6
Shawn
Elise, here. Here, like actually here. I still don’t believe it.
The shock of seeing her again and watching her leave, again, has worn off, but I’ve still yet to process it.
She looked so different I didn’t even realize it was her at first. But at the same time, all the familiar things about her reveal themselves. The way she chews her lip while she’s thinking, the scattering of freckles, the flit of her dark eyelashes when her eyes look up into mine.
I wouldn’t have thought it possible to dread going back into the house more than I have been while getting here the last couple days. I really just thought the whole ex-wife thing was going to be ignored for a while, then come up as an uncomfortable conversation during dinner or something.
Never in a million years did I think I’d find her in the fucking dining room.
The house is quiet when I step back inside, practically haunted by Elise’s scent. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize it before. It conjures memories of her that I haven’t thought about in years, suddenly fresh as the day they were made.
I’m so lost in thought, I barely notice Aiden come into the room I’m sitting in, until he tumbles over the back of the couch, shoulder checking me on the way down. It’s just occurring to me now that I shouldn’t be sitting on the couch after standing in the rain for several minutes. Mom might . . . ground me? Can she still do that?
“I did say Mom was going to go nuts when she saw you.” Aiden hums, sounding all too pleased with himself for the accuracy of his prediction.
I slouch down in the cushions, scrubbing my hands over my face. “I don’t think you can take credit for predicting all of that. If you could do that, you should have warned me or something.”
“I would have thought Elise would have seen it coming. She’s convinced she’s psychic or whatever, but I guess not.” He nods, and I can feel his stare on me. “When do we get the explanation?”
I glance to the hallway, where it seems empty, but that’s not something that can necessarily be trusted in this house. “Never.”
“Come oooooon.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Dude. It’s obvious she’s an ex-girlfriend or whatever. We all have eyes; it wasn’t hard to figure that much out. I just want to know the rest of the story.”
I guess that much would be transparent.
It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be to just not tell Aiden everything. He’s always been the easiest to talk to and, out of all my family members, probably the most understanding.
I shrug and sigh. “Ok. I’ll tell you right after you tell Mom it was you that peed in the baptism water—”
His eyes widen and he claps a hand over my mouth before I can get out the whole threat. It’s a memory so old, I don’t actually remember if that had been my idea or not.
That is the moment my mom chooses to step back into the foyer, however.
There’s something incredibly nostalgic about my mom appearing at the exact moment one of my brothers is trying to force me into a headlock while I try to twist his arm around the wrong way.
It almost feels like things have gone back to normal for a second.
“What did you do? Do you know her?” our mother demands, looking reproachfully at me.
Aiden releases me, falling back on the couch, pretending he wasn’t just wrestling in a room that it’s forbidden in.
“Glad to be home,” I deadpan, not withholding any bitterness from my tone. The urge to just shake all the rain off over the polished tile floors rises in me, and I just barely hold it back.
She scoffs and acts like I’m the aggressor here. Home at last, only to assume my rightful mantle as the problem child. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different, really.
“Where is she going?” Aiden interrupts, leaning to peer out the window like there’s a chance Elise’s car will turn around in the next few minutes. “Did she say she was heading to the brewery or going home?”
“I don’t know,” I snap over my shoulder. Aiden mutters something about just wondering, and slumps against the window.
I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. He didn’t deserve that from me. “I’m sorry, man. I think we all just need a minute.”
“We all need a minute,” my mother echoes, clearly in disagreement. She turns her glare on me, hands on her hips, and asks the question I’ve been dreading. “I want to know why you scared her off. I mean, what are you even doing here?”
My jaw tightens. Keeping my promise to Elise is already being tested, and I doubt my family is going to stop until they’re satisfied.
“I heard about the wedding. Laura posted about it,” I say, kind of casually. I wince as my mom’s perfectly plucked, thin eyebrows narrow.
“Laura told you?”
“No, Mom, she posted a picture of the wedding prep online.”
“I need to have a word with her,” Mom sighs. She puts her head in her hand, careful not to disturb her makeup or hair as she does. After a long moment, she simply says, “Well, we don’t have you in the seating chart.”
It’s as close to a direct statement that I’m not actually welcome here as I’ll probably get.
Logan materializes in the room in that sneak-up-on-you way he has, holding a few slices of cake that look like they’ve been in the oven too long, just on the edge of burning.
“I don’t know if Elise was planning to put icing on these, but I like the rum raisin one,” he says, his tone pretty indifferent to the situation. I know that asshole is enjoying this. “But I know not everyone likes raisins, and I could go with the other one if she has a good icing flavor pairing for it.”
It’s so weird to hear him talk about my ex-wife like he knows her. He’d been on our parents’ side when Dad said he’d disown me if I brought home a human girl. How can he talk like he respects her opinions?
My mom barely looks at Logan. She’s too busy being disappointed in me, and after being gone for eight years, I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up.
After a few more thoughtful chews in the utter silence of the family meeting in the foyer, Logan offers, “I’ll call her in a bit, then.”
He would be the one to try to do damage control. He was always the good son. Of course, he would also be the one to get married to someone our mom picked out.
“I heard there’s been wolf sightings, Mom. Animal attacks,” I say, trying to stress the urgency that news made me feel. She looks on at me, unmoved, like I said nothing at all.
I glance at Aiden and Logan, the weight of that statement falling over them, at least. Their faces darken.
I’m not about to outright accuse one of them of going feral and attacking people. The pack code has always been not to expose outsiders to our curse, but going feral tends to make a wolf forget about upholding the code.
My mother, an alpha in her own right, purses her lips and deigns not to make eye contact with any of us. I know what she thinks. If I’m going to open this other whole can of worms and imply one of them has been losing themselves in their wolf form, it’ll have been my fault for leaving the pack in the first place.
I sigh and back off. “I was worried about you all. That’s it.”
“There have been no wolf sightings,” she says resolutely, and, for a moment, I doubt myself. I haven’t been here, maybe she knows better than I do.
But I can’t disregard what Laura told me.
I scoop up the newspaper from the table, holding it up for her to see. “What do you call this?”
“It’s nothing! We’re fine, we are as strong a family as we’ve ever been,” she insists.
She hasn’t changed, I realize. Eight years and not one shred of remorse, or reconsideration. She holds my stare with her arms crossed over her chest, determined to simply put her foot down. Deny, deny, deny, until the world follows suit and agrees with her.
I look her in the eyes, searching for any reprieve.
“Well, then. I see I was wrong to come here,” I say, grabbing my bag from the hook and heading back towards the door. There’s a little too much bite in my voice for talking to my mother.
I can see her wince at the snarl in my words, and it pierces my chest to see that I’m hurting her. I want it to stop, but I need her to stop fighting me too.
The door slams behind me. I drop my bag on the front porch and pull the fanny pack with a tightly bundled change of clothes in it out. I’m not quite ready to leave, but giving everyone some space to process what happened seems like the best thing that I can do. And I need to give my wolf the chance to burn all the energy from these feelings off. I strip down from my wet clothes and sling the fanny pack around my chest.
I stretch into my shift, rolling my neck and twisting my body as the bones slide into place, the thick fur pushing through my skin. It only hurts for a moment, and it’s only about as bad for you as cracking your knuckles.
My paws hit the muddy ground, and I find her scent immediately. I know it well, and I recognize it for what it is now: that cinnamon and nutmeg, and under it, just her, all her, sweeter than I remember.
Even with the rain, I can pick it out better than anything else.