Page 66 of Illicit

She mutters something that I can’t make out, but I’m pretty sure it includes at least three fucks.

I focus on my task. “If I thought Easter was a culture shock, you can’t imagine how it felt to experience my first Christmas with the Colemans. I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my own skin. And remember, Brax forced me to live with the cartel back in the day. A Coleman Christmas was an out-of-body experience.”

She turns back to her box.

I keep talking.

“One year in middle school, my parents didn’t even come home for Christmas. My mom claimed she was at work, but you never really knew if she was telling the truth or just escaping our shit life. The asshole stumbled in drunk and high the next day. Your mom spent months planning for the holiday. It’s like I was on an alien planet, when really, I was the freak from another world.”

She pauses throwing stuff in her box for two seconds.

I move onto bras, which aren’t nearly as interesting as the panties.

“That first year was like the Twilight Zone. I couldn’t figure out why anyone did anything they did for me. That someone would buy me a present? And not just someone, but everyone. I felt like a fucking charity case.”

Teagan peeks up at me from under her thick lashes but doesn’t say anything.

Jokes on you, Teag. I can talk until I’m blue in the face.

“I never understood Sammie. She’d rip through everything your parents gave her and never be content. You, on the other hand, would curl up for the next month and read every book they gave you.”

“That’s Sammie,” she mutters.

“She infuriated me. She had no idea how good she had it.”

Teagan opens the last drawer and isn’t careful when she tosses what few kitchen tools she has into the box with a clank. “I love my sister, but nothing has changed.”

“From packing your apartment, I can see nothing has changed with you either.”

She shakes her head. “Lots of things have changed.”

“You might be ballsy in a way I never expected, but that’s it. Other than that, you’re the same. You graduate tomorrow. There’s no reason for you to give a shit about a man you don’t know imprisoned in Nigeria, but you do.”

She tosses a stack of measuring cups in the box and leans a hip on the counter. “He was taken advantage of, and no one was helping him. I had to do something.”

“And that’s why you’re still you. Or you are with everyone but me.”

Her arms fall to her sides, and she looks exhausted. “Can we please not do this? I have just about everything packed. I’m tired and tomorrow is going to be the longest day.”

“I couldn’t agree more. And tomorrow we’ll celebrate you. You’re done with school for good.”

She presses her lips together and scrunches her nose. “Is it weird that I’m going to miss it?”

“Yes,” I bite. “That’s really fucking strange, you weirdo.”

She can’t hide her smile any longer. “I know. I’m a freak. I’m really going to miss this small southern town. The little main street. The shops. The diner.”

She’s actually speaking to me, so I cut the distance between us and go to the so-called kitchen—if you can call it a kitchen in this studio. We ate on the way out of New Orleans and got a box of beignets to go.

I open the box and hand her one. She doesn’t argue, and I mirror her stance as I pop it in my mouth. “Not as good as when they’re hot and fresh, but fried bread is fried bread.”

She tears hers in half and eats it in two bites as I have a second. “My favorite diner in town has the best bread pudding. They don’t put raisins in it.” She pretends to shudder as she licks the tips of her fingers. I wish I could do that. “The caramel sauce is to die for.”

I don’t lick sugar off my fingers. I bop the end of her nose. Sugar-covered Teagan. Another dream.

Before she has a chance to roll her eyes or yell at me, I grab her hand to pull her away from the kitchen counter.

“What are you doing?”

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