Page 57 of First Verse

My sisters’ voices carry down the hallway, along with Katherine’s raspy laugh and my father’s lower tones. Nostalgia and comfort filter through me.

My mom clears her throat lightly. “How’s Eva?”

My head whips gracelessly in her direction. Her eyes shine with mirth. “You’re tagged in a bunch of photos from her show last night, including a few of you walking backstage. Speculation online is you broke up with your girlfriend and are pursuing her.” She waggles her eyebrows, her smile teasing.

Despite her effort at levity, my head bows in embarrassment. My own mother scours the internet for news on my life. Fucking pathetic.

Steeling myself, I meet her gaze. “The last couple of years…” My tongue tangles. Eventually I mutter, “I’ve been a self-centered ass.”

“You’re forgiven,” she says, blinking away a glassy sheen from her eyes. “Is it true, though? You broke up with Kendra?”

I confirm with a nod. Though she tries to hide it, her relief is obvious.

“That’s too bad.”

I laugh shortly. “Nice try. I know you never liked her.”

She winces. “True. I have no idea what it was—she was a nice girl—but something about her rubbed me the wrong way.” Her eyes narrow. “Maybe because once she came into the picture, my firstborn son stopped answering my calls.”

It’s my turn to wince. Thankfully, she continues before I have to decide how to respond.

“So… Eva?”

I shift in my seat. “It’s new. Like last night, new.”

She lays a hand on my forearm, squeezing lightly. “It’s not new, though, is it? The two of you have always been…” she trails off, and another voice finishes.

“Fatedmight be the word you’re looking for.”

Our heads swivel to the smiling woman standing in the kitchen doorway. Katherine is technically my great-aunt—the twin of my maternal grandmother—but she raised my mom after her parents’ deaths and is the only grandparent I’ve ever known. And my mom’s right: despite signs of time on her face, she doesn’t look anywhere near seventy-five. Long, dark hair spirals to her waist. As usual, her lips are curled as though holding back secrets. Her clothes have always been eccentric, and today she’s wearing a floor-length, crushed velvet dress that could easily pass for a Halloween witch’s costume.

Dad believes she’s psychic. Mom refuses to admit it, but her denial is more habit than conviction. As for myself, I’ve witnessed enough of Katherine’s eerily accurate predictions over the years that I’m a believer. I don’t know if she has actual psychic powers or if she’s simply a thousand times more observant than the average person, but either way, there’s something undeniably supernatural about her.

Katherine meets me halfway for a hug, and it’s only then I’m confronted with the passage of time. Her body is more frail than I remember, her incense and rosewater musk pronounced. I feel like if I squeeze too hard, she’ll disperse into smoke.

Releasing her, I kiss her soft cheek. “Hi, Granny. Happy birthday.”

She lays a cool, soft palm on my cheek. From the way her eyes pierce mine, sparkling dark and eerily calm, I know what she’s going to say before she says it. My fingers and toes tingle in fearful anticipation.

“I have a message for you, my boy.”

I barely hear my mom’s groan over the ringing in my ears. I’ve been waiting six years for those words. For an answer to the question I asked the first time I felt like I was losing everything.

Losing Evangeline.

“Can’t you read your cards or talk to your spirits or something?”

At my irreverent demand, humor crinkles the skin around her eyes. “I’m sorry, Wilder. I don’t have a message.”

I stop pacing and face her. “What if she falls in love with this douchebag? Am I supposed to watch it happen? You said?—”

“I remember what I said,” she interjects softly, something like regret briefly eclipsing her expression before it smooths.

“No message?” I ask in a final, desperate plea.

She shakes her head, then sighs. “How about a word of advice from an old lady with two eyes and a lifetime of experience?”

“Please,” I whisper.

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