“I get it.” Ky nods. “Family is everything. Even when it’s gone.”
That statement says so much about Ky, and his slashes of resentment that run so deep.
“Speaking of family,” I tiptoe lightly around the subject. “I have to call my mom and tell her I’m not coming.”
Ky’s eyebrow raises ever so slowly as he contemplates this. I still feel like the subject of our parents is touch and go, but he said he would try for me. Begin to let go of the past and look forward to the future.
“I think that’s a great idea. Let’s FaceTime them.” There’s something devious in his suggestion.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Let’s do this.”
I’m a little stunned. And a little skeptical. I was expecting a fight. At the very least hemming and hawing that he doesn’t want to speak to his father.
“First, let me put some clothes on.” I slide off the counter.
“Bummer.” Ky curls his lip.
“You can have me naked the rest of the day. The rest of the summer, if you want.”
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Ky approves.
I run upstairs to grab a tank top and shorts and am back down in the kitchen in no time.
“Let me have a few minutes to talk to her alone first.” I backtrack toward the laundry room. “Two minutes.”
“Alone?” Ky isn’t keen on the idea, but he lets me go, and I barricade myself into the laundry room, getting a bout of déjà vu when I shut the door. That day started out horrendous and ended up like a fairytale. I just never imagined my handsome prince would be my stepbrother. Wonder what the Brothers Grimm would make of that?
I dial my mother with my heart beating like a baseline in my chest.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she answers the call cheerfully. It’s dinnertime overseas, so her hair is done and so is her makeup. She looks radiant. Paris agrees with her. “Are you at the airport?”
“Not exactly.” I bite my lip.
“Oh? Is there a problem? Can you not find your passport?” She goes all parental.
“No, I wouldn’t call it a problem.”
I see her glance up at someone, no doubt Gerard.
“Then what would you call it?”
“I would call it a change of plans.” I make a clownish expression.
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“I’m not coming.” I just go ahead and rip the Band-Aid right off.
“What? Why?” My mother’s face falls.
“Because, I met someone.” I hold my breath, anticipating her reaction.
“You what?” She bats her long, thick eyelashes incredulously. “When? How?” These questions are all legitimate. When she and Gerard left for Paris a month-and-a-half ago, there wasn’t even a whiff of a man in my life, so I understand the shock.
“It’s all really new, and I know this feels like it’s coming out of left field, but I really like him, Mom . . . I may even love him.” I admit softly.
I do love him.
