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I sighed, let go of the sheets, and rubbed my face to get rid of all the memories. After a quick shower, I grabbed a pair of ripped shorts and a bright pink Colorado High T-shirt.
I didn’t bother with my hair. I left my hair frizzy and let it fall below my shoulders. My friend Julianna once said I sometimes looked like Merida from Brave. I liked that. I thought her style was different and I could be just as stubborn and rebellious.
A harsh thump against the window caught my attention and my feet moved swiftly when I saw the flapping of wings. I lifted the window and stuck my head out.
An involuntary smile formed on my lips. The air smelled clean, and the breeze ruffled my hair. The view of the mountains surrounding Denver was breathtaking. The thump against the window was two house sparrows wrestling with each other. They carried their fight to a tree and disappeared among the branches.
The open, blue sky captivated me. The area was undoubtedly peaceful and serene. For less than twenty minutes it was a welcome distraction, but soon I grew weary of the sight and a quiet nudge spread through my chest. I missed the hustle and bustle of the city.
I missed New York.
Another sigh.
I pulled my head in, closed the windows, and let myself fall back onto the bed, my arms splayed out like angel wings on the sheets. Moving to New York had been Dad’s idea. I remember being hesitant at first, but now I missed the view of the Empire State Building on random drives and the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Ava, honey?” Ma called from downstairs, and her voice pulled me out of the pool of memories that was quickly forming.
“Don’t you want breakfast?”
“Coming!”
I took my weight off the bed and hurried down the stairs. The smell of waffles, bacon, and sausages hit my nose and my stomach grumbled in response.
It was good to be back in Denver, to spend a few days with my mother ...
“Hi, Ava,” Dae waved over a cup of one of his famous herbal teas.
And of course, I loved spending time with him too. My stepfather, Dae Hyong-Kim. Even as I walked over to join them at the table, I wondered—for the millionth time—how they fell madly in love.
Their differences stood out like a flaming red arrow in a barn full of hay—stark and obvious. He was half-Korean and half-American, and Ma was Irish by birth. He was a night person and Ma was a day person. She liked coffee, he preferred tea. The only thing they had in common was a healthy diet. I had never seen a couple as different as these two.
“Good morning, Dae.” I picked a strip of bacon, slipped it into my mouth, and moaned. It was super delicious and just the way I liked it.
Judging by the taste, I instantly figured out who prepared it.
I gave him a subtle sideways glance. It wasn’t hard to see why my mother had chosen him. He was always super nice, very compassionate, and tender, and once I heard Ma say to her loquacious friend Erika that he could ride like a horse. I had tried not to imagine it.
I liked him too. He tried out all kinds of roles, now that I thought about it: father, friend, brother, distant relative. And I liked that he respected me.
On top of all his outstanding qualities, he was very handsome. I liked to think that I might like older men with striking qualities because he was a good example. However, this theory was not proven or anticipated.
Ma leaned over to his side, kissed his cheeks, and peered at him under her long thick lashes. They whispered between themselves and, I might have gushed at the crimson stain on my mother’s cheeks, but ... she was my mother. It was almost disturbing to see her like that.
It wasn’t rocket science to know why she blushed like a shy teenager. Dae rode like a horse last night.
“You like it?” He nodded to the fourth breakfast sausage I’d popped into my mouth with a knowing smile.
Before I could say a word, she beat me to it. “Of course, she’s lovin’ it. Look at her.” She clasped and curled her fingers around her mug, and stared at me like she knew something I didn’t. “I’m glad you’re stuffing your face, sweetie. I bet your dad doesn’t care if you’re eatin’ healthy.”
I almost choked on a chunk of waffle going down my throat, and it wasn’t because my mother insinuated that my father wasn’t feeding me well. It was what she called me that got my attention. Shortly after my father freed me from the clutches of the Varkovs, I’d checked out the meaning of what Viktor called me.
Milaya.
Sweetie.
“Are you okay, honey?”
I blinked and stared at my mother’s hand, stroking mine. There was worry in her big brown eyes as she scrutinized my face. I had been sucked back into the past. I gave her a small smile and gulped down the waffle with a glass of freshly squeezed oranges.
