“Mom?”
A door opened and closed as Willow led me farther and farther into the house. A woman a few years older than Willow stepped out of a bedroom, wearing a pair of headphones over long blonde hair. She shrieked and ripped the headphones off.
“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” But it wasn’t said in surprise. Every word dripped with annoyance. She shared a few similar features with Willow, but not many. Their eyes were the same. Bottle green and wary.
Willow glanced around. “I texted you and mom that I was coming by to visit, and she said it was fine.”
The other girl huffed. “I lost my phone.”
“Amber, it’s in your hand.”
Amber looked down at the phone in her hand and groaned. “Fine. I just didn’t open the text.”
“Of course you didn’t . . .” Willow muttered as she raked a hand through her soft pink hair. “Ryan, this is my sister Amber. Amber, this is Ryan.”
Amber’s eyebrows winged up when she realized there was a whole other person present. “Hello,Ryan.” She drew out each syllable in obvious appraisal.
Willow grabbed my hand and slid her fingers between mine, staking her claim.
I fucking loved it.
“Do you have a dress picked out for the funeral?” Willow asked, as the two of us followed Amber into the kitchen.
She sneered as she yanked open the refrigerator door, making the condiments clatter against each other. “Why would I need something to wear to a funeral?”
I raised an eyebrow at the obvious malice in her voice, but Willow wasn’t quite as put off. “Because it’s on Saturday?”
“Is that why you’re here?” Amber said as she cracked the top of a soda can.
Willow’s eye twitched. “Why else would I be here?”
“I dunno. To bring your . . . Ryan to meet us?”
Willow’s grip on my hand turned deadly. “Of course I came for the funeral. Why aren’t you going? Mom said she told you the time and date.”
Instead of letting Willow cut off the circulation to my hand, I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her, keeping her snug against my chest.
Amber’s eyes narrowed. “How cute.”
Those were the most insincere syllables in the history of spoken language.
“Will you please think about coming to the?—”
Amber let out a petulant growl. “Ugh. Enough of the funeral stuff. Why would I want to go sit in a room full of sad people and stare at a dead body? Gross.”
Amber was the oldest of the two sisters, but she had the attitude of a child.
“He was our stepdad!” Willow gasped.
“And then he and mom got divorced, so no more stepdad,” Amber clipped as if their step-father had been a goldfish won at a county fair that no one actually wanted. She finished her drink and tossed the can into the garbage.
Willow went still and silent. It was a notoriously foreboding combination. “Shep spent more time with us than Dad spent with us. The least you can do is show up to his funeral and pay your respects.”
Each word was sharp and clipped like an arrow.
“Girls.” The warning greeting came from behind us. I glanced over my shoulder as Willow did the same and found her mother walking in with a grocery bag hooked on her arm.
“Mom, this is Ryan. Ryan, Mom,” Willow said as she slid from my front to my side as her mother passed by and stuck the grocery bag into the refrigerator.
