Page 99 of Not Today, Satan
Mom throws her arms around me and squeezes. “Oh, thank God, Devica. When I saw you’d taken the car, I was so worried.”
I stiffen in surprise, then lean into the hug. “I’m sorry, Mom. About everything.”
She places her hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those horrible things to you. I didn’t mean any of them. I was angry, and you scared me—not because of where you come from or who your father is—but because you weren’t yourself. You hated yourself so much in that moment, and as your mom, I couldn’t bear seeing you in pain like that. I did the exact opposite of what I should’ve done. I pushed you away instead of holding you close. Please forgive me.”
“But”—I touch her cheek beneath the cut—“I did this. And I broke your mirror.”
She takes my hand and presses it to her chest. “I can get another mirror. But what I can’t get is another you.”
I scrunch my face. “That’s so cheesy.”
Mom glances at Nate, and he shrugs.
“She’s like that with me, too,” he says. “Dev has a problem with cheese, and I’m like the king of gorgonzola. You get used to the disgusted look.”
Mom laughs and ruffles my hair. “I suppose I will. Let’s go home. I’m driving this time, though.” She moves to the driver’s side door and holds out her hand. I toss her the keys. “When we get there, we’re going to have a serious talk about not stealing my car and driving without a license.”
I swallow and stare at the ground. “That’s fair.”
Nate tugs at his shirt. “And while I’m definitely pulling this off, can we stop on the way and get some clothes in my size?”
Mom nods, and I push onto my tiptoes and plant a kiss on Nate’s lips. “Then what? What does our life look like now?”
“We take it one day at a time. Figure out how we both mesh with this version of Earth.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him, his heart—his actual,aliveheart—thudding against my ears. “But then, Devica, then we live happily ever after.”
My own arms snake around his neck, and a spark shoots through my finger. I glance over his shoulder at my ring and see the ruby darkening like dried blood.
It’s never done that before.
My stomach clenches, but then Nate tugs me closer, and I drop my hand.
It was probably a trick of the light.
Forcing a smile, I gaze up at him and meet his eyes. “Yes. Happily ever after it is.”
XLVII.
Two men barrel toward each other. One of them lunges off the ground, a single leg outstretched. His foot connects with the skull of the other man, sending him crashing to the floor with a shout.
I turn from the TV and gape at Nate. “I still can’t believe thisis what you thought you were doing when we fought the souldiers.”
We’re on my mom’s couch—a position we’ve taken many nights in the last month, watching shows on some application Nate calls Netflix.
Like most days, we spent all afternoon at the beach, and granules of sand still cling to my hair and between my toes, despite wiping myself down before Mom would allow me in the house. While I adore the watching the ocean, I don’t agree with Nate about the sand. If I ever do go back home, I’m taking some of this with me. It can provide hours of torture.
The thought of home draws my eyes to the ring on my finger, now so dark it’s almost the color of coal. Since the day Nate returned, it’s grown darker and heavier on my hand. I tried to remove it this morning so that I could shove it into a drawer and out of my brain, but it wouldn’t come off. It’s attached itself to me: a constant reminder that there’s somewhere else I should be. A warning these blissful moments aren’t permanent.
Nate grins at me, his cheeks still pink from hours in the sun. His smile pries the dark thoughts from my head in this magic way only he seems to possess. “It’s kung fu.”
I stifle the urge to roll my eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t what you were doing.Thismay be kung fu, butyouwere just flailing around.”
He squeezes my hand. “You said I was impressive.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, a smile tilting the corners of my lips. “It was impressive how you managed to land any blows at all.”
Mom laughs from the upholstered chair in the corner where she’s shortening a skirt I bought yesterday. It’s perfect for me, but less perfect for the Los Angeles heat. “As your mom and caretaker, I feel like I’m supposed to warn you about getting too serious at your age. But as an impartial observer, I ship it.”
“Ship it?” I ask. “What does any of this have to do with boats?”
