7. Ava
AVA
Thirteen days until OA Con
Sleep does not come easy that night, and Sunday dawns with a warmth that’s completely at odds with my tangled-up mood. As the April sunshine streams through the cracks in the blinds, all I can think about is burrowing under the covers and hibernating away from the world for the next month or so.
Then again, if I did that, I’d miss my chance to kick Stasia’s blindsiding, crucial-detail-omitting butt. Help with a crafting project, indeed.
Am I really going back to OA Con?
I think of Dad, his face lit with a charming smile as he sits on a panel of voice actors and effortlessly wraps the gawking audience around his finger. The wink he’d send to the back of the crowd, where Declan and I would sit, giggling and beaming with pride.
And then I think of Mom, of the tear-soaked pillows and strained, “I’m fines.”
The empty bottles and wine-stained lips.
The gnawing worry of watching someone fade before your very eyes.
If I’m doing this, it’s got to be on the down-low. I can’t risk triggering her. It’s one of the reasons I gave it all up in the first place—erasing any potential reminders of the man who left her devastated and broken. I won’t chance losing her to the darkness again.
Her happiness must be protected at all costs.
The aroma of sizzling bacon lures me from my bedsheets, and I throw on a pair of jeans and a fitted, white tee before hitting the bathroom and doing a quick washup.
By the time I shuffle downstairs, a stack of blueberry pancakes is ready and waiting on the table, along with a platter of said bacon and two steaming cups of coffee.
One of which is ensconced in the hands of my mother, who beams at my approach.
A surge of love washes over me at the sight of her smiling face, and I skip past the food and go straight for a hug. Wrapping my arms around this beautiful, resilient woman.
She leans into my embrace, humming contentedly. “Morning, sweetie.”
I brush a kiss atop her faded, blonde hair. “Morning, Mom.” I release my hold, and take the seat opposite her. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re most welcome.” She gives me a bemused smile, and I can almost feel her studying me over the rim of her mug. “It’s been such a busy week, I feel like we’ve barely spoken. Anything new going on you’d care to share with the class?”
A piece of bacon lodges in my throat, and I reach for my coffee, hacking away like a seventy-year-old smoker. Mom, I notice, seems unconcerned by my brush with death, the smile on her face taking on a knowing edge while she silently arches a brow.
“New with me?” I croak, guilt sweats tickling my back. “Not really.”
“Hmm.” Mom taps her nails against the ceramic. “So… no upcoming events we need to plan for then?”
O.M.G.
Does she know about OA Con?
She must know. Why else would she ask that specific question?
I’m a breath away from spilling the entire story when she sighs and sets her mug down on the table.
“That boy still hasn’t asked you to prom?
Doesn’t he know all the best dresses will be gone if he drags his feet too long?
” Another sigh. “Typical, clueless guy. Honestly, I think we should just go ahead and buy one today while we still can. Then you’ll be ready when he does ask you. ”
My mouth snaps shut, the incriminating words I was about to spill hot on my tongue. Prom. Of course that’s the event she was talking about. It’s literally the only thing she’s been talking about for the past three weeks. You’d think she was planning my wedding or something, she’s so excited.
I arrange my features in what I hope is an expression of eager anticipation. “Dress shopping would be fun. Count me in.”
“Excellent!” Mom claps her hands together. “We’ll go after lunch. I just have some paperwork to finish up on the Belmont house, and then I’m free as a bird. Oh, you should text Stasia and invite her along. We’ll make a day out of it.”
“Sounds great.” I should probably check in with Declan about workshop prep, but the atmosphere was so tensely awkward when I left yesterday, I kind of don’t want to be the one to reach out first. Especially if he’s changed his mind.
I’ll just wait for him to text me, assuming he still has my number.
Only, what if he doesn’t?
A knock sounds on the door, as if summoned by this very thought, and I morph into a panic-stricken Popsicle as my mom’s gaze swings that way. Oh no. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. Declan is not standing outside my house right now. How could I possibly explain it without mentioning the workshop?
Wait, why am I still just sitting here?
I need to cut her off, distract her…
But it’s too late. Mom is already heading into the foyer.
I’m doomed.
I hear the door open, and the muffled sound of voices. The one outside is distinctly male. Crap, crap, crappity crap.
“Come on in,” Mom says, her voice ratcheting up to max brightness. I can literally hear the grin on her face. “We’ve got pancakes and bacon.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I ate before I came,” the male voice replies. The deep male voice. The very much not Declan’s male voice.
“Tyler?” I blink in surprise when the six-foot-two lacrosse captain steps into the kitchen like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be at my house at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.
“Hey, Ava.” He grins, all effortless comfort and ease. “How’s it goin’?”
“Good? I guess?” I glance from him to my mom, who practically floats into the room behind him. “What, um, what are you doing here?”
That dulls Mom’s shine, and she frowns at me over Tyler’s shoulder as she answers for him. “Tyler noticed our lawn needed a little TLC, and offered to do a spring overhaul for us. Wasn’t that sweet of him? Such a thoughtful boy.”
“It’s no big deal,” Tyler interjects, a hint of shyness finally breaking through his confident exterior. “My grandfather owns a landscaping company, and I work for him over the summer. He let me borrow his truck with all the equipment, so a job like this is a piece of cake.”
“It is a big deal,” Mom insists, ushering him into her chair at the table as she whisks her dishes away. She has clean ones out in a flash. “Go on, now. Help yourself. I always make way too much.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Aimes, but I really did eat already.” He pats his ridiculously flat stomach, his grin turning sheepish. “Although now I’m wishing I hadn’t. This smells delicious.”
“Oh, please,” Mom protests. “I thought boys your age could eat three breakfasts and still pack more away in between.”
“He’s not a hobbit,” I mutter, then immediately bite my tongue. Since when do I make Lord of the Rings references around my mom? Or my friends, for that matter? One day spent with Declan, and I’m already slipping back into old habits.
Tyler meets my gaze and winks. “I don’t think she knows about second breakfasts, Ava. Or elevenses.”
Um, what? Did Tyler Denning seriously just quote LOTR to me? Man, I have really got to stop stereotyping people. Liking fantasy and being good at sports does not have to be mutually exclusive.
Mom’s voice carries over the clinking of mugs, clearly oblivious to our nerdtastic side bar.
“I always dread that first spring clean, and I know Ava does too. Last year we put it off until July, and we only did it then because the neighbors got extremely pointed with their comments.” She holds up a mug. “Coffee?”
“Coffee would be great,” Tyler replies. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” Mom has the espresso made faster than a professional barista, lashes fluttering as she sets it in front of him. “Now if you kids will excuse me, I’ve got some paperwork to take care of.”
“Working on a Sunday?” Tyler gives her a sympathetic grimace. “That sucks.”
“No rest for the wicked.” Mom sighs dramatically before sashaying out of the room.
She pauses briefly in the doorway, flashing me a last, knowing look before she disappears.
She’s clearly leaving the two of us alone on purpose.
My stomach sinks, which is silly, because what’s the problem?
Tyler’s a nice guy. Possibly the nicest one I know.
And there’s no denying his hotness. I mean, I have two functioning eyes. I get it.
So why do I suddenly want to crawl under a rug and hide?
“Sorry if my coming over unannounced is weird.” Tyler scrubs a hand through his thick, blond hair, his previous confidence slipping in my mom’s absence. Which makes me wonder just how much of it was real in the first place.
I let out a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Nah, it’s fine. My mom wasn’t kidding—we really are the queens of procrastination when it comes to yard work, but we always get around to it eventually. You seriously don’t have to waste a weekend enabling our bad habits.”
“I don’t mind, really.” Tyler’s gaze drops to the frothy surface of his drink.
“And if I’m being honest, I didn’t just come here to clean your yard.
I mean, I fully plan to do that, but also, like, we’ve been hanging out a lot at school, and with Ben and Stasia, and I thought maybe…
” His brows lower, his expression growing determined when he looks back up at me.
“That is, I was thinking you and I could—”
“Oh shoot!” I push back from the table in a panicked fluster, cheeks burning while I fumble for my phone.
I make an exaggerated show of checking the time, giving a performance worthy of the cheesiest vintage sitcom.
“I completely forgot I had that thing this morning. With, um, Stasia. I was supposed to meet her, like, twenty minutes ago.” I slap my forehead.
“I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta run. Talk tomorrow at school? ”
Tyler stares back at me, looking thoroughly gobsmacked. “Oh, um. Yeah. Sure.”
I throw him a parting grin that is riddled with guilt, but I don’t hesitate as I race to the foyer, grabbing my sneakers from under the welcome bench and shucking them on without stopping. I’m out the door within seconds, the sun’s warm rays a stark contrast to the ice forming in my gut.
He was going to ask me to prom, I’m sure of it.
He was going to ask, and I… I bolted. Which begs the question: what in the ever-loving fudge is wrong with me? He would have been the perfect date. Mom would have been over the moon. So why am I running?
And more importantly, why am I running to Declan’s?
My steps slow as I turn up his front walk, the bold, burgundy door to his house looming before me like a portal to Narnia. My pulse flutters in my throat, my feet moving of their own accord.
We don’t have plans to meet today.
One foot on the steps.
He’s probably busy.
A second foot lands, propelling me higher.
I should just wait and talk to him at school.
My hand lifts, fist striking the door. Heart beating just as hard.
There’s a yip and the scrabble of paws on wood.
The door opens, and a tiny bundle of curly white fur comes flying at my legs, begging for attention.
I can’t give it, though, because my limbs have frozen in place.
Struck useless at the sight of the petite, auburn-haired woman frantically trying to push the eager pup back.
“No, Johnny Five. Down.” She scoops him up off the floor. “Sorry about that, he’s usually tucked away in the office with my husband—” Warm green eyes lift to meet mine, and the woman’s lips part in surprise. “Ava?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my voice is apparently as frozen as the rest of me.
Shame heats my neck, and I brace myself for the very real chance that I’m about to have a door slammed in my face by one of the sweetest people ever born.
Because she may be made of sugar and spice and everything nice, but I hurt her baby boy, and that is just not something a mother can easily forgive.
It’s a moment I’ve been dreading—and going to great lengths to avoid—for the past five years. I just know she hates me.
And yet there’s no malice in her gaze as she stares back at me, and when I fail to make the necessary words come out, it softens into unmistakable affection.
“Oh, honey.” She sets the dog down and opens her arms, and I’m engulfed in a hug so warm there’s no other course but to return it.
Emotion swells in my chest, the same feeling echoing in Mrs. Greene’s voice as she squeezes me tight.
“Welcome back, sweetheart.”