“Okay, Taylor Swift.”
“I’m serious. It’s time to stop sulking—and start cleansing.” Her gold bangles clink as she pulls a thick bundle of sage from her pocket and waves it like a magical weapon.
I duck away.
“Mom, no. You know I hate the smell of that stuff.”
“Now don’t be negative,” she says, striking a match and setting the smudge stick ablaze. She gently blows until the tips glow red and smoke curls into the air. “A little sage will do wonders to clear out all this bad energy.”
She stands and begins circling me with the smoking bundle like she’s cleaning the air. Then the chanting begins. She starts speaking in another language—maybe Latin, maybe something else—as if she’s performing an ancient ritual to chase away demons.
“What is this,The Exorcist?”
Sadly, my joke doesn’t earn a reaction. She’s in full healer mode now, impervious to my wit, as she smudges over my head and then moves to each corner of the room.
She smudges my bed. My desk. Even my closet gets the full spiritual cleanse.
“Here, now you try,” she says, pressing the sage into my hand, wrapping her fingers around mine. “Like this, remember?”
She guides my hand through the motions, starting at the base and then moving up and around, circling the corners and rising toward the ceiling. I half-heartedly follow her lead, waving the sage in one hand while pinching my nose with the other.
“This is really unnecessary. I’m just sad, okay?” I mutter. “It’s not like I’m about to start levitating or crab-walk down the stairs like Regan MacNeil.”
I let out a dry laugh as I remember the first time Hayes and I watchedThe Exorcist. Me, half-hiding, half-giggling behind a throw pillow during the scariest parts, while he narrated every jump scare in a ridiculous, over-the-top Greek accent, mimicking the voice the demon used to torment the characters.
“That’s not funny!” Mom snaps, her face pale with alarm. “Possessions are nothing to joke about. Spirits can slip through cracks in your soul if you’re not careful, and believe me, grief leaves cracks everywhere.”
“See, this is why I need Hayes.Hewould’ve laughed,” I say, flopping back down onto my bed. “No one else gets me like he does.”
“Oh, honey…”
Her expression softens as she wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. Her scent—rose perfume and a faint trace of her coconut-vanilla hairspray—settles over me like a blanket. Comforting and familiar. Like childhood and lullabies.
“I know it’s awful about Hayden’s father. And that you’re upset about his move,” she says gently. “But maybe this is just the push you need to branch out a little. To start figuring out who you are outside of him.” She sighs, smoothing my hair like I’m a little girl again. “Maybe it’s time to try something new. Make new friends.”
“I don’t want new friends—I want Hayes.”
A single tear slides down my cheek. I swipe it away, frustrated.
“You never know. I bet there are lots of wonderful people at LHU,” she says. “You just have to put yourself out there. Give it a real shot.”
“You don’t get it.” I shake my head, my voice turning hoarse. “Hayes isn’t some scarf from Free People. I can’t just go out and replace him.”
A sad little smile touches her mouth.
“I know this is hard, sweetie. But it’s like I’ve always told you, this is what men do. Even the good ones.” Her voice flattens then, taking on that bitter edge I know all too well. The one that only ever comes out when she’s thinking about him—my father. “They all leave eventually.”
“Mother.” I pull away from her. “Not everything is abouthim.”
But I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t agree.
And that’s what hurts the most.
She really believes Hayes, the one person who’s always been there for me, is just another version of the man who walked out on us like a coward before I was old enough to remember his face.
“Hayes and that—thatlowlife—are nothing alike. And they never will be.”
She folds her arms, giving me an almost pitying look. “I know Hayden’s young, and not everything is in his control here, but the result’s the same. He’s still leaving you.”
