“What’s up, Viv?”
This is it. I wipe my hands on my pants—my Versace pants—and regret that decision immediately. My heart is galloping faster than the horses I could see if I looked out the kitchen window. I clear my throat and try to exude confidence. “Mom…”
Her brows furrow. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
She nods, accepting my statement as true, and pushes her dark hair behind her ear. We look remarkably alike. We both have unruly dark hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones.
When she sighs, I’m reminded of earlier. Why does she look so tired? She sits down at the table with a sigh of relief, as if standing is a burden.
“Are you okay?” Maybe now is not the best time to discuss my plans.
She beckons me over, and I take a seat across from her. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. What do you need, Vivian?”
“I need…money.”
She straightens from her slumped position, her eyes wide. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
What the fuck?
Why is that her first reaction? I didn’t start that fire at the library the summer after we graduated. Another reason to hate Jonah.“No. Mom. No trouble. I haven’t seen Frankie in a while. She wants me to go to San Diego Pridefest with her. I’ve been saving my money, but…” Mom’s already shaking her head.
“I’m sorry. We’ve been saving money for a trip to Florida.” Her eyes implore me to understand.
I paste on a smile. “That’s cool. What’s in Florida?”
“Disney World. Maisy would love it.”
Of course. Maisy. I nod, pulling out my fake smile that fools almost everyone. “She absolutely would.”
“Viv, I want to help. But with everything going on—” She stops and presses her lips together. And then, to my horror, my mother starts to cry.
I pat her hand awkwardly. “It’s fine, Mom. Really.”
“I hate letting you down. With your father, I was never able to—” She shakes her head rapidly. Thank fuck she doesn’t continue that sentence. Anything involving my father is better left unsaid. Her hand covers mine and she squeezes, surprising us both. I’m not sure what to do. She lets go quickly and sniffs. “Let me talk to George.”
As she’s saying this, a creak from the old kitchen door is the only warning we get.
“Talk to George about what?” Jonah’s voice is full of barely controlled rage. He fills the doorway, puffed up like one of George’s roosters and holding Maisy’s hand as she peeks out from behind him.
I absolutely cannot deal with Jonah and his attitude right now. “Everything’s fine, Jonah. No one needs protecting.” I stand, readying myself, already knowing he won’t back down. “You can go.” Maybe putting St. Jonah in his place will make me feel better.
“Mommy sad?” Maisy asks Jonah. Her eyes are huge in her sweet baby face.
Mom sniffles and then thefwiip fwiiptells me she’s aggressively grabbing tissues. “Mommy’s fine, sweetie.”
I don’t dare take my eyes off my stepbrother as Maisy runs past me to get to Mom. “This isn’t something you need to fix.” I make a shooing motion.
He glares as if I’ve set out to personally ruin his day. “I wasn’t talking to you, Vivian.”
Adrenaline surges through me as I imagine taking him down a notch or two. He’s taller by a few inches and much bigger than I am. But he’s also a good guy—sickeningly so—and I don’t intend to play fair.
He steps closer, but I don’t—can’t—back down. His face is tight as if he’s barely holding himself back, and when he crosses his arms, his stupid biceps bulge in response like he’s arming himself. “Ask George what?”
“Last time I checked, your name isn’t George. This has nothing to do with you.”
“If it involves my dad, it involves me.”
