Page 116 of Reaching Avery
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Avery
At home that evening, my heart was still racing from the incident at lunch. As I stirred the pot of noodles, squashing them down with the spatula to see if they were soft yet, my hands were shaking so bad, I could barely hold onto the utensil.
“Hey, bug, What’cha cooking?” Mom asked, entering the kitchen.
She had no idea about the fight at school. Parents of the kids involved in trouble were supposed to be told via phone call of what happened, but since Mom didn’t have a phone, I’d gotten a letter instead that she had to sign. The principal believed me when I said I hadn’t started the fight, but it was still procedure anyway so the parents were informed.
“I looked up cheap ways to make Ramen noodles fancier,” I said, being sure not to look at her. She’d see my swollen lip and scraped chin if I did.
Mom knew me too well, though, and she gently turned me around to face her. Seeing me, her face scrunched and her eyes watered.
“What happened?” she asked, going into Mama Bear mode. “Do I need to go to that school and give some evil child a piece of my mind?”
So, I told her everything. I considered leaving out the details that involved her, but she needed to know the full truth, especially since David had threatened her. Whether he’d act on that threat, I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to take that chance.
She started crying before I finished, and it was as if someone took a hot branding iron and jabbed it into my heart. There was a lot I could handle, but seeing my momma cry wasn’t one of them.
“Mom, I’m okay. Everything’s okay,” I said, hugging her and moving my fingers through her hair like she did to me when I was upset.
“I’m sorry, Avery,” she cried into my shoulder. “I’m not proud of what I do, and if I could leave it for something better, I would.”
“Don’t go in tonight,” I said, holding her close. “We’ll figure something out and get by somehow, but I don’t want you goin’ back.”
I’d start visiting every store, fast-food place, and restaurant; anywhere and everywhere I could. I’d been going around to places once a week seeing if they were hiring, but I’d bump it up to every freaking day. Maverick had driven me around lately when I’d done it, and I was certain he wouldn’t mind taking me.
“I have to go to work,” she said, stepping back. “We can’t fall behind on rent. Same with utility bills and groceries. It’s just not an option, bug.”
The discussion ended after that, and she went to take a shower and get ready for work. I focused back on the pot of noodles and added in the chicken flavoring as well as some cheese before switching the heat to simmer. I waited until I heard the hairdryer shut off before going and knocking on Mom’s door to tell her it was ready.
Then, I went to mine and Declan’s room.
He was sitting on his bed, doing homework, and glanced up at me. “Yeah?”
“Dinner’s ready,” I said.
When I didn’t leave the room, a hateful expression crossed his face. “Is there something else you want?”
“Yeah,” I said with the same amount of snap he’d used. “I want you to sit with me and mom and have dinner together like a normal freaking family.”
Without another word, I stormed out of the room. I’d had a crappy day and the last thing I needed was to get attitude from my baby brother. Back in the kitchen, I grabbed some bowls from the cabinet and filled them with the cheesy noodles. I placed a slice of bread on top of each one before carrying them to the table.
Mom sat down, wearing a simple sweater and jeans. Her makeup was really heavy, giving her that nightlife look most guys loved: the long, fake lashes, thick liner, and dark eyeshadow. She’d wait until she got to the club to finish the getup of hardly-anything-there clothes and bright red lipstick.
“This looks great,” she said, smiling at me. “Is D going to eat with us? I’d love to have both my boys at the table.”
Declan rounded the corner and plopped down in his chair. He looked at the food before scoffing. “What the heck is this supposed to be?”
“Declan Michael Kinkead, you will not insult your brother like that,” Mom chastised him. “If you don’t like what he cooked, then maybe you should learn how to cook and make the next meal yourself.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Declan said, looking down at the bowl. He had no problem being a jerk to me, but he would never be one to her.
Luckily, we got through the rest of the meal without any more hostility. We made small talk about how school was going, and that was about it. Declan noticed my face, but he didn’t ask about it. I doubt he cared.
The days when we used to walk home from school, laughing and talking about our days seemed like forever ago. It’d been back before I’d somehow pissed him off and made him hate me.
“I don’t hate you,” he had said weeks ago when I’d confronted him about his attitude. “A better question is why the hell do you hate yourself so much?”
