“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom greets me with her usual cheer, standing at the stove with a spatula in hand. She’s flipping pancakes onto a plate, her apron dusted with flour.
“Morning, Mom,” I say, grinning as I grab a plate. “It smells incredible in here.” Without waiting, I start piling pancakes, eggs, and sausages onto my plate, already anticipating howgood it’ll taste.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask between bites, not bothering to sit down yet.
“It’s Saturday, so he’s out fishing with his friends,” she says, smiling as she glances over her shoulder.
“Oh, right,” I mumble, already halfway through a mouthful of fluffy pancakes. The buttery sweetness melts on my tongue.
“Slow down before you choke,” she laughs, shaking her head as she sets a glass of apple juice in front of me. I take a grateful sip, the cool tartness washing everything down.
For a moment, the kitchen is peaceful, just the two of us, until I notice a shift. She lowers the spatula and looks at me with that mom gaze that sees through everything. “So,” she starts, her voice casual but pointed, “what’s going on with your sister and Calvin?”
The question makes me freeze mid-bite. I feel my throat tighten. “Oh, wow, look at the time,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I should get ready…” I try to make my escape, heading for the stairs with my plate still in hand.
“Blair Witherspoon Miller.” Her voice stops me in my tracks, the full mom tone that brooks no argument. I turn slowly, knowing I’m caught. With a sigh, I sink back into my chair, setting the plate down in defeat.
She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. “What is going on with you and your sister? You’ve been acting strange for weeks now, and your dad and I are worried about Abigail.”
I pick at the edge of my pancake, trying to stall. How do I even begin to explain this mess? Instead of answering, I shove a big piece into my mouth, mumbling, “Hmm, hmmm,” as I chew. Maybe I can hold her off for a little longer.
But my mom isn’t so easily deterred. She grabs a napkin and holds it out with a raised brow. “Spit it out.”
I hesitate, but the look she gives me says she means business. Reluctantly, I give up my pancake barricade. She tosses the napkin in the trash and turns back to me. “Now, start talking.”
“Mom,” I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know… It’s not really my place to say.”
Her brows knit together in concern. “Are you and your sister fighting? Is that why you left so suddenly, using your scholarship as an excuse?” Her eyes search mine, and I bite my lip, feeling the weight of her worry.
“I’ll fix it today,” I promise, avoiding her gaze. “Whatever happened between us, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“What happened?” she presses. “Is this about Calvin?”
The mention of his name sends heat rushing to my cheeks. I look away, but my blush gives me away. Her eyes widen slightly, and this may just be my paranoia, but she looks utterly disgusted with me. “Oh, sweetheart…”
I can’t take the weight of her gaze anymore. I push back from the table, grabbing my plate. “I really have to go, Mom. Thanks for breakfast.” My words come out rushed as I head for the staircase, hoping to escape before she asks anything more.
“Blair, wait,” she starts, but I’m already halfway up the stairs, clutching my plate like a lifeline.
Mom knows. She doesn’t have all the details yet, but she knows enough to put the pieces together. The weight of that realization presses down on me. How am I going to explain this? What can I possibly say that won’t make things worse?
Once I reach my room, I shut the door and lock it behind me, needing the safety of solitude. I sink into my chair, grabbing myiPad in a desperate attempt to steady my nerves. Drawing has always been my escape, a way to drown out the chaos in my head. Hours pass in a blur as I lose myself in the flow of pencil strokes, shading, and blending until my mind feels a fraction calmer.
The spell breaks when my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen to see a message from Jarad:I’m outside.It’s time. My stomach churns as I grab my bag and sneak downstairs, careful not to make a sound.
I slide into the back seat of the car without a word. The city blurs past the window until we pull up in front of a sleek, modern apartment building. Its pristine facade gleams in the afternoon light, and I feel my nerves spike again.
As I step out, I hesitate, staring up at the building’s imposing glass exterior. My reflection stares back at me, fractured by the panels, like a distorted version of myself.
My mind spirals.
I don’t want to lose my sister. But does that mean I’m willing to let go of Calvin if it comes down to it?
What if she tells me she loves him? What if she looks me in the eye and says Ican’thave him?
Could I accept that? Could I walk away and live without him?
Bile threatens to rise at the mere thought, my stomach twisting painfully. The idea of losing Calvin, of pretending what we have doesn’t exist, feels unbearable. Yet so does the thought of hurting Abigail.
