“Wait, what?” I look around in the hopes that someone can tell me what just happened, but the twins and everyone else have already left, exiting from the south hall. “I’m not buying you off, I just wanted—”
“I’m not selling you a damn thing, Sebastian.”
I’d argue, but I know that look on her face. She’s insulted and pissed off, and there’s no getting through that. I don’t really understand. I’d treated all my girls, The Playthings, to matching bracelets and a nice dinner for sticking up for me. They fucking loved it. Girls always like it when you give them things. It wasn’t buying anything off, it’s just how I show my appreciation.
But this is different, I guess. Even if it’s a transaction, it’s pure money. Maybe that’s weird for someone with Sugar’s background. I fold my wallet and tuck it back into my pocket. See? I can learn from bad experiences, too.
“Well, you’re full of disappointment today. But fine.”
“Is that all?” Her gaze keeps pinging to the door behind me, so I slide away from it, extending an arm in invitation.
“By all means.”
She looks even more suspicious, either at my easy acceptance or that I’m letting her go. She sweeps past, filling my nostrils with her clean, girly scent, and is gone before I can even think of any parting words.
That’s the thing about Sugar Voss. Anyone else would have had their pants charmed off, but she’s going to make me fight tooth and nail for her.
Luckily, that’s something I happen to be good at.
12
Sugar
“Sugar!” my mom says when I pick up the phone. I’m walking behind the dining hall with a bag of cat treats that I picked up at the store earlier. Actually, answering had been a fluke and now I pause, face screwed up as I hear her ask, “Why haven’t you been answering? Is everything okay? How’s school?”
Funny how she’s so worried about me all of a sudden. “School is… fine,” I reply haltingly. “I’ve just been really busy.”
She knows this is bullshit. She’s fully aware I’ve been ducking her. But if there’s one thing my mom excels at, it’s the art of ignoring a problem. She slips easily into the conversation she’s probably pretending we’re having. Cordial. Normal. “Are you homesick yet?”
I swallow down a mean laugh. Yeah, right. “There’s not a lot of time here to worry about things,” I answer diplomatically.
“That’s good, I suppose.” I hear water from the sink run and check my watch. Ah, yes. It’s five. Doug likes to eat at 5:45, sharp. The thought makes me shudder, just knowing that there’s this sudden connection to him, over the phone, through my mom. As if just talking to someone in the same house could make him manifest. She goes on, “I wanted to let you know that I scheduled the ceremony for the twenty-third of February.”
It takes me a long, confused moment to even understand what the fuck she’s talking about. We haven’t even spoken since the day after I arrived at Preston, but she’s acting like she’s picking up a conversation we had yesterday. Then it clicks.
Ah, right. The ceremony. Every year my mother likes to go to the cemetery and lay flowers at my dad’s headstone to commemorate his death. It’s depressing and fucking tedious, like reliving his funeral over and over again. Just thinking about it brings the hot prick of tears to my eyes. I’d actually forgotten all about it.
I clear my throat. “What day is that?” I ask, seeing the cats creep out from the woods. They’re a little more used to me now and know I bring food. I sit on the tree stump and tear off the top of the bag.
“Um.” She rummages around. “A Thursday?”
I exhale in relief. “It may be a little hard for me to get away that day. You know with classes. Plus, they like to give tests on Fridays.”
“Well if it’s a problem I’ll talk to the dean. It’s important that you be there.” She pauses. “Your father would have wanted it.”
Now I really do laugh. My father would have wanted a lot. He probably would have wanted my mom to marry someone who didn’t beat the shit out of me, for starters. Just, like, baseline standards here. He would have wanted me to live in a house where I felt safe. Mostly, my father would have wanted to still be here. He wouldn’t have wanted to have been killed in action during his tour in Afghanistan.
And I like to think that he would have wanted me happy, not dwelling over his death nine years later. But this isn’t about what my father would have wanted. Not really. This is about her.
The fucked-up thing is that I don’t hate my mom. Even after all the years of Doug, her watching him hurt me and doing nothing to stop it, I mostly just feel sad for her. When she’d cry with me after a beating, petting my hair, icing my bruises, cleaning up the blood, she’d just beg me to stop goading him so much. Even then, the only emotion I could muster toward her was a bland kind of apathy. Doug had eaten up all my resentment. I didn’t have any left for her.
This memorial is the same as it’s been since she married him. She probably doesn’t realize that I know. The ceremony is a flimsy veneer of unity between mother and daughter, as if we still share something pure and sacred—something Doug can never touch.
It’s a lie.
“No,” I decide, feeling exhausted down to my marrow. “Don’t call. I’ll work it out.”
I have Preston. I have a new life with new people, something with promise at the end of this dark, shitty tunnel known as my life. My mom has Doug and nothing else. I’ll give her this.
But I won’t give her anything else.
I hang up without saying goodbye.
Numbly, I take out a handful of treats and toss them a few feet away, waiting for the cats to come forward. They still won’t let me touch them. They allow Sebastian to touch them, but not me. It doesn’t seem fair.
Fuck.
Nothing seems fair.
Lucy comes first, nibbling on a treat, even getting close enough to sniff at my fingers. Having saved myself a shitload of money on the car repair costs, I spring for the good treats that are greasy and smell like bacon. It does the trick and Hades inches closer, snagging a treat from my outstretched hand before bolting back. I toss a few treats further away for Abby, who is still the most timid. Her pregnant belly is so round that she waddles a bit already.
It’s quiet out here with the cats. Tranquil. Briefly, I wish that I’d taken that pack of cigarettes from Sebastian. Georgia’s been weird all day—withdrawn and uncharacteristically somber. I’m not looking forward to going back to the room. I don’t know her well enough to pry, and I know her a little too well to ignore it.
But the sun is rapidly sinking behind the horizon, so I secure the bag of treats in my backpack and push myself to my feet. The cats seem sad to see me—or at least the food—go.
Usually, I dread when Georgia has company. She has a lot of friends and they’re not just the casual acquaintance type of people. They’re around all the time and they can be a little intense. This particular group of Preston kids is just a little too tight-knit and I can’t help but feel like an awkward outsider when they all get together. Especially when it’s the entire strictly-female half of the group cornering me about slapping the shit out of their buddy.