Here we go again.
Of course, in her mind, this isn’t just about normal mother-daughter safety concerns like getting mugged on the big-city streets or lost on the subway. No, she thinks I’ll be abducted by Underworld shadow people on my way to class or chased through Central Park by demon hellhounds.
“It’s New York. Not the Black Forest,” I mutter. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve gotten in yet.”
“You will.”
She says it firmly, like my fate’s already sealed.
“You don’t know that,” I say, picking at some loose threads on my bedspread. “The competition’s brutal. I’ve got good grades, but no résumé.”
“You’ve got chorus.”
“High school chorus,” I say flatly. “What if I’m just… not good enough?”
She takes my hand, gripping it tightly.
“You’re special, baby. More special than you realize.” Her tone shifts, her eyes going glassy and wide. There’s a hint of something, almost manic, in the way she’s looking at me. My stomach knots, and suddenly, I’m thinking about the letters again.
“Mom… I need to ask you something.” I lick my dry lips. “But you have to promise you won’t get mad.”
“Why would I get mad?”
“I just… don’t think you’re going to like it.”
My shoulders stiffen, tension pulling tight across my chest. She’s already on edge—about NYU, the dog, me leaving. And now I’m about to tell her I went through her private things. That I found intimate letters between her and my father that she never meant for me to see.
But it’s more than that.
I’m scared of what she’ll actually say about the letters when I ask. Scared I’m not ready to hear the truth. What if my mom isn’t just quirky and spiritual and maybe a little too obsessed with her weird fairy tale stories, like I’ve always told myself? What if she’s actually… unwell?
“You’re making me nervous, Alysander. What is it?”
My fingers drift to my cuticles, picking at the skin. I wish I had one of her magical crystals—Tiger’s Eye, maybe, for courage. I don’t believe in any of it, but right now, I’d take anything that might help.
“First off, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I begin. “But you didn’t fill out the parent portion of my NYU application like you promised, so I figured I’d do it myself. I couldn’t remember your college information—if you even graduated, or what year—so I went into your room…” I swallow hard. “Into the files in your closet?—”
“Alysander!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I lift my hands slightly, a small gesture of apology. “I was only looking for your college records, I swear. But then I found a folder tucked in the back of the box… the one labeled ‘S’.”
Her expression shifts—tightens. It’s obvious she knows exactly what folder I’m talking about.
“I shouldn’t have looked, I know that. But he’s my father,” I continue. “I read what you wrote in those letters. About gods. And monsters. The Underworld. You don’t really believe all of that… do you?”
She draws back, her fingers drifting to the third eye pendant at her throat, the gold one with the blue stone at its center. The one that’s supposed to ward off darkness.
“Oh, Alysander…” Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t look away. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Find out what?”
A wistful smile tugs at her lips. “You have his eyes, you know.”
I’d suspected as much after seeing his photo but hearing her say it cracks something open in my chest. I wonder what it’s been like for her—to look into my eyes every day and see his. To be reminded of the man who left.
Does it hurt her? Does it make her sad when she looks at me?
God, I hope not.
