Chapter 6
Maren
“What the fuck?” I’m so focused on the phone in my hand, I don’t notice someone’s standing next to my new van until there’s no way for me to turn back without being noticed. And seeing me run from him would give Trevor Bradshaw way too much enjoyment.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I blow it out in an attempt to keep myself from overreacting.
It’s not gonna work, but I’m still going to try. Because I honestly don’t have time to fight with him right now. And I’m sure he’s been studying up on synonyms since our last argument, so he’ll probably hold his own longer than normal.
“Trevor, I’m tired. Can we do whatever this is later?” I have a group chat flooded with messages to catch up on, a sister to pick up, dinner to cook, laundry to do…
And apparently a drugstore shopping trip to make, because there’s been an outbreak of head lice at the preschool Zara attends.
Trevor obviously has no interest in taking pity on me, because instead of backing down, he starts firing off questions. “Why do you have this van?” He points to my new vehicle. “When did you get it?” Two questions must not be enough, because he adds yet another. “Where is your car?”
I can’t with him right now. Honestly, I’m not sure I could with anyone. Not even Brooke, and I love her. So instead of offering a snarky answer like it usually would, I don’t say anything. I choose not to engage.
Which is sort of groundbreaking for me. Definitely not a tactic I’ve tried before.
Using the fob, I unlock the doors, opening the front passenger door so I don’t have to throw my bags over the console.
Trevor stands behind me, acting like an expectant child as I situate my purse and laptop case before closing the door.
As I round the front, he stays close on my heels. Like a fucking shadow.
He better unshadow me, fast. Because with the mood I’m in, there’s a really good chance this shadow is going to end up under the tires of my new van.
And that would be a shame, because I’m sure it would cause damage I’d have to repair.
The last thing I want to deal with right now is not having a vehicle.
Especially now that I’ve seen how much easier this particular vehicle makes my life.
Opening the driver’s door, I climb into the seat and reach for the handle, expecting to close him out. But somehow, Trevor’s managed to wedge his giant body in the opening, making it impossible for me to get enough leverage or momentum to accomplish anything.
I take another deep breath, since the last one actually worked pretty well, slowly blowing it out before meeting his eyes. “Can you please move?”
Damn. I am really growing as a person. Please isn’t a word I normally use. Especially not when a man is involved.
I don’t dislike men in general. I just don’t have time for their bullshit. They’re much more trouble than they have ever been worth.
Especially this one.
“No.” His eyes flick to the placard on my console. “Who’s van is this?”
“It’s mine.” I know my plan was not to engage, but part of me wants him to know I bought this all by myself. It’s the nicest vehicle I’ve ever owned. And while it’s not nearly as luxurious as what he drives, it is pretty freaking nice. “Now can you move?”
I’m not saying please twice.
Trevor’s dark brows pinch together, like he can’t believe I actually managed to have the purchasing power for such a thing. I start to get offended, but then he asks, “Why did you get it?”
I don’t talk about my personal life at work.
It’s really no one’s business. Plus, when people find out about my little sister, and then learn I’m actually raising her, they generally act like I’m some sort of saint for adopting her.
And that pisses me off. Because they don’t just mean I’m a good person for adopting my sister.
They mean I’m a good person for adopting my sister with special needs.
Like she’s some sort of burden.
Zara isn’t a burden. No child is.
Taking care of her isn’t what makes me a good person. Not throat punching any little kid who’s mean to her is.
“Because I liked it, and the ramp makes it way easier to move bodies.” I give him a sweet smile. “Would you like me to show you?”
I wouldn’t actually murder Trevor and roll his body into the back of my van. First of all, he’s huge. There’s no way I could get his giant ass into the back of this thing, even with the ramp. Secondly, it would probably upset Brooke. And I’d feel bad about that.
Trevor stares at me a second longer, eyes narrowed. Then, something in him shifts. The line of his mouth gets softer. The clench of his jaw relaxes. And the eyes that have been on mine up to this point, slowly glide over my body.
“Stop it.” I grab his face, forcing his focus back to mine. “Quit it, right now.”
He gives me a slow smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You dick. Yes you do.” I squeeze his jaw a little tighter, sinking my fingers into his slightly stubbly skin. “Stop thinking about what happened in the bathroom.”
He smirks. “That must be your guilty conscience talking, because I wasn’t thinking about what happened in the bathroom at all.”
“Liar.” I’ve known him long enough to understand his ways. His moods. The way what he’s thinking is usually written all over his face.
As long as you know what you’re looking for.
“You can’t read my mind, so I guess you’ll never know.” He pulls out of my grip, finally stepping back. “I could be thinking about it all day every day or never at all.” He gives me a little shrug. “Who’s to say?”
Heat races through my body at the idea of Trevor thinking about what we did. “Well if you’re doing it, stop. It’s never happening again, so you might as well forget it ever happened.”
He tucks both hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he shakes his head. “No.”
I scoff. “No?” I shouldn’t be shocked at his refusal. He’s just doing it to aggravate me. The worst part is, it works. Just like I know what he’s thinking, he knows how to rile me up. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I’m not going to forget it ever happened.” His smile widens. “I’m also not in agreement that it will never happen again.”
I’ve got my next comeback locked and loaded when my cell phone pings, reminding me I still haven’t finished reading the text chain, and I still have to go home and do laundry. And make dinner. And check my sister’s thick head of hair for bugs.
“I don’t have time for this.” I grab the door he’s no longer blocking and pull it shut, locking it—just in case he gets any bright ideas—before starting the engine.
I don’t look to see where he is before I pull away.
Trevor’s a grown man. He should know how to get out of the way of a moving vehicle. If not…
Guess I’m going to have to figure out how to roll him up the ramp.
I check my rearview, just so I know how the rest of my evening is going. And whether it will involve hiding a body or not. My belly flips when Trevor’s eyes lock with mine in the reflection. He’s still smirking as he watches me drive away. Like he knows something I don’t know.
That’s a problem for tomorrow Maren, because I seriously don’t have time for him tonight.
Thanks to his bullshit, I’m already late, and I have to push the laws of speed past their breaking point as I rush to pick Zara up before they start charging me by the minute.
I love the place that handles her afterschool care, but they don’t mess around when it comes to pickup time.
They say five forty-five, and they fricking mean it.
Like Saturday, I make it with two minutes to spare, pulling up to the pickup lane in the nick of time.
As the worker helps me get Zara into place, it’s clear I’m not the only one who appreciates my new van.
The process takes less than half the time it normally does, and I’m pulling away in under five minutes.
Zara is her usual self as we drive home, chatting about her day the whole way.
I do my best to listen and act interested, but I’m not as social as my sister, and my battery is already depleted.
I work up as much excitement as I can when she tells me about what she painted in art class, because I want her to feel heard.
And I’m sure I’ll be delighted to see her newest contribution to the gallery that is our refrigerator, but right now, the thrill is lacking.
Because bugs.
I get her home, stopping just inside the front door so we can investigate. The braids I worked into her thick head of hair are already obliterated since both the school and the afterschool center triple checked to make sure she wasn’t spreading the love.
But until I see it for myself, I’m going to assume the worst.
I had lice more times than I could count when I was a kid.
I remember how humiliating it was to be sent to the office over and over again because my mom couldn’t be bothered to get rid of them.
And since I was a kid, I couldn’t buy the treatment at the drugstore or haul all my bedding to the laundromat.
I was at the mercy of a woman who might have been a good person at one point in her life, but was so twisted up with addiction nothing else mattered. Including me.
As I begin carefully combing through Zara’s hair, section by section, she begins to complain. “They already did this.”
“I know, but I want to be sure.” Not only for her benefit, but also for mine. I’m pretty sure getting head lice as an adult would lead to a sort of PTSD situation, and I don’t have time for that right now. “Has your head been itchy at all?”
“No.” Her impatience isn’t even thinly veiled. “Can we do this after dinner? I’m hungry.”
“There’s no way you’re hungry. I packed you a million snacks.” I’m sure I go overboard in many ways when it comes to Zara, and the amount of food I send her each day is definitely one of them. “Did you eat them all?”
“Part of them.” There’s something off in her tone.
I lean around, looking at her face. “Why did you only eat part of them?”
“Liam’s mom didn’t pack him any snacks again, so I gave him some of mine so he wouldn’t be hungry.” Her eyes are big as they meet mine. “I know you gave them to me, but he was so sad when everybody could eat snacks but him.”
I drop to my knees, all my frustration and aggravation from the long day behind me and the long evening in store slipping away. “That was such a wonderful thing for you to do.”
There are days when I question everything I do as a parent. I wonder if I’m fucking her up just as much as my mother did me, except in different ways. I worry she will grow up to be bitter and cynical and closed off because that’s what she sees me being.
But in moments like this, I have hope. That maybe I’m not doing so bad after all. That if nothing else, I’m raising a good human. Someone who’s kind and friendly. Funny and warm. Someone empathetic and generous.
Someone who would’ve been a friend to five-year-old me even though my clothes smelled bad, and there were always holes in my shoes.
“You are the coolest kid, you know that?” I lean forward, kissing her on the forehead. “I love the crap out of you.”
Zara smiles wide at me. “I love the crap out of you too.” Her brows lift. “Now can we have dinner?”
“Yes.” I stand, getting behind her so I can pull her hair back into a quick messy bun. “Now we can have dinner.” I wheel her into our little dining room, positioning her at the table before offering up the tablet I know she’s going to ask for. “And after dinner, we are going to take a bath.”
“What?” She whines. “I just took a bath last night.”
“And you’re going to take one again tonight.
I want to use the minty shampoo on your hair.
” It’s one of the tricks I learned from one of the nurses at school.
Since I couldn’t rely on my mother to get rid of the lice, the nurse was nice enough to help me find ways to prevent them.
“That way we don’t have to worry about anything. ”
I quickly put together our meal, assembling one of our favorites—breakfast for dinner.
While I eat, I put in an order from the closest drug store.
Is it more expensive to have it delivered?
Of course. But now I can afford to splurge a little here and there, and tonight I want to stay home in my pajamas and relax.
While doing the laundry. And packing lunches.
And washing and drying Zara’s hair. And finishing up a report for Brooke.
“Ugh.” I shove in a bite of scrambled egg. “I need a vacation.”
Zara looks up from the tablet I probably let her spend too much time staring at. “Can we go on a vacation?”
I automatically brace, the way I did for years when I had to tell Zara we couldn’t sign her up for a class her friends were taking or go to the zoo or eat takeout.
But I don’t have to do that anymore. Now she can take dance classes and we have zoo passes and we get takeout one night a week.
And even with the new van payment added to my monthly bills, there’s probably enough for us to go on a vacation. It won’t be to a tropical paradise, but I’m sure I can still come up with something amazing. Something she’ll remember forever.
A smile creeps across my face. “We can totally take a vacation.”