“No, not in a weird way, you're my sister. Just sometimes I hear things, not on purpose obviously, but you know.”
I smirk at his rambling.
He might be some hunky buff football player that all the girls fancy at his college, but all I see is a sweet, innocent, goofy boy who used to chase me around at our grandparents with whatever insect caught his fancy that day.
“Relax.” I cross my arms, leaning back in the chair. “I know you're not some creeper.”
He blows out a breath and leans forward, arms on the table. “I just worry about you, you know. You barely come out of your room, and when you do, it doesn't feel like it's actually you. Iknow it's been hard losing your dad, and I’m sorry; just know that you aren't alone in all this.”
The only person aside from Dad who has ever worried about me is River, and I love him for that.
The guilt consumes me; he shouldn't have to worry about me. I’m his big sister.
I give him a soft smile. “I know, and I’m fine, anyway; don't you have a football game tonight?” I try my best to change the conversation, hoping to wipe the worry from his eyes, distracting him with his love of football. He shouldn't have to worry about me; he should be focusing on sports and his friends.
His face practically lights up, and he gives me the biggest boyish grin, “Yeah, are you coming? I can get you a seat at the front.”
I lightly kick his leg under the table and roll my eyes at him. “Obviously, I’m coming; I’ll be there, face painted with your team colours, sporting the team jersey with pom poms, the whole lot.” I tease, and he groans before letting out a laugh, dimples popping out.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
We both laugh, and for the first time in ages, my smile is real, not forced and rigid like it has been the last few weeks. It sends warmth through me, and I can’t help but be thankful for River.
River downs the rest of his smoothie, causing me to laugh as it spills down his chin and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—right as the sound of her voice cuts through the house and abruptly ends the happy moment.
“River, darling, I’m home.”
Wonderful. The wicked witch is home.
Her footsteps grow louder as she approaches the kitchen, and I can feel my heart pounding and my palms becoming slick. Iknow it’s inevitable that she’s about to either hurl some kind of insult at me or pretend to be indifferent. Realistically, I should be used to the way she treats me, but today I feel particularly vulnerable.
She steps into the kitchen, heels clicking across the white marble floor. It's at this moment that I realise how unprepared I am. Seeing her is like staring into a mirror I want to shatter—deep ginger hair slicked back, green eyes like mine, that stick-thin frame drowning in a tight black dress, and makeup so thick it's practically begging to crack. She flashes River a smile so fake it could peel off.
When she glances across the table, she finally notices me, and the smile falls straight to hell, where she belongs.
“Well, Willow.” Her eyes rake over me, slow and judgmental, searing straight into my bones. “You look… tired.”
I can practically see the insult she wants to spit out, sitting right on the edge of her tongue, but she won't dare—not with River sitting there. No, she reserves those for when we are alone, where it won't ruin the image of a perfect wife and devoted mother that she's curated so perfectly.
I give her my sweetest, fakest grin. “Usually happens when someone's grieving their dad,” I say. “What's your excuse?”
The look she gives me almost makes me laugh, the shock on her face evident as the insult lands exactly where I was aiming, because we both know we’re not talking about how tired I look.
She clears her throat and drops her purse onto the counter. “Didn't realise you would still be here.”
Clearly.
“Oh, trust me, I wish I wasn't.” Not with her now being home, the peace was nice while it lasted. “As soon as I've got the money to leave, you won't see me again.”
“Do you have a job?” she asks, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
I bite my tongue. “No.”
Her lips straighten into a thin line. “Well, if you're going to be living here, then you need a job. I won't have you staying here rent-free and lazing about.”
I swallow every insult that I want to throw at her, taking a deep breath and steadying my hands. She has no idea who I am or what I did to look after my dad. I had three jobs, juggled University for as long as I could until it became clear that Dad was too sick and needed me more often than not. He needed me, and I was there for every second till his last breath, and then I arranged his funeral all on my own. I did everything on my own while she was nowhere to be seen.
