Chapter 8 #2
She drops herself down to sit by me, bouncing a little as she leans back into the chintzy cushions. If someone told me we need to talk, I’d be instantly dialed to anxiety level eleven, but she seems only mildly curious as she calmly crosses her legs beneath her.
“We can’t go to the beach, Sunny. I’m really sorry.” I force the words out like thick tar, my insides twisting. I hate letting her down.
There isn’t a manual for this parenting thing.
I know I’m doing my best, but my heart hurts that she doesn’t have better.
And right now? My best just doesn’t feel good enough.
She deserves two loving parents who are real adults.
The kind of adults who never drop the ball and are always solidly dependable.
The kind of parents I felt so jealous of when I was younger.
Who drop their kids off to school with lunches and smiles.
It blows my mind that the kids with these parents never seemed phased by their presence—if anything, they were eager for them to leave, or embarrassed to be seen with them.
The reality is that wasn’t on the cards for me and Sunny.
We could have been adopted by families in our years spent in the care system.
It wasn’t uncommon for kids to be kept by foster families who were only supposed to look after them temporarily, but it just wasn’t meant to be for us.
We were different. Misfits. Kindred oddballs.
With sensory needs and brains that malfunction sometimes when overloaded.
“Oh,” she says slowly. “Oh, that’s okay.” She nods, folding her hands together and looking reserved. “Work?”
This quiet understanding is worse than anything. I wish she would scream and shout. Tell me I’m awful and that she deserves better.
“Yeah,” I whisper, rolling my lips together as my eyes prickle. “I’m so sorry.”
She tilts her head, the overhead light splashing vivid neon onto already bright hair. The tips are fading a little into candy-floss blush. I know she’s been holding off dying it until after our trip, because the sun and the sea are sure to strip any color she puts in right back out.
“It’s not your fault, Pepper.” She shoots me a look far too stern for someone wearing a training bra.
It’s not a look I’m new to, either. She’s always been remarkably mature.
Sometimes I feel she’s more like a parent than I am.
“You’re working hard for us. For me, and I appreciate it more than you will ever know. ”
I scrunch my nose to ward off the sting. I’m not someone who cries often, but this kid right here? My Achilles heel. You can put me in the gutter and I’ll fight tooth and nail to claw my way back up without a single tear shed, but the thought of Sunny there with me? Too terrifying to handle.
“Oh god.” Sunny rolls her eyes with a theatrical groan. “If you start crying on me then I will be pissed.”
I puff out a near silent laugh, sniffing back tears that are yet to form. She’s right. No point crying over spilled milk. It’s done now. “No tears and I promise we’ll rebook as soon as we can.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” She smiles and throws her arms unexpectedly around my neck.
I laugh, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing tight, taking a whiff of the comforting scent that is just wholly her. That takes me back to the scraggly kid with robot pajamas and a goofy smile who snuck into my bed with a flashlight every night and asked me to read them bedtime stories.
“It just might have to be next year.” I sigh into her shoulder.
She freezes, turning every inch of herself static as her fingertips dig into my back. Panicking that she’s disappointed, I try to pull back to look at her, but she has me locked in a vise grip.
“Sunny? What is it?” I wrap my hands around her arms and tug.
“Spidaaargh!” she yelps, releasing me abruptly and launching herself up onto the couch cushions to resume her standing position.
“Spi-what?” I mutter whilst raising a brow at her chalky face. When I follow her frozen gaze behind me, I yelp and pitch myself up and out of the seat to join her. Crawling slowly across the carpet is the biggest, fattest spider I’ve ever seen—and I grew up in the country.
“Ohmygodyouhavetogetit!” Sunny’s panicked exclamation babbles together into an almost incoherent plea.
“Me! Why me?” I moan, my eyes glued to the thick, hairy legs as they methodically move.
“Because you’re the adult!” She squeaks, clutching at me from behind.
“But not a real one!” The spider stops and we both pause to watch it.
The fact we can see it on the standard-issue brown carpet which is designed to hide stains tells you just how big this thing is.
“Oh god, it’s massive!” I whisper, glancing around for something large and heavy I can fling at it.
Bar Sunny, I come up empty. “We’re going to have to burn the place down. ”
“Don’t be—” Whatever reprimand she was about to land gets swallowed up by our joint screeching as the furry eight-legged devil spawn starts to move again. We clutch at each other, watching it scuttle slowly toward the kitchen.
Three large, loud thumps on the apartment wall break our panic—originating from the wall we share with Mr. Clay.
“OH SHUT UP!” I yell back, past caring if I piss him off at this point.
The background song pauses and the polished female voice from the hub speaks. “Volume up.”
“No!” Sunny and I both cry in unison, but it’s too late and a noisy drum and bass mix fills the room.
The apartment buzzer momentarily accents the music, but we’re too focused on the spider dominating floor space like a sovereign surveying its kingdom. We start to grapple with each other, shouts muffled of, “You get it,” and “No, you get it.”
Three loud thumps reach my ears over the din, and at first, I think it’s Mr. Clay banging on the wall again, but it’s too sharp for that.
The spider pauses again just as Sunny yells, “Come in!”
My eyes flare wide and bounce to the apartment door. “What are you, nuts?” I hiss over my shoulder at her.
This is New York City. You don’t just let any random in, especially with a fairly relaxed security system like we have in this building. And failing an axe murderer, it’s probably our very angry octogenarian neighbor, who I could do without right now.
The door knocks again and suddenly the veil of adrenaline lifts enough for me to remember I have free will. “Volume down!”
The hub parrots my instruction and the music returns to a background noise.
A faint slide of metal draws my attention back to the door which opens an inch or two to reveal a slither of a tall, muscled man in a polished suit.
I groan, dropping my head into my hands.
This man is like a boomerang. Throw him away and he keeps reappearing.
“We need help,” Sunny babbles from behind me, reminding me about our invader.
I look up in time to see her finger pointing toward the kitchen and a very confused Chase Walker frowning that way.
“Kill it, please,” I plead in resignation, crossing my arms. If he’s already here, he might as well make himself useful. “With fire.”