She pulled at the hair on her head. “Did you at least try?”
“I went to a few classes,” I said. That was a generous way to put it, but the details didn’t matter if I had already made my decision. “Nate is tolerable.”
“And Grant?”
I huffed. Grant was more than tolerable. But if I admitted that to Hazel, she would try to link it to how amazing Zaid was, and how I should besograteful that he didn’t kill me like he had originally planned.
“He’s fine,” I said.
“Fine?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You’ve been living with him for weeks now, and he’s just fine?” I shrugged. She didn’t need to know the details. She sighed a long, groaning sigh, letting me know that I had crossed one line too far. “Damn it, Hazel. You need to go to school. You need to do something with your time. To be able to live without Grant or me watching out for you.”
I turned away. It hurt when she said stuff like that, reminding me that I needed her. In some ways, I did rely on her to pull me out of sticky situations, like Grant had been looking out for me the last few weeks. But I could survive without them too. I had before, and I could again. Didn’t she realize that?
“All I want is for you to be able to live your life without fear,” she said, “But you keep putting yourself into these situations. It’s just school, Hazel. Stop whining and get over it.”
Get over it? Like it was that simple. “You never went to college.”
“Because I don’t have a problem with picking the wrong friends and keeping a damn job.”
Her words were like knives stabbing into me. She reached over to touch me, realizing that this time,shehad gone too far.
“Hazel, I—”
“You never asked me what I wanted,” I said.
She stared at me, then sat up in her seat. “Tell me, then. What do you want?”
My eyes burned. I got up. The truth was that I didn’t know what I wanted. I never would. It wasn’t like me to stick in one place, because there wasn’t any place that ever felt like home. Great Uncle Walter had made it clear when I was teenager that no one would ever want me. Not for long. He had reminded me that our parents had left us, but it was me they wanted to get rid of. So why did I ever think I would be able to find a home?
Heather had been gone when he said that. It was his way of punishing me for getting suspended from school, when I had threatened to run away again.
If it were anyone else, I would have thrown the drinks and the appetizer in her face. Because it was easier than admitting that I didn’t know what I wanted.
But it was Heather, and I refused to treat my sister that way. So I left.
On the way up the elevator, with tears gathering in my eyes, I screamed so loud that the concierge asked me if I was okay. I muttered that I was alive and that was good enough. I sat on the kitchen stool and punched out a message to Christine on my phone. How was it that a woman I had barely met, was kinder and more open to me, than my own flesh and blood?
My sister is a, I started to type, then I saw Grant’s looming figure out of the corner of my eye. I shoved my phone in my pocket without hitting send.
“What?” I hissed. He straightened, and his brown eyes were soft then, waiting for me to respond. I realized then that my tone had been harsh. He hadn’t pissed me off. My sister had. “Sorry,” I said quietly. “It wasn’t the greatest lunch date with Heather.”
“Did you eat?” he asked.
I scrunched my brows together. “Of course not.”
He went around me and pulled ingredients out of the fridge. I leaned back, watching him put a pitcher of water on the counter and pour me a glass.
“Tell me,” he said. He pushed the glass forward. “What’s up?”
Part of me didn’t want to believe that I could confide in Grant. He was like Zaid, wasn’t he? He had helped abduct me. Sent me away to a clinic. Drugged me.
But he wasn’t that person right now. He was cooking lunch for me, for fuck’s sake.
He put a tortilla in the pan, dropping shredded cheese on top. I zoned out, staring at that hot pan, then took a deep breath and told him what my sister had said. He looked at me as often as he could, acknowledging that he was listening, and by the time I was done verbally exploding, he had finished cooking two quesadillas. He pulled out plates, then offered me one.
