7. “What’s that look for?”
“WHAT’S THAT LOOK FOR?”
YASMINE
Istood on my mother’s porch and debated whether to knock.
Stupid.
I’d grown up behind that door. Still had a key somewhere in a drawer back at my apartment that I hadn’t touched in years. But right then, with the siding peeling in the same old spots and Mrs. Johnson’s wind chimes tinkling that same thin, metallic song, I couldn’t make myself walk in.
I knocked. Waited.
Nothing.
I tried the handle. Unlocked.
“Mama?” I called.
The living room was spotless. Mama’s house always was.
Clean lines, careful bargains, nothing out of place until Shaun forgot the rules applied to him.
A game controller sat facedown on the couch cushion, and a Gatorade bottle sweated a ring onto the end table she’d spent three weekends refinishing.
Seemed about right.
“Yasmine! You came.”
She appeared from the kitchen, dish towel in hand, smile at full brightness, and pulled me into a hug that smelled like Palmer’s and sweet potatoes going caramelized in the oven. Her hair was pulled back, just starting to gray at the temples.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Hungry? I made chicken and rice.”
I followed her into the kitchen and stopped short. Shaun was leaning in the hallway doorway.
He wore dark sweatpants and a T-shirt gone soft from too many washes.
Shaun had Dad’s broader build where I’d gotten Mama’s long, lean one, but there was enough shared between us that nobody ever had to ask if we were related.
The beard was new since the last time I’d seen him, more neglect than intention.
“Hey,” I said.
He took his time about it. “Yasmine.”
Mama stepped between us before the silence could harden. “You want sweet tea?”
“Yeah.”
I looked around the kitchen while she poured, mostly because it gave me somewhere to put my eyes.
“Did you do something different in here, Mama?”
“The curtains,” she said, nodding toward the window over the sink. “Found them on clearance.”
They were new, yellow checked and cheerful.
“They’re nice.”
I glanced toward the hallway. “CeeCee upstairs? I should go say hi.”
Mama’s hand paused on the pitcher.
Then she kept pouring.
“She’s not here.”
My attention went to the back door. CeeCee’s bag wasn’t on its usual hook. It was eight o’clock on a Tuesday. She’d be nowhere else but home.
“Out?”
Mama set my glass down. “You can say that.”
Shaun pulled out a chair and sat heavily.
“She’s staying with a friend right now,” Mama said.
“A friend?”
Shaun’s mouth tightened. “That’s all you need to know.”
Mama went careful. Shaun went blank.
“Did something happen?”
“Fuck if I know,” he muttered.
“Shaun,” my mother said, “watch your mouth at my dinner table.”
He grunted.
“She needed space.” Mama set a plate of food in front of him, then one in front of me before sitting down with her own, completing the triangle. “Time to figure things out. It’s a rough patch. Every marriage has them.”
They’d moved in right after the wedding. Temporarily. But six months became a year, then “just until things stabilized.” Then five years of CeeCee trying to build a marriage under my mother’s roof.
I kept my mouth shut. It didn’t matter.
Shaun looked up anyway. “What’s that look for?”
“Shaun,” Mama said quietly.
“No. I want to know what the look is for.”
“Nothing.” I picked up my fork. “This is good, Mama. You do something different?”
Mama smiled, gratefully took the change of subject, and insisted on hearing more about Patagonia.
I spoke and she listened. Her expression told me she was proud, even if she didn’t entirely understand.
Shaun ate and didn’t contribute. He’d always been better at silence than I was.
Knew how to let it sit in a room and weaponize it.
“You’re still friends with that Hale boy,” Mama said.
I blinked. “Yeah.”
“He runs that garage, doesn’t he? The one off Main that got all that investment money?”
“Yeah.”
“Good business, from what I hear. Lots of work.”
I kept eating because I knew better than to help her get there faster.
“If you’re close with him, maybe you could put in a word for your brother.”
I glanced at Shaun. He was focused on his plate.
“Why do I need to put in a good word?” I said carefully. “What happened to the dealership?”
Mama’s fork slowed. “Your brother was let go.”
Fucking hell. Fired.
“Not his fault.”
Likely his fault.
“It… wasn’t the right environment.”
Of course it wasn’t.
“That’s tough,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Shaun’s eyes flicked up, searching my face for whatever I wasn’t saying.
“Maybe you could talk to Hale. Put in a word.” Mama’s voice softened. “All he needs is an opportunity. Something stable. People like Hale understand hard work.”
“I can ask,” I said. Lied straight through my teeth. Hell would freeze over before I subjected Hale to Shaun.
Mama’s face brightened immediately.
“But I can’t promise anything,” I added. “It’s not my garage.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Just ask.”
Shaun didn’t look at me.
“What are you doing for work now?” I asked him.
He stabbed at his rice. “Quik Stop. Nights and weekends.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Which is what you’re real good at.”
“Shaun,” Mama said quietly.
My eyes moved to the shelf behind him, to a frame Mama dusted but nobody looked at anymore.
In the photo, Shaun and I were nine and seven, dressed in matching Easter yellow because Mama had liked a theme.
His clip-on tie sat crooked under his chin, my frilled dress was dirty at the hem, and he had one arm hooked around my neck while I wrapped mine around his waist, both of us grinning up at the camera.
I picked up my fork and kept eating.
The chicken was good, because of course it was. My mother could make a meal feel like care even when the room itself felt like a warning.
We finished the rest of the meal in silence.
I left twenty minutes later, with Mama trailing me to the door. “You’ll talk to Hale? About the job?”
“I said I’d ask.”
“And you’ll check in on CeeCee? When you get a chance?”
I stopped. “I thought you said she was fine.”
“She is. She’s just…” Mama smoothed her hands down her dress. “It would be good if someone talked to her. You two always got along.”
“What’s really going on, Mama?”
“It’s just a difficult time. For everyone.”
“I’ll reach out,” I said.
“Good. That’s good.”
Behind her, Shaun had already sunk onto the sofa, the TV throwing blue light across his face.
His PlayStation headset hung off the arm of my mother’s wingback chair, bulky and black against the pale floral fabric.
Charging cords cut across the lace runner on the coffee table, and a controller sat beside the glass candy dish she still filled with peppermints nobody ate.
The living room looked like my mother from a distance.
Up close, it belonged to Shaun.
“Bye, Mama.”
Outside, the air felt thinner.
I sat in my car and shut the door, and the quiet pressed in around me. My hands tightened on the steering wheel as everything I hadn’t said pushed up behind my teeth.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled past the group chat.
Opened my agent’s contact.
Me: Anything coming up? I’m available sooner than expected.
Three dots appeared.
Diana: Nothing confirmed. I can look. What kind of timeline?
Across the windshield, the porch light flicked on, and through the front window Mama’s silhouette moved across the living room. Small. Busy.
Me: Anywhere. ASAP. Please.
The response took longer this time.
Diana: Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you.
The phone buzzed in my hand again.
Hale: SOS. You around tonight?
My stomach flipped.
Ridiculous.
We were adults and we’d agreed it wasn’t weird, but I’d been avoiding him anyway. That night hadn’t stayed where I’d put it as easily as I’d thought it would. I’d been waiting for it to settle into background noise, and it hadn’t yet.
Another buzz.
Hale: Rocked your world, darlin’. You owe me.
Fucking Hale.
He wasn’t overthinking it. He was still himself, still easy, still ridiculous enough to make the knot in my chest loosen.
And just like that, I could breathe a little easier.
I smiled.
Me: Got that backwards, friend. You owe ME.
Hale: Fine. We owe each other. Help me out.
I glanced at the house one more time, then back at my phone.
Me: Where?
Hale: Ricochet. Booth in back. Please.
Ah.
Ava’s ambush with Dr. Kimball.
Me: I’ll be there.
I started the car before I could think better of it.
In the rearview mirror, the house held its shape, stubborn and lit from within.
I knew exactly how far its reach went.