Page 26 of Royally Bad

“Mom!”

Grinning, she nibbled her sandwich. “That’s a yes.”

“Give me a break.”

“Give me details.”

Covering my burning face, I said, “I can’t. I won’t. It doesn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t right for me.”

“No?”

“No.” I meant it to come out firm, but the edge of the word wavered.

My mother heard, but bless her, she changed the subject. “How’s work been?”

I started to smile—I almost said good and meant it, too.The checks.Right. I’d never gotten to cash all that money. I was out a wedding dress and worse off than ever.

Lifting my chin, I leaned closer. “It’s wonderful. Everything is good.”

My mom studied me for a long minute. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you to regret moving back here and—”

“Mom, no. Stop.” I was hugging her before I could think it over. In my arms she felt like a set of sticks in a cloth bag. Sickness had ravaged her, a fact I didn’t like to dwell on. I couldn’t tell how much was her depression over losing my dad or what was from her weak body. “I love being back. I get to see you all the time. Plus I don’t miss the noise and pollution of New York at all.”

Patting my back, she squeezed, then pulled back. There was warmth in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. My mother used to say that coming home brought good luck.”

“Luck,” I said, tracing the word with my tongue. Cleaning up the mess as my mom chatted at my wandering mind, I had a funny little oddly comforting thought.

This has to be rock bottom.

From here, I could only go up.

Right?

I ached all over when I crossed the threshold into my own home. The floor creaked, only slightly louder than my overworked joints. Clicking on the light above my stove, I used the flickering illumination to pour myself a cup of water.

What a fucking day.

Leaning over the sink, I stared at my warped reflection in the metal faucet. It was all stretched out; it was exactly how I felt. Every bit of me had that too-tall, too-strained sensation. In the sink, my stallion mug sat collecting water. It was hard to accept that it had only been waiting there for a day and a half.

Heading up the stairs, I kept expecting my bones to disconnect on every step.

I debated taking a shower—I definitely needed one—but sleep clawed at me until I couldn’t fight back. In my bedroom, I reached back to strip the dress off. I struggled with the zipper, tugging at it side to side. “Come on, you piece of—urgh.”

Breathing in desperately, I fought a wave of cresting anger. I was beyond drained, I just wanted to drop into my bed and forget this whole day, and now this torture of a dress was resisting me.

“Get the fuck ... off!” Grunting, I felt the threading give way. The zipper tore, it was enough to wriggle the dress down to my ankles. I’d been wrong earlier when I’d thought the zipper was real gold.Poor craftsmanship,I noted, kicking the garment aside. My dresses never ripped like that.

I enjoyed my nakedness briefly. Rocking side to side, my arms overhead, I groaned. There were marks along the undersides of my breasts from the support wire. Rubbing at them tenderly, I pawed through my dresser for pajamas.

Man, it’s seriously cold in here.Wasn’t it summertime? This state was plain unpredictable. Shivering, I pulled a long shirt over my head, then tugged on some thick black sweatpants.The wind cuts right through the walls of these old houses that landlords love turning into cheap apartments.

I shouldn’t complain; cheap meantIgot to live here.

Turning, I jumped at the sight of my own shadow on the bedroom wall. “Jeez,” I laughed nervously. “Calm down.” The outside streetlights made every corner appear darker, richer, and bleaker than ever.

Streetlights?

For a while, I stared at my window. The glass stared back at me. Something about that was wrong—but what?

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