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Phoenix is looking at me, soft and slightly stunned. “That was—” she starts, then seems to think better of finishing the sentence.
“Terrible?” I offer.
“I was going to say almost sweet … Which is somehow worse.”
My mother, watching this exchange with the satisfaction of a woman who has completed a long con, claps once. “Well, I think that’s my cue.” She looks at her watch, which she is not wearing, and then at me. “I am tired, Jackson. It has been a long day of meddling.”
“Mom.”
“Drive your old mother home.” She turns to the table. “Ladies, this has been a delight. I expect to be invited back.”
The chorus of agreement that follows shows her complete success at infiltrating Phoenix’s group in under four hours, which is somehow unsurprising.
Phoenix is gathering her things, slower than usual, the night and the cocktails my mother definitely ordered catching up with her all at once. I stand and offer my hand without thinking. She takes it automatically, and for a moment neither of us acknowledges what that means.
“I’ll take you both home,” I say.
The drive back is quiet, the ponderosas intermittently blocking the moonlight. Mom is in the back, shoes off, humming “Sugar Sugar” to herself with way too much satisfaction. Phoenix is in the passenger seat silently staring out the window.
I walk my mother to Unit A first. She kisses my cheek briskly before disappearing inside, hollering to Phoenix that she will see her tomorrow.
Phoenix meets my eyes, surprise written across her face. “I didn’t think we made any plans.”
“If Linda Mercer says she will see you tomorrow, then you can count on it.”
Following Phoenix to her door, she shakes her head good-naturedly at my mother’s antics.
“Your mom,” she starts.
“I know,” I groan.
“She is—”
“I know,” I repeat.
She looks at me for a moment, her normal mask slipping away from the day and the alcohol, leaving in place the girl I haven’t seen in months. She leans forward slightly, only enough to show me what she wants, what she is asking for.
I still.
Her eyes are happy; slightly unfocused, and she smells like cherry blossom and a few too many cocktails. Bringing my hand up, I settle it gently against her jaw, brushing my thumb lightly across her cheek. Her breathing changes, and I tilt her face up toward mine and press my lips to her forehead.
I feel her release her breath against my collarbone.
“Not like this,” I gently insist. “Not tonight.”
She pulls back slightly, confusion briefly crossing her features before her face falls to understanding.
“Jackson,” she whispers.
“When you choose it, clearly. On purpose,” I say.
She holds my gaze for one more moment, then nods once, unlocks her door, and goes inside.
27
PHOENIX
The smell of bacon wakes me before the pounding behind my eyes does. Am I manifesting grease and caffeine so much that I am having an olfactory hallucination?
