“And Dimitros?”
She shrugged. “He’s still there. Probably flirting with girls.”
I laughed softly. “That’s normal for a teenager.”
She dropped her book bag, sat in the chair beside me, and tucked her legs underneath herself. “Why are you sad, Violet?"
“I’m not.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It sure looked like you were.”
I blinked at her perceptiveness. “Uh…” I considered lying for a moment, but then decided against it. “I was thinking about my mom.”
“Your mom makes you sad just like my mom made me sad?”
Those words hit hard and I realized a conversation with Aria would have to happen soon. I’d avoided bringing it up with Lykos partly because I was terrified that the truth would break this fragile bond I’d developed with Aria.
“Not sure if it’s exactly like that,” I said slowly. “But yes, it makes me sad and I miss my mom sometimes.”
Aria reached for my hand and brought it to her chest, hugging it. “Is it bad that I don’t miss my mom? Maybe I’m a bad person.”
I weighed my words carefully before answering. “First of all, you’re not a bad person. Second, Amara spent most of the time away, so it’s quite natural you’re not missing her.”
I watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head, considering my words seriously.
“Hmmm,” she said. “That makes sense. Your mom was there for you?”
I swallowed. “When she could be, yes.”
“I wish my mom was there for me too.” Her expression saddened. “I wish you were my mom.”
My heart shuddered at her innocent words while she watched me with her big eyes, never suspecting how close her wish was. But I couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not now. We needed time.
“Amara was sick,” I said slowly. “She didn’t know what she was doing and I’m convinced that if she had been lucid, she would have never hurt anyone. Never.”
Aria didn’t seem convinced.
“You should call your mom,” she declared instead. “Tell her you miss her and love her.”
“You’re very wise.”
“I know.”
I smiled despite myself.
She leaned sideways against me, the gesture so natural like she’d been doing it forever, and I felt my chest tighten. Her hair tickled my shoulder as she peered toward the laundry.
“Will you call her?”
“Maybe.”
I looked down at her little hand resting beside mine on the table and my mother’s face flashed into my mind. The way she would hold me when my father wasn’t around. The way she would murmur comforting words to me and Lily. The way she would braid our hair before school.
My throat closed.
Aria reminded me so much of Lily. Same big eyes. Same dramatic flair when she talked with her hands.
Lily would have adored her and so would Mom if she’d had a chance to know her. Instead, there were ten years of silence sitting between my mom and me. Ten years I’d hidden the truth because I was scared of my father and what he might do to Aria.
