Page 82 of Wild Ever After
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When I was young, my mom and I bounced around apartments and houses to live with her boyfriends. Things would be stable for six months or so, then they’d break up and mom and I would be back out on our own. I was ten when I realized this was going to be a constant cycle of my life and begged my mom to find a house of our own.
I thought that it’d be better to have her boyfriends move in and out, then us always being the ones hopping around, but I’m not sure that was actually true. This house is tainted with memories of all her past boyfriends.
Still, it was nice that we stopped having to pack up and go. My old bedroom was turned into a craft room about a month after I left for college. I wasn’t offended. It’s a small house and I had no desire to return, not having a room made it an easy excuse not to visit.
But as I toss and turn on the sofa, I’m seriously wishing my old twin bed was still in the spare room. Or that I was back at my current residence.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table and I reach for it; Declan’s name is on the screen, along with a picture I took of him at Jack’s pool party. The man really looks great in a pair of trunks.
“Hi,” I answer, keeping my voice quiet.
“Hey.” His deep reply sends goosebumps racing down my arms. “Are you busy?”
“No. Getting ready for bed.”
“Did you have a good evening with your mom?”
“Yeah. We prepped her room to paint tomorrow, picked up supplies and then went out to dinner.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was…mostly.”
He stays silent, giving me time to add more.
“She’s so happy for me. For us. I hate lying to her. She may not have been the world’s greatest mother, but I still love her and hate keeping something like this a secret.”
“So don’t.”
I laugh at how quickly he says it, and at how simple it seems to him.
“Too many people know already. If this got out, it would be bad for both of us.”
“She’s family,” he says. “My family, my friends on the team, all know. It makes sense for you to be honest with yours too. She wouldn’t really sell out her own daughter, would she?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. She’s been selfish and inadvertently callous, but never intentionally.
“Then tell her. I’m fine with it. I trust you.”
Something in my chest twists at how freely he’s given me that trust. I have to wonder if I deserve it.
“Anyway,” he says when I don’t respond, “I was just calling to make sure you got there safely and that everything was okay. I didn’t realize you were even thinking about going to your mom’s this weekend.”
That twisting sensation tightens.
“Everything is fine. She called this afternoon and sounded kind of upset about her latest breakup.”
He makes a noise that doesn’t sound like he completely believes that’s the entire story, but again, he doesn’t push.
“I’ll be back Sunday, and, in the meantime, you have the house to yourself all weekend.”
“A few months ago, that would have sounded nice.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My voice trembles as I say, “I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”
“Yeah,” he clips.
