Page 3 of Like You Know

I gave her a withering look before turning back to Jet. “Do you think he lives here? Or is he visiting someone?”

“Dunno. Does it matter?”

“Not really, I guess ...” It bugged me that no one had any good goss on this guy. And I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to be on that danger rocket with him as he took that corner a little too fast, my arms holding on tight. He got off the bike and started walking toward the building entrance next to Mena’s.

My friend gave me a kiss on the cheek and opened her door to leave.

“Wait.” I grabbed her arm.

“What?”

“Follow him,” I blurted. “See where he goes, what he’s doing here.”

“What?” Mena gave me an amused look. “What has gotten into you? No. I have shit to do. If you want to stalk some poor guy, do it yourself.”

“I thought you loved me,” I joked, pouting.

“With all my heart. Which is why I can tell you that you’re acting batshit crazy. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I gave her a wave and watched her disappear into her building. After another few minutes of looking at the entry next to hers, seriously considering taking a casual walk past there, I decided to put the guy out of my mind. He would’ve been long gone anyway, so it wouldn’t have achieved anything.

I started my car and drove away. It wasn’t even four yet, and I really didn’t want to go home, so I headed for the hills. The winding road up was fun to navigate, and the concentration required to do it safely kept my mind off my mom.

I turned onto an unmarked side street. It looked more like a paved driveway, so if you didn’t know to look for it, you’d miss it, which meant I was on my own when I rolled to a stop at the lookout. I lowered the windows all the way and killed the engine, then took a deep breath and let the sweeping view soothe me.

The edges of Devilbend were visible below, but straight ahead it was hills and valleys, and in the distance, San Francisco looked like a tiny model of a city. On really clear days, like today, you could even make out the hint of water glistening beyond.

I sat in my car and just stared, trying to focus on the clear blue sky and the vastness of it all. I was just one tiny human, barely a speck of dust in the universe. My problems were insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But that didn’t stop my chest from tightening when I thought about going home. It didn’t stop the empty feeling in my stomach when I thought about messaging one of my friends, then decided against it, convinced they all had better things to do.

Having had enough of my own damn thoughts, I grabbed my phone. I had some stupid number of Instagram notifications. Going through them all would be a good distraction, but I didn’t know any of those people, and I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I navigated to the reading app and lost myself in a book.

I’d gotten through more than half of it by the time dusk began to settle around me. The view had changed significantly, the sky a moody blend of colors as the setting sun painted the landscape a soft, warm orange.

I snapped a few pics for Instagram, got out of the car and took some selfies, then drove back down the windy road and reluctantly went home.

I wondered if my mom would be home or not. I’d had to endure her having parties and men over since I was eleven—since not long after my dad died. But this past year or so, she must’ve noticed I could take care of myself. She didn’t need to pretend to parent, so she’d been going out more. Sometimes for days at a time. Wherever she went, she made sure to pay the bills, because the utilities stayed on and the cleaners kept showing up. I just never knew anymore if she’d be home when I got there.

It was almost worse than assuming I’d walk into chaos. At least then I’d know what to expect.

The garage door lowered slowly, and I sat watching it in the dark. Mom’s Bentley was in the garage, but that didn’t mean anything. It had been there the past two nights, and she still hadn’t been home. Eventually, I got hungry and made my way inside, wondering if the Thai place would judge me if I ordered the same meal for the third night in a row.

But my thoughts evaporated when I walked into a lit-up house. The smell of cooking food came from the kitchen, and the sound of voices wafted to me on the aroma. At least there was no music blasting.

I rolled my eyes and followed my nose and ears. The urge to just go upstairs and lock myself in my room was strong, but better to know what I was dealing with.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” Mom beamed at me from behind the counter. It was always mybeautifulgirl. Never mysmartgirl, or mybravegirl, or mystronggirl. Was she cooking? But no, she was uncorking a bottle of wine. It made a pop, and then she poured two glasses.

A man stood at the stove, his back to me. He was average height with brown hair, wearing gray slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. At the sound of my mom’s voice, he looked over his shoulder and smiled. I didn’t recognize him. I rarely recognized them. It was worse when I did, because then I’d find myself face-to-face with the father of a school friend or the guy who’d served us at the mechanic or some C-grade actor she’d met through Nicola’s mom.

“Hey, Mom. Haven’t seen you in a few days. Good to know you’re alive.”

She laughed before taking a sip of wine. “Of course I’m alive, silly! Come meet my friend.” She waved me over enthusiastically as her “friend” turned off the stove and started plating up what looked like pasta.

I moved forward but kept the island between us, eyeing them both warily.

“Sweetie, this is Cal. He’s cooking us dinner.” She bugged her eyes out and grinned, as if the idea of a man doing something for her was revolutionary. “Cal, this is my beautiful daughter, Amaya Ann.”

“Cooking us dinner?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

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