Page 24 of Like You Know

“I’m such a terrible cook.” Mom chuckled, wiping some moisture from under her own eyes. “I always was. But now that Cal is moving in, he can make it for you whenever you want.”

Too much.

It was too much.

The memories of my dad. The first real connection my mom and I had shared in years. Cal was moving in? What the fuck was happening?

I shot to my feet, the stool scraping on the floor, and shoved the bowl away. It slid all the way across the island, and Cal caught it before it fell off. He was looking at me with something resembling sympathy. Or maybe it was pity.

It was alltoo much.

Swiping at my tears angrily, I rushed up the stairs.

“Amaya!” Mom called after me, the usual angry, disapproving tone missing from her voice. Another thing to be confused and overwhelmed with.

I locked myself in my room before she could catch up with me.

CHAPTERNINE

For the nexttwo weeks I went into full denial mode. I was practically Cleopatra—that’s how well acquainted I became with that particular river in Egypt.

I went to the gym in the mornings, when Jet wasn’t there, and even started taking my yoga classes in the mornings too. It had the added bonus of getting me out of the house early enough to avoid my mom and Cal.

Fucking Cal. He was around all the damn time. At least Jet was easy enough to avoid at school, seeing as how he worked just as hard to stay away from me. If I walked into the cafeteria to find him sitting with our friends, I went off campus to eat. If he walked in last, he’d sit with someone else. He was friends with half the school anyway.

Our friends had noticed the tension between us and how determinedly we were avoiding each other, but neither of us was saying shit about it, so the rumor mill had gone into a frenzy.

I knew I could talk to the girls about the Jet thing and about the shit at home, but then I’d have to acknowledge all the shit I was dealing with and ... yeah, Cleopatra. So I avoided them a bit too, only hanging out in bigger groups. I buried myself in my books, my social media following, and my exercise. I even studied more than usual, which was probably a good thing considering our exams were fast approaching.

It was a Friday afternoon when it all came crashing down around me.

I’d been making sure to come home late enough that Mom and Cal were in the living room at the back of the house and unable to corner me before I could make it to my room. There’d been no more mac and cheese, but a plate of something homemade waited for me on the stove every day. Without fail. Even if they weren’t home when I got in, the food would be there.

More often than not, I’d eat it, scowling at the delicious food the entire time, resenting the person who’d prepared it and the person who’d brought him into my life. Mom must’ve been telling Cal what my fave dishes were, because he was making them all. Spicy noodle soup, baked rice with chicken, sloppy joes (don’t judge me! It was another childhood fave). I was honestly impressed she even remembered.

She’d tried to talk to me several times. Sometimes through the door of my room, sometimes trying to catch me as I passed through the house. She’d even called and texted me. She hadn’t yelled or raged or done any of her usual bullshit at all. I brushed her off every time. All I’d wanted since Dad died was my mother’s attention, and she’d chosen to shower it on me when I wanted it least.

That Friday, I drove straight home from school—rather than spend the afternoon doing literally anything else, as usual. I pulled up outside our house, parking crookedly.

There was a moving van in the driveway and two dudes carrying boxes into my home.

“What the fuck is happening?” I demanded, bursting through the open front door.

Mom and Cal stood side by side at the kitchen island, chopping, matching glasses of wine in front of them. My mother was in the kitchen.Chopping.

“Amaya.” She blinked, clearly surprised to see me, then gave me a small nervous smile. “You’re home.”

“What the fuck is happening?” I repeated, enunciating each word.

Mom frowned, probably at the cursing, and it was Cal who answered.

“I’m moving in. I sold all my furniture, so it’s mostly just clothes and personal items, a few sentimental pieces. Nothing much will change. I know this is your home, and I want to—”

“You didn’t think to ask me if I was OK with some random dude moving into my house?” I cut him off deliberately, practically shaking with rage.

“I told you two weeks ago Calvin would be moving in. I admit, I could’ve done that more tactfully, but—”

“It’s like I don’t even exist to you!” I screeched at her. “You clearly wish I wasn’t around, cramping your style, so why didn’t you just move in with him? It’s not like you’ve been here half the time anyway. This ismyhome!”

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