Page 30 of Earthly Ties

Eyebrows raising, I barely muffle a scoff that threatens to escape. Really? Really? Is that how you see it, Angel? The way I remember it, Mom kicked me out as soon as she legally could.

Oh, I wish I was brave enough to say that out loud. Not that it would do any good to say it; the only one who might hear me is Mom. I hate having a filter again. How did I stay so quiet before?

But being stuck here, watching Angel hit on Esther with Mom berating me, would be literal Hell.

Besides, Angel isn’t exactly wrong. Mom may have kicked me out the day I turned eighteen, but I would have left in a couple of months anyway, once I started college. Maybe even earlier than that. Honestly, sleeping in my car until the dorms opened felt safer than staying at home.

I never bothered to reach out to Angel once I left. From his perspective, maybe I did abandon them, in a way. The one time he did reach out to me, I hung up on him.

“Lucy’s academic focus was more on cultural constructions of life, death, and existentialism, not necessarily Satanism. Though she did reference a lot of cults in her work,” Esther says tactfully. “Granted, we weren’t close, but she always seemed kind and polite, so I have trouble seeing her as evil. Her mentor had the funniest stories to tell about her from when she was his student. He held her in very high regard—professionally and as a close friend.”

I smile at my East fondly. That was much more tactful than telling him to fuck right off, the way I would have. Probably just as ineffective, but it’s nice she tried. I had no idea Cash talked about me to anyone, beyond his recommendation to Gilda. Makes me wonder what stories he had; I was even more of a disaster back then.

“Yeah, well, I’m surprised Lucy let anyone close to her,” Angel mutters. “To be honest, I never expected her to have any friends, let alone someone who cared about her enough to reach out to me to talk about her.”

“You sound just like her when you talk, you know,” Esther says. “I can tell you’re siblings.”

“Excuse me?!”

For a second, I think I said it, and I tense, praying Mom didn’t hear me. But no, Angel has his hand pressed to his chest, same as I do. The offended sneer on his face matches mine.

“Oh, no, that was a compliment!” Esther sputters, rushing to explain. “You both have the same cadence? That’s all I meant. You both have a really interesting way of talking, it’s very um…theatrical!”

I have never been more offended in my life. Are my lectures as overwrought, dramatic, and preachy as Mom’s? I should hope not!

“Theatrical,” Angel deadpans, but he rolls his eyes and changes the subject. “I told that officer he shouldn’t bother trying to find her—Lucifer always cared about herself first. She was just like Dad that way.” I cringe, because now that Esther has pointed it out, I do talk like that. Have I become my mother? Angel tsks, with a shake of his head. “Dad up and left us, too. Abandoned Mom with two young kids on her own.”

That isn’t what happened! Mom kicked him out! My jaw drops open to argue, but I snap it shut as Mom’s ghost brightens, cooing praise around him.

God, I wish I was brave enough to say something, even if he can’t hear me. But he’s not wrong either. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m forced to listen to his perspective. Because, yes, Mom kicked him out. But Dad eventually stopped trying to see us, stopped sending child support, stopped reaching out. I sit back in my chair, that familiar, defensive anger leaching from me.

Mom told us he must have finally drank himself to death after we hadn’t heard from him in a year. But we never went to his funeral, so I never wanted to believe her. Then again, isn’t that what I did? Except his poison of choice—his go-to coping mechanism for living with Mom—was probably brandy, not boxed wine.

I always thought the bottles were so…regal. The gold and red label on the flared bottle. I know now he drank it because it was cheap. But as a child, it looked so classy, the way he’d pour the golden brown liquor into his lowball glass as he lounged on the porch swing. I used to sit with him after he got home from work and watch how the sunlight played through the facets of the crystal.

Not that pretty bottles and a nice glass makes it any better than boxed wine and a mason jar. There’s no classy way to drink yourself to death.

“Sounds like you all had a hard life,” Esther offers gently.

“Mom did. Lucifer did whatever she wanted whenever she felt like it, no matter how hard it made things for us. Just like dear old Dad.” Angel shakes his head slowly. “I called her once when Mom went missing. I was quarantined with a shitty case of the Pox—right on the tailbone! Thought I was a goner, but luckily it went up my back. Anyway, I couldn’t go check on her to see if Mom was okay. I only called Lucy after it’d been almost a month since I’d last heard from her, just to see if she could at least drive by the house. She wouldn’t have even had to talk to her, just make sure the mail wasn’t piling up.” Angel scoffs, and the bitterness in his voice lands a heavy blow. “In typical Lucifer fashion, she told me she didn’t care and hung up on me. I wasn’t allowed to leave my place for several more weeks, and by then, Mom had been missing for months.”

Guilt curdles my stomach. I indeed did say that I didn’t care Mom was missing, and I stand by it.

But I hadn’t known Angel had been forced to stay at home, sick and isolated, when she disappeared. I hadn’t given him the chance to tell me. Mom wouldn’t have anyone else who would care if she was missing. The apple never falls far from the tree; I got my isolationist streak from her. It may not have made a difference, but I could have been a little more empathetic to my brother’s situation. It wasn’t his fault that Mom treated me the way she did. I can only blame him for following her lead.

Mom’s ghost strokes Angel’s hair, an arm of the shapeless white veil ruffling his curls. Just like in life, all her affection belongs to him. With a huff, I let out a silent, sardonic laugh. The only difference between now and my childhood is that there’s no chance of Mom yelling at me, or Angel antagonizing me.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone,” Esther murmurs.

“Yeah, well, Lucy was never there for us. Why would she start when we needed her?” Attempting to cover the tremor in his voice, Angel puts on an obviously fake smolder and finishes his drink. “I feel like I can really connect with you, Esther. And since it’s getting late in the evening, could I tell you more over a nightcap at my apartment?”

I roll my eyes at his audacity. Any empathy I had for him vanishes with the reemergence of his fuckboy persona. I stand corrected; he can still antagonize me. Why the fuck does he get to creep on my Tie, so easily, so sleezily, when I have to scream and shout and stomp my feet just to lie to myself that her subconscious can hear me?

Esther doesn’t hide her cringe this time. “With all due respect, I came here to talk about Lucy, not to slander her. Or to sleep with her brother. Or get used as an emotional dumping ground, or whatever you’re suggesting.”

I want to applaud the assertiveness and the determination in Esther’s tone. She may have a soft valley girl voice, but damn, she sure can turn down a proposition from a straight man.

The problem is that her reply has caused Mom to pay attention to Esther. Or scream about Esther, rather. She flickers in and out of brightness, as if trying to ground herself so Angel might hear her. Her voice certainly is loud and clear to me.