Page 13 of Ice Darling
And I snap.
“What family?”
Mom’s mouth claps shut. She blinks with hurt, and I wish I could take back the words. I wish I didn’t love her and resent her in equal measures. I wish I could pick a side and stick to it rather than rotate between needing a hug from my mommy and hoping everyone will just leave me alone.
“You’ve never been like this, Cordelia. Not even after Gwen—” Mom flinches before the word fully leaves her mouth.
The sharp, cutting pain is back.
“Mills, stop the car,” I say firmly.
“No, absolutely not. Donotstop the car,” Mom orders. “Cordelia, I’m sorry. If this is about your sister?—”
“Mills, stop the car now.”
“No,” Mom says.
I grip the handle, yanking. “Mills.”
“Alright, alright, stop the car,” Mom says, her eyes squeezed closed.
Mills flicks the indicator and slows the vehicle to a crawl on the dark road.
Mom argues, “Cordelia, this isn’t wise. At least let me take you home safely.”
“I’ll be fine. Like you said, this is a small, peaceful town. The bad guys are more scared of me than I am of them.”
“Cordelia—”
“I didn’t leave because of her, Mom,” I blurt. The words roll off my tongue, stinging the way lies always do when they’re born from desperation. “I left because I met someone. Someone great. The love of my life.”
“Who?” Mom raises her eyebrows.
I shake my head because I don’t know how to build on that lie. “This is the life I want to live. I’m finally doing the things I love, and I’m with people I love. I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
Mom’s lips pin together, and she watches me with tears gathering in her eyes. “Those words sound good, Cordelia, but why is my heart breaking for you?”
I don’t answer her.
Instead, I get out of the car and close the door.
Mom and Mills stay right behind me while I walk home, not that I expected any less of either one of them. The headlights illuminate my path. My jacket wards off the chill of the night.
I’m fine. I’m stronger. I didn’t fall apart then, and I won’t fall apart now.
I keep going. Put one foot in front of the other until I get to my small apartment. I hear the town car idling right outside until I flick on the living room lights. Then Mom leaves.
Dragging myself to the couch, I collapse there and stare, unseeing, at the blank television screen and yellowish-cream walls. It’s a worn, rustic hull of a home. I haven’t put up any pictures in the apartment. Haven’t bought any new furniture or rugs.
It’s quiet here.
And that’s all that’s important to me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn into the couch, hoping that the sleepiness that hit me in the car will return.
No such luck.
Instead, all I feel is hot and uncomfortable.
