“I’m not going anywhere, Paige. I just can’t sit here, next to you, for four hours. I’m changing seats. That’s all,” I say, grabbing my bag and moving to the very last row. I can’t lean my seat back, and there’s less legroom here, but it’s better than the alternative.
Paige did it again. I’m going home for a holiday where I’m supposed to be thankful for family—what irony.
Chapter 24
Cass
The festivities were in full swing at the Owens’s house. Mom likes to make the house smell like the holidays. She says it’s her way of combatting the California weather, which keeps things in the high seventies. It doesn’t feel very much like fall outside, so my mom makes it seem like fall inside with batches of cinnamon, apples, and potpourri twigs in planters and bowls everywhere I look.
I used to love this when I was a kid. Today, the smell is making me nauseous.
Ty made it home okay. That was the highlight about my trip from the airport. Ty was already settled in, so I could text him for the entire hour ride from LAX to my parents’ house, effectively ignoring Paige.
I could tell she was nervous when we got home. She took over the conversation quickly, making sure my mom and dad wouldn’t notice how angry I was at her. She’s probably more concerned over the fact that her spilling the beans on Paul Cotterman might mess up my dad’s negotiations—break the nondisclosure clause. She doesn’t like disappointing our parents.
I’ll take care of the disappointment checkbox. Soon, my dad is sure to find out I filed a police report. I plan on telling him either way. I decided during the flight that I wasn’t going to get walked on during my time at home. I was done playing the part of the mistress girl who once got involved with a teacher. I was going to be strong, talk back, stand up for myself, and maybe slam a door or two.
Right now, all I want to do is escape to my room. That’s one thing my parents did right—even though they had twins, they never made us room together. My room is all my own, a space just for me. It’s always been my retreat—my walls covered in posters of my favorite bands and David Beckham. I think about slamming the door, just to see how it feels, but I’m exhausted from being angry for the last several hours. I’m going to need something to fire me up again to be able to pull off a slam.
The soft knock on my door is unwelcome.
“Come in,” I say, bracing myself. Nobody is welcomed from this house, it’s just a matter of which unwelcomed guest it is. My mom has a fresh set of linens for me, and I know this is a setup, because she could easily have changed the sheets before we came home. I’m sure Paige’s are done.
“I’ll take them, thanks,” I say, pulling the sheets from her hands. She holds on tightly to the pillowcase though, worming her way into the chore. She’s not leaving.
“So,” she starts. Great, we’re going to feign small talk. In my head, I pretend she’s going to say what she really wants to say…. “How’s the Cotterman situation? How’s your disabled boyfriend? Why couldn’t you just join a sorority or something like your sister…?”
“How is practice going?” she asks.
Okay, I didn’t plan for that one.
“Good,” I say, with caution. There’s a but coming somewhere. I wait for it, and wait for it. Mom keeps folding and tucking, and says nothing else.
“Okay, well, your sheets should be set. I’ll wash the dusty ones and you can take them back to campus if you need an extra set,” she says, smiling and moving to the door with my pile of dirty linens. She pauses right before she pulls the door closed behind her. “I’m glad practice is going well.”
All I can do is blink. She was neither fake nor genuine—and nothing about the conversation felt like a mother and a daughter. All I’m hit with is an unbearable weight of sadness over this relationship I somehow don’t have with her. Crawling under my freshly tucked blanket, I pull out my phone and slide through the few photos I have of Ty and me, and I think, for just a moment, about going to find my mom to show them to her.
But I don’t. Instead, I just pull out my ear buds and play my favorite playlist while I scroll through Twitter looking for naughty photos and good jokes.
After an hour of noodling around on my phone, I give in and join my family in the living room. The sun is setting, and the sound of the local news makes me nostalgic. My dad is out on the grill, and he slides the patio door open and closed a few times before finally calling us all to the table.
“What did he make?” Paige whispers to me. I shrug, both because I don’t know and because I still don’t want to talk to her.