Page 16 of Forget Me Not
Anyway, I’ve decided I’ll tell you all about it soon—here at least—because even if it doesn’t show, it’s possible you could still be carrying it. You might pass it to your children one day, and I would be the world’s worst grandma if I didn’t warn you ahead of time.
I suppose this means I should tell your father too…I really should have told him a long time ago.
Wish me luck, little fawn.
More than all the stars in the sky,
Mom
Syveletherheadfall back and sighed, her mom just kept dancing around this secret, which was apparently a family secret that her friends—who were not family—also had. Confusing was an understatement.
At least now she knew it was a gene, but that didn’t narrow it down much. And what gene could possibly be so secretive people were being killed because of it? It’s not like they were fucking vampires—she could barely evenlookat a steak.
The coffee pot chirped, signaling it had done its job, and a fresh carafe of blessed caffeine was waiting for her. Syve leaned onto the kitchen table and pushed herself off her chair with a groan, then picked up her empty mug. Lightning prickled through her muscles as she shuffled to the counter; she’d been sitting in the same spot unmoving for God only knows how long and her legs had fallen asleep.
After they pretended to watch Twilight for the fifty-billionth time, Aimi and Cam stumbled home, leaving Syve awake for once and standing on her front porch staring at what was left of the paw prints in the snow. Two hours of lying in bed staring at the ceiling was enough to know shewasn’t going to be getting any sleep. Instead, she curled up in the kitchen with her mother’s journals and read.
Syve caught her reflection in the vintage mirror above the counter, a design choice by Aimi that she still questioned. Her hair was a mess. At some point in the night it had been in a braid, but now at least half of it had been pulled loose from running her fingers through it. Dark circles—darker than usual—shadowed her hollow eyes, making her look almost as much a zombie as she felt. She was wearing her favorite nightshirt, one of Erhard’s old work T-shirts, so worn and faded she could no longer make out the words on it.
She hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since college, back when four hours of sleep and an octo-shot espresso could get her through anything. The ache in her back and legs were side effects she did not experience in her younger years and she suddenly understood the phrase, ‘I’m too old for this.’
With a long exhale, she refilled her “I need sew much coffee to function” cup, pivoted to the fridge to add a splash of cream, and then slunk back to her chair.
Dearest Syve,
Okay.
Are you sitting down? I feel like you should be sitting down.
Maybe I should be sitting down…
Well, you probably are, I wouldn’t imagine you’d be driving or anything like that. I doubt your father would everteach you to drive and make you think it would be okay to be reading a book at the same time…
Right, focus.
If you’re not sitting, sit.
I told your father the secret.
I don’t know what I expected and honestly, I’m ashamed I thought it would be anything less than what it was.
I should have had more faith in the man, truly. He’s not even mad I never told him and that just makes me feel even worse.
I asked him what his thoughts were on telling you. He agrees that while it would be easier, for us, to wait and see if you show the gene before telling you—we should have trust in our little fawn.
Hi, baby girl!
-Love, Dad
Oh, and I also told him about these journals.
I did tell him he needs to get his own and to stop reading over my shoulder (Rich, I mean right now—I love you, but go away!)
Anyway, sweet Syve, we’ve decided to tell you this year—on your birthday—that this gene? It makes you a shifter.
Syve cocked her head to the side, and mouthed the wordshiftera few times in utter confusion. What kind of 1990‘s lingo was her mom using here? Was ‘shifter’ slang for swinger? Once upon a long-ass-time-ago they stoned adulterers to death…so it was not an awful assumption?
Gross.
