Page 6 of Steadfast

“Mom,” she huffed.

“Fine,” Cian grumbled.

I turned back to Mom as Cian threw Aisling over his shoulder, making her laugh and look back at Mom worriedly. “What?” I ground out. “What’s wrong withMom?”

“Since when do you call me Mom?” She strode toward the kitchen.

“Can we cut through the bullshit?” I asked in frustration, following her.

She knew exactly when we’d stopped calling her mam and started calling her mom—about six months after Dad died and we realized that for all intents and purposes, she was gone, too. Using the wordMamlike Dad used to had seemed almost like an endearment—one she no longer deserved. She was no longer that person to us and pretending was useless. Only Aisling used it anymore, and only when she was emotional.

“What’s your problem?” she asked, rummaging through the fridge. “Jesus, haven’t you been shopping lately?”

The sound of feet on the stairs had gone quiet, but I still waited a minute longer to make sure Cian had gotten them away from the top of the stairs before I spoke.

“Child services was here yesterday,” I said quietly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“And?” She was still rummaging around for food.

“And they want to talk to you.”

“You told them I wasn’t here, right?” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “There you go.”

“They’re coming back,” I spat.

“So, tell them I’m not here. Tell ’em I’m at work.”

“Jesus Christ,” I blurted, throwing my hands in the air. “Could you stop for half a second? I’m trying to talk to you!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” She spun on me. “You might be eighteen, but I’m still your mother!”

“Oh, you noticed that I turned eighteen?” I asked sarcastically. “Good to know.”

“Your father would—” She took a step toward me.

This was why I didn’t try to talk to her. It was useless. She was saying words and replying, but nothing she said was ever even halfway helpful.

I was so done. So frustrated. So scared out of my mind.

“My father?” I blew up. “My father? Sean Kelly? That one? The one who would’vekilledyou if he knew what you were up to? That father?”

“You don’t know—” She took another step forward.

“She’s right,” Cian said, stepping out of the hallway.

“Cian—”

“Kids are in their rooms,” he assured me before looking back at our mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been gone four days.”

“Watch your mouth,” my mom retorted.

“That’s what you’re gonna choose to address here?” he asked in disbelief.

“It’s none of your—or your sister’s—business where I’ve been,” she replied stubbornly.

“Listen,” I ground out, setting my hand on Cian’s back. He was practically vibrating with anger. “Child services needs to talk to you, and they’re not going to stop coming around until they do.”

Mom scoffed.

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