Forging Chaos (Forging #3)

22. Thora

CHAPTER 22

THORA

I try to rush out of my parents’ stinky house as soon as I wake up. The last thing I need is to catch whiffs of stale cigarette smoke while I’m trying to take a math exam. But as I dart through the kitchen, I spy my mother at the cluttered table, drinking coffee.

She offers me a watery smile, and I can tell she’s been crying.

I purse my lips and open the back door, letting a gust of warm air into the kitchen as I sink into the seat opposite her and pat her hand. “Hey, Mom.”

She blinks a few times and smiles. “Hey, baby.” She doesn’t add anything further, but I look down at the table. Between her hands, I see the red stamp of an overdue bill. My heart sinks, sensing bad news.

I tilt my head toward the paper. “Is that the electric?”

Mom shakes her head. “This one’s from the piss tests.”

“Oh.” As part of my father’s house arrest, he has to submit urine pretty regularly to verify he’s not using, and each time it’s at his expense, which is Mom’s expense since he’s not working, although he could be. I try to collect my thoughts and remember my research mission. He’s not working because the jobs available to him are grueling, menial, and low-paying.

But also, he’s just adding to my mother’s burden, and that pisses me off. “How much is it?”

A tear rolls down Mom’s face, and she reaches for my hand. “I’m not going to be able to take off next Sunday for Commencement.” She waves a hand at the paper. “It’s this or the rent, and we’re behind on that, too.”

Fern keeps staring at me from our seats on the bus as we head downtown in search of our student visa paperwork. She taught her final math recitation this morning, and I aced a final exam despite being up all night long. Now, we’re hitting our checklists hard. Passports, visas, and bank accounts we can access from the United Kingdom without spending a zillion dollars on fees.

Fern pokes me in the nose at a red light, causing me to yelp. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She squints and leans close to my face. “I was just checking to make sure you’re alive.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Will you knock that shit off? Fern. Stop it.”

My best friend harrumphs but backs out of my physical space as much as she can on a crowded bus where I’m squashed against the window next to her. She hums. “What happened last night after the bookstore?”

I shrug. “Nothing,” I lie. “I slept in my bed, in my parents’ stinky house, and got up in time to make my mom breakfast for once.” All truths there, the last part. It was good to see Mom for a bit, sipping coffee in the quiet before she dropped the bombshell on m e

Fern shakes her head. “Something is going on. You know how it works, Thora. We tell each other our crap, and then we figure out a plan to solve or endure the problem.”

I stare out the window, debating which news to break first: that I slept with Odin, and it was way more intense than it had any right to be…or that my mother revealed she can’t come to my commencement. I turn to face my best friend and talk around the knot choking me from the inside. “I have to give my airfare money to my mom if I want her to be able to go to Commencement next weekend.”

Fern’s face falls. I know she’s about to offer me money or tell me that her mom will take pictures and video or some workaround, but the truth is I really need to feel sad about this. “Don’t tell me anything that will make it better, okay? Not yet.”

She nods and drapes an arm around my shoulders. “That really, really sucks, Thora.”

I rest my head on her, enjoying the familiar, soft weight of my person—of the friend who knows what it’s like to sit on the edge of something better and feel the constant threat of it all being yanked away. I want someone to prioritize me, and it’s not ever going to be my family, and the sooner I accept that the sooner I’ll stop feeling this way when shit goes wrong.

My phone buzzes in my lap—a text from Odin. I wince before I read it, I’m not ready for any more emotional bombs to drop today. But it’s pretty benign.

ODIN STAG

You get home okay?

I send him a thumbs up and turn to face Fern. “What would you do?”

She’s quiet for a few blocks as the bus bounces over construction dips along Fifth Avenue. Hardly anyone gets on the bus on this stretch of road between the universities and the downtown office buildings. “I think I’d give my mom the money and get myself a slutty tank top to work some doubles at the bar.”

I snort. “Two grand is a lot of double shifts.”

She hums again and tugs on my arm, pulling me down the aisle and into the City-County Building and the passport office. We’re waiting in line when she snaps her fingers. “You said two grand…was that for a round-trip ticket?”

I blink at her. “Well, yeah. I need to come back.”

She shakes her head. “Not for an entire year. What if you just bought a one-way and figured out the rest once you’re over there.” She taps on the paperwork in her hand. “Maybe there will be a discount sale or something. I don’t know.”

I don’t say anything as I consider her suggestion. She already has her phone out, searching for flights and I peer over her shoulder, feeling a lot less hopeless when I see the prices for one-way tickets. There is even a direct flight from Pittsburgh to London that I could work off the cost if I get picked to work at one of the country music concert venues this summer. I squeeze my friend and kiss her on the cheek. “That’s a terrific idea, Fern Montgomery. Thank you.”

I’m not sure if it’s my improved outlook or our extreme preparedness, but the passport and visa applications are a breeze. That includes getting fingerprinted and having our retinas burned into the computer system—or whatever they did with our eyeball scans.

Fern suggests we take the train to her apartment for lunch, and soon, I’m nestled into her couch with peanut butter banana sandwiches and reruns of Gilmore Girls on the television. “I’m going to miss you,” I tell her after a big swig of milk. “What if nobody over there understands me?”

She laughs. “They probably won’t understand either of us. Between the Pittsburgh accent and our lack of refinement…” I st ifle a burp and laugh. And then all my feelings settle in alongside the heavy peanut butter in my belly. “Seriously, though,” she says, “You’ll be an hour away. We won’t have part-time jobs in grad school, you know. For one thing, we won’t have work permits…”

That draws a laugh from me, but I suppose she’s right. I will only be working on academic labor for the first time ever. Part of my brain immediately tells me I can always seek out under-the-table work in a pub. I entertain brief fantasies about sending money home to my mom so my parents can maybe cover their expenses without me.

I shake that away and quietly fantasize about walking over the Tower Bridge arm in arm with Fern, both of us in yellow raincoats. Because that’s what I imagine people wear in London.

Fern takes my plate from me, sets it on the coffee table, and turns to face me, arms crossed. “Something else is up with you, though. What happened?”

I purse my lips. I guess it does no good to avoid telling her I slept with Odin since she’s basically married to his cousin. I stare at the ceiling and blurt, “I went to the Stag apartment last night after you got on the bus.”

When I look at her again, her eyes are wide and wild, and she’s grinning like a weirdo. “How was it?”

I roll my eyes. “You know it was great.”

“Seriously? It’s never great for you with someone.”

I grab a throw pillow and clutch it against my middle. “Yeah, well, I guess these guys know what they’re doing in that department.”

Fern flops back against the couch next to me again. “They really do. Or Wyatt does…”

“I told you he was the one to give your flower to.”

She whacks my arm. “I told you to stop calling it my flower.” We watch Rory and Lorelai Gilmore try and fail to prepare frozen pizza until Fern adds, “But if it was so good, why do you feel glum?”

“Because I like him. There. I said it.” I sigh. “He’s funny, and he gives me shit in a good way, and, well, he knows how to make me come, and now I’m leaving the freaking country.”

“So?”

“What do you mean so? This is exactly the worst time to get involved with someone, Fern. I should be focused on my future. I need to work double shifts so my mom can watch me be the first person in my family to get a diploma. I don’t have time for romance.”

“Hmm.” We’re quiet again as the Gilmore gals have a similar discussion on the television. Fern points at the screen. “It’s just that…so what if the timing sucks? Why not have a fling and enjoy yourself before you go?”

I consider this because I’ve been considering it since I left Odin’s blue gaze late last night and felt the sting between my legs with each step I took today, reminding me of how he worked with me to find a way to make my body sing.

He wrote back at some point, reminding me he still has my dress and to let him know when I want to grab it from him. I should respond. I should say something about him wanting a booty call…keep things light. I should take Fern’s advice and ignore my emotional connection to him while enjoying the pleasure sensations he knows how to strum up.

Fern continues, saying, “Enjoy it while it lasts. And maybe he’ll visit Wyatt in London, and you can have a vacation booty call this fall.”

Maybe she’s right, and I can keep things light with Odin. Perhaps we can keep playing card games for sexual stakes, and if he gets a different cast, he can take me tubing in a river and make me come on a rock in the woods like a forest fairy. Or maybe all of that is a fantasy because nothing is easy like that. Not for people like me.

When the episode ends, I hug my friend. “I gotta go,” I tell her, standing and stretching. I’m working close tonight at the bar.”

“Slutty tank top,” she says, clicking off the television and walking our plates toward the sink. “Make lots of tips, friend.”

She blows me a kiss as I back out the door to her apartment and make my way to work.