Page 57 of Like A Moth To A Flame

What status? I hadn’t updated my status any time recently.

My Facebook relationship status had been changed from “single” to “it’s complicated.” The comment was from my aunt Dorothy, in all caps, asking me who the lucky lad was. I wrinkled my nose and pulled a face.

I didn’t do that. I tapped on edit, and a warning message popped up.

“Parent permission required.”

I glared at the screen. It wouldn’t let me change it back.

Fingers flying over the screen, I went back to my texts.

Did you fucking do that?

The answer was instantaneous.

Just a precaution. You’ll be calling me daddy soon, anyway. Might as well get a head start.

Well, my phone was definitely bugged.

15

That morning coffee, brewed it for ya. One touch and I brand-newed it for ya

Moth

The rest of the movie was a blur. I tried to concentrate, but my brain wouldn’t let me. I stared at the screen, and occasionally at my phone, which stayed silent. By the time the credits were rolling across the screen, and Amelia was stretching, I finally came back down to earth. I could feel the scratchy fabric of the chair against my bare legs, and smell the caramel corn and candy in the air. It was like I’d come back into my body after an out-of-body experience.

“Predictable and campy,” Amelia giggled, retrieving her shoes off the sticky floor. She could never wear shoes and watch a movie. I didn’t get it, but that was Amelia for you. “But that’s my favorite.”

I chuckled. It sounded dry and humorless, and she noticed.

“What’s up?”

I sighed, shrugging.

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit,” she grumbled.

“I’ll tell you back at my house,” I said, dropping my popcorn bucket into the trash on the way out. I’d barely touched it.

We were silent as we walked back across the street and got into our cars. When I was alone in the confines of my car, I finally allowed myself to breathe. The drive back home was both heavy and weightless at the same time, somehow. I felt the wind in my hair and the sun beating down on my shoulders. I felt free.

I didn’t feel the dread until I pulled into the driveway. When I saw the house rising out of the grass, I began to feel the contents of my stomach slosh and my muscles cramp. It was like walking down the dark stairs as a child, convinced that the shadows were reaching out to touch me.

It was fear, all over again, but now, just like then, I couldn’t let the fear win.

I grabbed my purse and kicked the door open. Amelia parked behind me, hurrying to catch up as I ambled up to the door, my keys in my hand. Before I even shoved them into the lock, I tried the door.

It was locked, but part of me hadn’t expected it to be.

I wondered silently to myself if maybe he was too busy following me around to break in, but after I tossed my purse down onto the dining room table and strode into the kitchen, I discovered I was wrong.

The kitchen was not as I left it. It was cleaner than I’d ever seen—at least since Mom was alive. The dishes were done and stacked neatly in the drainer. The counters had been wiped down, and the grime that seemed to cake the front of the stove from Dad’sbacon obsession had been scrubbed to sparkling perfection. Even the floor had been swept. On the island, the coffee cup that I’d plopped into the microwave and forgotten about had been refilled, and judging by the steam rolling off of it, the coffee was fresh and piping hot.

Stepping over to the counter, I laid the back of my hand across the glass coffee pot and immediately ripped it away. It was hot. That coffee was fresh.

He had poured out my old stale coffee and made me a fresh pot. He’s cleaned my kitchen just like I’d asked him to.

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