Chapter Five. Hot Girls Commit Federal Crimes #2
“We need to go home,” I announce, stuffing the letter into my backpack. I have to talk to Mom.
Jo follows me into the parking lot. The empty expanse seems to emphasize the gravity of the situation. She climbs into the passenger’s seat while I buckle Ginger into her doggy seat belt. Then, we’re off.
While we’re stuck in relentless Seattle traffic, I’m left to stew in my anger.
Betrayed doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel.
A whole dictionary couldn’t describe it.
Mom has known for years how important updating the Center is to Jo and me, how we’re keeping part of Dad alive with this project, yet she’s been lying.
She’s let me work day and night, blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb under our feet. And now, here I am, finding out about it from some sterile papers instead of her.
I knew we were poor. I knew we had to ration groceries.
I knew we had to use as little AC and heating as possible.
But if she had told me the entire truth about our financial situation, I could have come up with a solution.
But now that the truth is staring me in the face, it’s too late to do anything about it.
As I park in our driveway, Jo gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. With her small reassurance, I unload Ginger and we walk to the front door. My sheer rage has cooled to a slow, simmering burn, but I still need to take the longest, deepest breath I can before going in.
I enter the kitchen to find Mom cooking; her brows knit as she studies me. I slink farther into the room, unfold the letter, and hold it up for her to see. I don’t sign anything, waiting to see what she’ll do. How she’s going to explain herself.
Mom drops the spoon she’s holding. “You opened my mail?”
I scoff. “THAT’S what you’re worried about?!” I crumple up the paper and toss it toward her. “Why didn’t you tell me!? If you told me about this months ago, I could’ve fixed it!”
Indignation crawls across her face. “You’re not ‘fixing’ anything! I handle our finances. You’re the kid; I’m the parent!”
“And you think that means I don’t deserve to know the truth? You’ve been shutting me out, making decisions for all of us, while we poured everything into plans you KNEW we’d never get to finish! Do you know how much that hurts?!”
She sucks in a breath. “After Dad died, I had to grieve him while raising you two and running the Center!”
“We grieved him, too, Mom!” Tears blur my vision. “We want to revamp BECAUSE we miss him—because we want to make his dream happen.”
“Maybe letting go is what you need. Do you really want to be tied down here forever? Feel trapped by this place for the rest of your lives?” she asks, knocking the wind out of me. “I’m doing the best I can for you girls!”
“Well, it’s not good enough!” I snap before I can stop myself.
Tears spill freely from my puffy red eyes, and a sob bucks in my chest. “The Center is all I have left of Dad! I can’t lose it.
” Every memory I have of the Center is tangled with memories of him.
Playing after-hours hide-and-seek with Jo and me, helping him teach little kids the fingerspelling alphabet during weekend day camps, or conspiring to splurge on take-out for dinner between sessions.
He and the Center are inextricable. Losing it is like losing him all over again.
And I don’t think I’d survive that pain a second time.
Mom’s face is a perfect mix of anguish and fury. Wetness forms in her own eyes. I recognize her pain, I understand the unspoken heartache that always follows us around better than anyone, but I can’t provide any comfort when my own heart is breaking.
“I’ll fix the mess you made. I’m not giving Dad up, even if you do,” I tell her, my fingers flying in an enraged, jerky manner.
She raises her hands to reply, but I’m already speeding to my room. I pass Jo in the kitchen doorway, and she snags my wrist, but I yank it away.
Ginger runs into my room seconds before I slam the door and collapse onto my bed.
I glance at the photo on my nightstand. The last one Dad and I took together, in Gas Works Park on my sixteenth birthday.
Our grins are identical, our hazel eyes shimmer the same, and if it weren’t for me having dyed my hair blue a few days prior, we’d have the same mud-brown locks.
I reach out and set the frame face down, unable to look at it any longer. Ginger hops onto my bed and drops her gross, slobber-encrusted stuffed duck on me to cheer me up. I run my fingers through her fur.
When I’ve calmed myself enough, I grab my phone. Jo’s right. There’s only one way I can make enough money to save the Center.
The last thing on earth I want to do this summer is be around Felix Song 24/7 … But my head isn’t so far up my ass that I can’t acknowledge his offer is my only option to get us out of this mess.
Mon, June 10, 8:03 PM
[Natalie]
Can you come by the center tomorrow at 12:30?
[Pretty Boy ]
U already miss me?
[Natalie]
Strictly business. Can you come? Yes or no.
[Pretty Boy ]
I’ll be there!!!
X