Page 52 of Done with You

“In that the amount I add to my food is guided by reckless extravagance and utter disregard, verging on mild contempt for the recipe as written.” Then she flashed a big smile.

Oona snorted and shook her head, marveling at her sister’s wit and accuracy. Oona could cook and bake—though living alone and being very busy with work and pole dancing, she did very little of it—but she often disregarded the suggested amount of both vanilla and garlic and usually double or tripled it. Maybe it was a Young family thing? She’d have to ask her other sisters if they went rogue, too.

“Well, Nana Joy makes a mean muffin.”

Rayma smiled and sipped her coffee. “She’s helping Jordan, too. He sees her once a month for therapy to talk through some of the childhood shit he and Aiden went through.”

Oona’s interest piqued, but she had to be careful not to show it. All she did was nod. She’d read Aiden’s file cover to cover—twice. Once before he came into her office, then again after he stormed out and said she was bad in bed. But there wasn’t anything about his childhood in there. Just that he was triggered by drunk drivers due to a childhood trauma, and had, on more than one occasion, over-stepped as an officer of the law. This last time, he’d hauled off and punched a drunk driver in front of his kid and someone else with a cellphone caught it all on camera, posted it online and it went viral.

But for his trigger to continuously be drunk drivers meant there had to be a history there. Something specific happened in his life that made him react outside the scope of the law on so many occasions.

Her curiosity niggled at the nape of her neck like a persistent, thirsty mosquito. She scratched at the phantom bug and nibbled on her muffin. She needed to change the subject, otherwise, she was going to ask for more information, and that was not something she needed.

“You’re at work today?”

Rayma nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I tried to take this time off, but shit’s hitting the fan with a few families. It happens this time of year, so my caseload is bigger than ever. I’m going to try to cut out early, but we’ll see. I talked to Pasha, though. She, Mieks and Triss are going to come and pick you up in a bit. Something about planning a bachelorette party for someone or something?” She smiled and shrugged, pretending to be completely oblivious. “Who could that be for?”

Oona played along. “Some brat, I’m sure.”

Rayma’s grin brightened even more. “She said they’ll be here by nine.”

“Cool. I’m excited. We have a group chat that we’ve been planning in for months, so most of it is taken care of.”

“Just as long as there are strippers, we go to Vegas, I don’t remember a thing, and Triss winds up with a face tattoo. That’s all I ask.” She sipped her coffee, the corners of her mouth trying desperately to touch her glittering eyes.

“Of course. Totally makes sense for a very pregnant woman to get a face tattoo. I bet for you, she’ll even get shit-faced drunk at eight months pregnant,” Oona said dryly.

“I think so. Imagine the stories she can tell her kid when he’s older,” Rayma threw right back.

Oona snorted. “Grab me another muffin, you nut. These are really good. Nana Joy follows the recipe like a champ.”

Rayma obliged.

They sat in the kitchen a little longer, chatting about various things. There was rarely any awkward silences between Oona and Rayma. Either Rayma just always had questions and knew how to keep the conversation flowing, or she and Oona really just had that much to talk about.

When eight-fifteen rolled around and Oona had had two cups of tea and three muffins, Rayma pecked her on the side of the head and said goodbye. That she was “off to the office.”

“Did you ever think you’d say those words?” Oona asked her baby sister as Rayma wrapped a scarf around her neck.

“Sure didn’t.” Her expression sobered. “Wasn’t sure I’d live that long, to be honest.”

Oona’s smile was sad.

Rayma rallied fast, though, and blew her a kiss. “But, people change, and look at me now. Responsible and shit, and I’m even getting married. I still rebel in the kitchen, though. Can’t completely lose myself. That’s why our garlic and vanilla extract bill is almost as much as our rent.” Then she was out the door.

Oona leaned her elbows on the counter, emotion pulling hard on the back of her throat. “Yep, kiddo, look at you now.”

Her time in the house alone as she got dressed for the day allowed her some quiet, much-needed reflection. Even though Aiden wasn’t anything like Russell, his behaviors were still triggering her.

She knew that.

She recognized the signs.

And she was working extra hard not to let herself revert back to old habits.

Instead of clamming up, apologizing, and making herself smaller like she did with Russell— because if she didn’t, he’d lash our physically—she snapped back at Aiden. She retaliated with words. She put him in his place. It was unlike her. But it was also a sign that she wasn’t the meek and cowering little lamb she’d been with Russell. She was stronger. More resilient. And she took shit from no man.

Russell had also been a silver-spoon fed, privileged shit-head who came from an upper middle-class, suburban nuclear family that loved him. She’d met his parents and they were lovely people. How they managed to create such a monster still eluded her to this day. As far as she’d been able to tell, Russell had no demons that haunted him. So, he had no excuse for his behavior. No childhood trauma that led to his drinking. No deep-seated resentment or monsters that made him lash out physically to those that upset him.

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