15. Ava #2
I step inside, breathe. Call out.
“Mom?”
Her voice calls back from the kitchen. “In here.”
Right. Here goes. I kick my shoes off in the foyer and head into the kitchen, where Mom stands behind the island, chopping green bell peppers.
The knife in her hand slams down with an intensity so fierce it sends a shiver down my spine.
But that’s not nearly as concerning as what’s sitting on the counter beside the chopping board.
A half glass of red wine, its rim smudged with lipstick.
“You’re back early.” Mom looks up from the vegetables she’s massacring, and my stomach twists at the storm brewing in her deep, blue eyes. “How was fro yo with Tyler?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it does little to hide the strain beneath.
“It was, um, it was fine.” I don’t even care if it’s a lie, all I care about is figuring out what the heck is going on. Because nothing I’m seeing right now feels good. “What are you”—drinking—“making?”
“Vegetable chili.” She whacks the knife down with gusto, the smile on her face bordering on manic. “Your father hated it. Said it made him bloated.” She snorts, chops again. “I should mail the recipe to What’s Her Face, tell her it’s his favorite.”
I cautiously inch my way up to the counter, side-eyeing the wine with a frown. “Did something happen with Dad? Is he still bugging you about my calling him back? Because I already told him I would.”
“Oh, no. His Majesty has received your message and eagerly awaits your call.” She picks up the cutting board and scrapes the mangled peppers into a large cooking pot on the stove. “He then proceeded to ask if you could possibly move your visit from July to August, for reasons.”
I contemplate picking up the wine glass and dumping it down the sink, but then Mom sets the cutting board back down and grabs one of the onions sitting off to the side, wielding her knife like a lumberjack. I opt to make no sudden moves. “What kind of reasons?”
She laughs at that, and my gut clenches when she reaches for the wine.
Takes a long swig. “That is the exact question I asked, and do you know what that sludge donkey said? That it was personal. Personal.” Half the onion goes skittering across the cutting board, and I blink against the sudden sting.
“I’ll tell you what’s personal. Running around with some convention skank, doing who knows what while your naive little wife is at home baking snickerdoodles for when you return.
” She slams the knife down on the counter and snarls.
“I don’t even like snickerdoodles! They’re too sweet, and there’s absolutely zero chocolate involved.
What kind of garbage person eats those? Your father, that’s who. ”
This does not seem like a good time to mention that I, too, like snickerdoodles. But like it or not, it is time to mention the wine, because her hand is already wrapping around the glass stem.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I bite my lip. “I thought you’d given up drinking.”
Mom flushes, sets the stemware down. “It’s just one glass, Ava. I know things got rough when Dad left, but that was years ago. I’m not an alcoholic, I can handle a drink or two every now and then. I just… needed to unwind. It’s been a day.”
I don’t like it, but I don’t have a great counter argument either; she is an adult. It’s not like she’s been going on benders anymore, or spending all our money on booze. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she does have it under control now. Still…
“If it’s just one glass, you won’t mind if I dump the rest, right?” I nod at the green-tinted bottle sitting back by the espresso machine.
She rolls her eyes and gives me a bemused smile. “Seems like a waste of money, but sure. If it makes you feel better, you go right ahead.”
I lift my chin. “Okay, I will.”
She chuckles as I dump the vino in the sink, but it’s soft. Indulgent, even. “How did I get such a responsible daughter? You clearly don’t get it from your father.”
“It’s all MeeMaw,” I counter, relief trickling through my system in time with the liquid spiraling down the drain. “She’s the best of all of us.”
Mom snorts. “Your MeeMaw rides motorcycles and has a gambling addiction. I’d hardly say she’s role model material.” I turn to pop the empty bottle into the recycling bin, and her gaze narrows in on my shirt, as if only just noticing it.
Her nose wrinkles. “What on earth are you wearing, Ava?”
Dang. I completely forgot about Declan’s Demon Slayer shirt.
I tug at the hem, scrambling for some kind of excuse.
Because let’s face it, telling Mom about Dec and the convention would be hard enough under normal circumstances.
When she’s already ramped up about Dad and drinking taboo-wine?
Not happening. “I, um, spilled coffee down my shirt earlier at the mall, and I was wearing white, so… no bueno. I grabbed this from the lost and found.”
Mom grimaces. “Ew. Is that really all they had? It looks just like the weird crap your father used to wear.” She shudders, picks up her glass. Takes another drink.
My jaw clenches so tight it hurts.
“I’m just gonna go up and change,” I mutter through gritted teeth, slipping out of the room before I say something I’ll regret.
“Feel free to throw it straight into the firepit,” Mom calls after me, and I can imagine her smirk as she takes another drink. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe, so I sit down right there on the steps.
It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine.
Minutes tick past, and I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting there in the stairwell when a knock on the door draws me from my funk. I shuffle to the door, peeking out through the narrow side window to see who’s there.
Tyler waves back from the stoop.
I sigh. Fix a smile on my face. Open the door. “Hey, Tyler. What’s up?”
He jerks his thumb toward the road, where a white truck with the words Denning’s Landscapes detailed across the side is parked. “I was just heading over to a job on 128th, when I realized I left my hedge clippers in your backyard last weekend. Mind if I pop back and grab them?”
Oh thank God. Something easy. I gesture around the side of the house, the smile on my face real this time. “Go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” He ducks out of sight, and I take a deep, calming breath of fresh air as I wait for him to come back. It doesn’t take long, his handsome face creased in a wide grin as he holds the shears up. “Got ’em!”
“Sweet. Thanks again for doing that. The yard looks amazing.”
“No problem.” He jogs over to his truck, pausing briefly to wave back at me. “See you in school tomorrow.”
“Byeeeee.” I wave as his truck pulls away from the curb and curves around the cul-de-sac, but my arm drops to my side when my gaze lands on Declan’s driveway.
Where a silver Chevy Tahoe is parked, with one Declan Greene standing beside the open passenger door.
His gaze follows Tyler’s truck, then skips back up to lock on mine.
He holds it for a long moment, before turning and walking inside.
The slam of his front door closing echoes through my mind all night.