Chapter 13
thirteen
I was always a little disoriented when I woke up in Dad’s flat.
I’d lived in the same house since we moved to Canada from the UK five years ago and was used to every little detail about it.
This room had blinds instead of curtains, making light come slanting through in strips, and the air mattress—now completely deflated—was pressed up against the back wall instead of the side one like mine at home.
The sheets laying limp across the top of the flat and lumpy air mattress felt different too, so silky smooth that it kept making me tense up every time I realized they were surely one of Hilary’s purchases.
I laid there for a minute before I forced myself to get out of bed.
Dad was an early bird and I was sure he was in the other room, tapping his foot as he waited for me to get up so we could get started on our day.
I flung the too silky sheets off my legs and hopped up, stretching my arms over my head to work out the kinks from practically sleeping on the floor.
It would be worth it to spend the day with him.
No Hilary, no backhanded comments, just me and Dad.
I pulled on my sweatshirt and padded out into the hallway, still half-asleep, rubbing at my eyes.
The flat smelled like coffee and I inhaled deeply, already imagining having a full cup as Dad and I planned our day together.
If Dad had my favorite creamer in his fridge, then this would be the start of a perfect day.
Or I thought so, until I reached the kitchen. Dad was there, like I’d expected. But instead of still being dressed in his pajamas or even in casual wear, he was in his work clothes. Crisp ironed shirt, tie half done, suit jacket hanging on the back of a table chair.
My steps slowed until I came to a complete stop as my mind processed what I was seeing. “Oh,” I said, hoping I was somehow misreading the situation.
He glanced up. “Hey, kiddo. Morning.”
My stomach sank, slow and heavy when he didn’t offer any other explanations. “I thought—”
“I know,” he said quickly, tightening his tie in the mirror. Not an ounce of remorse on his face. “I was planning to. But something came up.”
I stood there, my feet cold against the floor. “You said you took the day off.”
“I did,” he said. “Mostly. I just need to go in for a bit.”
“For how long?”
He took a sip of coffee, winced like it was too hot, then took another anyway. “There’s a meeting. It shouldn’t be long.”
“That’s what you said last time,” I said, before I could stop myself. He didn’t hear me. Or maybe he chose not to.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, already reaching for his jacket. “We’ll do breakfast another time.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Will I see you before I have to go home?”
He hesitated, just a fraction of a second. “We’ll see.”
My chest tightened. “That’s not really an answer.”
He drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down in the sink, clinking it a little too hard. “I’ll try, okay?”
Hilary appeared in the doorway then, fully dressed, hair already perfectly coiffed. She smiled when she saw me.
“Morning, hon,” she said brightly. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, not taking my eyes off Dad. It was a lie, but I was more focused on convincing my dad to stay here like he promised. She walked over to him and smoothed his tie, like it was hers to fix. I gritted my teeth at the sight.
“You’re going to be late,” she said. “Again.”
“I know,” he said, smiling at her. “I owe you.”
She kissed him, quick and practiced. “You always do.”
Something in my throat went tight. He grabbed his keys and turned to me.
A look crossed his face, then he was reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, unfolding bills from it.
I watched in a daze as he folded two crisp $100 bills and pressed them into my hand like that made up for him bailing on me again.
“Why don’t you and Hilary do something together and I’ll meet you after this meeting?
Go shopping. Get your nails done again. Whatever you want.
On me.” Then he bent down to kiss the top of my head, but he barely even brushed my hair before he was moving again.
“I’ll text you,” he said. And then he was out the door before I could respond.
The lock clicked and his footsteps faded down the stairs.
Hilary poured herself coffee and leaned against the counter. “He really did want to take you out,” she said. “Work’s just crazy right now.”
I stared at the closed door, the bills crinkling in my hand as I clenched my fingers into a fist. “He promised.”
“Adults have responsibilities.” She glanced at the clock. “You hungry? I can make you something.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
She frowned. “You shouldn’t skip breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”
I thought of my dad in his car, already halfway to whatever meeting he’d decided he needed to be at more than here.
“I said I’m fine,” I repeated.
“You know what!” Hilary snapped, tossing her hands up like she’d just solved a crisis. “Why don’t we go out for breakfast?”
I froze. “What—”
“I saw a receipt for that coffee shop on your bag last night. What was it called? The Corner Cup?”
“You went through my stuff?” I burst, my voice sharper than I meant.
“Oh, Imogen,” she said, waving a hand like I’d said something trivial. “I looked it up and it seems really cute. Why don’t we go together, make a morning of it?”
I clenched my jaw. “Actually, I was thinking I’ll just head home early if Dad’s gone. I have a lot of homework this weekend and—”
“No, no,” she said, already moving toward the bedroom. “You need to enjoy your day off from school, not spend it doing homework! You’re coming with me.”
“I appreciate the offer but—”
“Jump in the shower,” she said, cutting me off. “And wash your hair. It looks a little greasy.”
“Excuse me?”
She turned back around, looking at me with an overly sympathetic expression. “I’m just looking out for you. Girls need to help each other out, right? Now get in the shower before it gets any later in the morning!”
“But I—”
“Go, go!” she said, practically shoving me toward the bathroom. I sighed and decided to just listen because she clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer.
By the time I stepped back into the bedroom ten minutes later, a fuzzy pink bath towel wrapped tightly around me, Hilary had laid out an entire outfit on the bed like I was a toddler: jeans, top, jacket, shoes, matching scarf. She’d even put a necklace out.
“Get dressed, do your makeup and then we’ll head out!
” she called from down the hall. I slammed the door shut—to hell with her “no closed doors” policy—and leaned against it, taking some deep breaths.
I could spend an hour with her. I think.
I could stomach her presence for that long until Dad met with us.
By the time we reached the car, I felt like I’d been run through a blender. I slumped into the passenger seat. Hilary buckled her seatbelt and turned to me with that bright, triumphant smile.
“This will be so much fun!” she promised me.
I stared out the window, gripping the edge of my seat. I would never have fun with her. Not now, not ever.
She turned on the music and sang along loudly to an overplayed pop song, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She only paused her singing to tell me to stop frowning before I get early wrinkles or to stop slouching.
When we got to the coffee shop, I practically jumped out of the car to get away from her, even if it was just for a minute.
I walked as fast as I could to the front door, leaving Hilary traipsing behind me, still humming to herself.
As soon as I was inside, I immediately relaxed.
I never thought I’d see the day that I felt anything besides stress and anger when I walked into The Corner Cup, but here I was, breathing in a sigh of relief at the smell of coffee and the hiss of the espresso machine.
But then my heart surprisingly sank when I realized that Cole wasn’t at the counter.
I looked back and forth across the room as I closed the distance to the register, hoping I might see him.
I stopped at the register and Hilary slid beside me, reminding me of her presence.
Maybe him not being here is for the best. Now he wouldn’t see how Hilary treated me like a five-year-old today.
No lectures about sugar or clothes or posture or makeup.
Then I heard the soft creak of the stairs above. I glanced up.
He appeared. Cole. Bedhead, hair sticking up like he’d wrestled it into a state of chaos with his pillow. Shirt untucked just slightly, sleeves rolled up. Watch halfway done, one hand fumbling the strap while he descended, still looking half-asleep.
Not enough to trip, not enough to stumble, just enough that my heart kicked up, fast and unexpected.
My stomach dropped, and then filled with that weird heat that always seemed to hit me when he looked at me.
I didn’t understand why. I hadn’t expected it.
I hadn’t wanted it. And yet there it was—a sharp little jolt in my chest, making everything else fade, even Hilary’s chirpy chatter quieted beside me.
“About time you got down here,” the woman behind the counter said. I assumed she must have been his aunt. “Can you take their orders, please?”
Cole came up to the register now, sleeves rolled up, bedhead still messy, that effortless “I just woke up and look like this” thing he somehow pulled off.
He was tapping at the register screen, watch still dangling half-closed on his wrist, and for a second he didn’t notice us at all. Then his eyes lifted.
Mine locked with his. Neither of us moved for a beat. I’m not confident I even breathed under his stare.
I felt that jolt again. My chest went tight. My fingers itched. My body felt the need to do something—look away, hide, shrink—but I couldn’t. He was just… there, and suddenly all Hilary’s energy felt like a spotlight aimed directly at me.