Page 16 of Ice Darling
“It’s less space to clean.”
April laughs self-consciously and admits, “This entire time I thought you were struggling. I almost put together a food basket for you.”
“A food basket?”
“All you do is work late at the shop and go home. That time we went to the mall together, you didn’t splurge on yourself at all.”
“Well, that’s… I’m not into fashion. But if I were, the clothes at the mall are last season. They don’t sell the latest designer at chain stores.”
Rebel’s jaw drops.
April staggers back. “I think I’m going to faint.”
I scratch the side of my neck, self-conscious.
“Last week, I saw you eat tuna sandwiches for three days straight, so I thought…” April shakes her head.
“I don’t eat red meat, and this town loves their burgers and steaks,” I explain.
“Oh.” April blinks slowly. “Oh, I guess that makes sense.”
Rebel tilts her head. “Is that why you’ve been so standoffish with us? Did you think we’d judge you or treat you differently for being a Davenport?”
“I wasn’t intentionally trying to deceive you. I just…wanted a fresh start.”
The women’s eyes soften and then fill with pity.
Poor thing, their eyes say.
The knifing sensation under my ribs starts again, and it makes me want to run to my bike and ride far away.
April reaches for my shoulder. “Do you…” She stops when Rebel does a subtle shake of her head. My boss pulls back. “What were you saying about the crankshaft gear?”
“The teeth broke,” I answer, eager to shed the Davenport identity and return to being a rookie mechanic.
“Can you show me the waveforms?” April asks, flipping her hair into a bun with the tail end sticking up like a feather plume.
The ladies brainstorm with me, blowing me away with their knowledge of car repair. I take a ton of notes as Rebel and Aprilbat around the different diagnostic tools they recommend to prove my theory.
“I’ll lend you that scanner,” April says after looking over my notes.
We separate to our own workstations, and I plug in my ear buds, turn up my rock playlist, and get to work.
In what feels like minutes later, my playlist is interrupted by a ringing sound.
I check my phone screen.
Mom.
To answer or not to answer,that is the question.
It’s useless to hide. She knows where I live and where I work.
I pick up the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Cordelia, I’m at the airport and heading back now.”
The tension in my shoulders unwinds. Mom is leaving already? Without putting up a fuss or dragging me home? It’s unlike her, but I won’t question it.
