball now. “Look, I came to you first because I hoped you would support me.” I pull myself up a little taller. Sometimes height helps remind me I’m not still the same teenager who used to have these meetings with her. “But I don’t need you to agree with what I’m doing. You’re my mother, but you’re not my boss. Dad left the bars to me. He trusted me to learn this business at fourteen. To make the right decisions for it at nineteen. Don’t you think you can trust me now, when I’m damn near thirty?”
She sighs, and her eyes soften. “I do trust you, Jovi.”
“Then trust that I know what I’m doing.” I catch Carl’s eye and gesture for him to put an order in to replace my mother’s lunch. “I can do both. I can honor the promise I made Dad, and Trent's wishes.”
She nods, at last surrendering to the inevitable. “Have you told Casey?”
“Not yet.” I sip my water. I’m not thirsty, but my mouth continues to dry up at every twist and turn of this conversation. “But I will.”
“And Liz is moving back to raise the kids?” I can practically hear the wheels turning in her brain as she starts to piece things together. “Where will they be staying?’
“At the ranch.”
“And you?”
Water hits the back of my throat when I try to answer. “Same.”
I cough, trying to clear it.
My mother watches on in silence, one hand moving up to pat my back. Her stern expression is gone. Instead, she’s smirking.“Well, that should be interesting.”
CHAPTER SIX
LIZ
Hard though I find it to believe, walking into my apartment feels worse than stepping foot inside Lena and Trent’s abandoned home. Where their place was eerie with an emptiness that felt out of place, mine now reeks of a loneliness woven into every fiber, rooted in every nut and bolt holding the walls in place.
I always told myself it felt sacred. But under the weight of my grief, and the looming threat of failing my sister, these walls don’t offer comfort or safety. They echo with the hollow ache ringing in every beat of my broken heart. I wonder if the next tenants will be able to hear it.
As it turns out, my landlord is thrilled to end my lease and get new people in. At current rent prices. Which I was not paying. Something I learned when I called him from the airport to discuss my situation and to go over the options. I was off the phone and out of my lease before they even started boarding first class.
That much at least, is done already. Now to keep moving from here.
Somewhere between the front door and the sofa, I stop pulling along my little suitcase on wheels. Next, the strap of my bag slides from my shoulder, snaking its way down my arm, before theweight of the bag drags the whole of it to the floor. I don’t stop to pick it up. Just let my feet shuffle one in front of the other over the hardwood floors.
“Harriet?” I say quietly. “You here?” I wander through the open space and make my way to the kitchen. The window over the sink is propped open in lieu of a cat door and the automatic water and food bowls, while still plenty full, have been partaken from. Enough signs of life to indicate she’s been home while I was away, though she doesn't seem to be around now.
“That’s what I get for choosing to adopt a semi-feral cat. A puppy would have been thrilled to see me. Waiting at the door, wagging tail and all,” I grumble to myself.
Of course, a puppy also would have required more care in my absence. So, maybe a slightly wild, and nearly self-sufficient cat was the right choice.
I make my way to the fridge and pull it open. When I’m greeted with two takeout boxes I should have tossed before I left, an almost empty carton of half and half, and a shriveled up, sad-looking apple, I let the door fall shut again.
“Shower,” I mumble. “Then I’ll figure out food.”
Much like my luggage, I peel off one piece of clothing at a time and let it fall to the floor, leaving a trail of ripped jeans, mismatched socks, and a t-shirt I borrowed from Lena and forgot to return last visit.
Now she’ll always think I stole it.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but one I linger on as the scorching hot water hits my face. I should adjust it, but the burn of it soothes me, offers me a pain I can bear. So, I leave it.
All our lives, Lena swiped my favorite clothes. Aggravating me to the ends of the earth when I’d have to search her closet for ashirt, or find a stain on a dress, or my favorite shoes with paper towels stuffed in the toes because they didn’t quite fit her yet. Yet somehow, I wind up being the sister who stole a shirt and never gave it back.
“So fucking stupid,” I mumble, pressing my lips together tightly.
