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Smiling, he leans closer to the door. “Hey, Mom, I got Skylin out of her room. I’m going to take her down to the kitchen to get her something to eat.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Emaline says breathlessly. I hear a couple of loud crashes, and then the door is cracked open and she peers out.
Her hair is a wild mess, her cheeks are flushed, and her breaths are coming out in a rush.
My mom once opened her bedroom door like that and looked the same way. I think it was because her and my dad were having sex.
My discomfort goes from a ten to an eleven hundred.
An ounce of relief washes over her face as she sees me. “Skylin, honey, I am so sorry for whatever happened. Rest assured, though, all my children are going to be extremely nice to you from now on.”
I nod, even though I highly doubt that’s going to be the case. But I’m not about to protest because, for one, I’m a guest in this house; and two, I’m pretty certain she was just in the middle of having sex with Gabe and I want this conversation to end as quickly as possible.
She smiles at me, but when her gaze glides to Max, her lips sink. “Can you do me a favor? After you show Skylin where the kitchen is, can you run out to the garage and get me that box we picked up the other day.”
Max tenses. “You need that right now?”
Emaline nods, pressing him with a look of urgency. “It’s kind of an emergency.”
Max bobs his head up and down, worry masking his features. “Yeah, give me a second.”
“Just try to hurry—” Emaline winces. “Please.”
With a brisk nod, Max spins on his heels and hightails it down the hallway.
As Emaline shuts the door, I rush after him.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.
He nods as he trots down the stairs. “Yeah, I just need to hurry and get that box up to my mom before she … has a fit.”
Emaline doesn’t really seem like the type to have a fit over something so trivial, but I’ve only known her for a day and I barely know Max, so I opt to keep my thoughts to myself.
Max seems content with my silence as he rushes through the house, hurrying across the foyer and through a door located at the back of the house. He motions me inside then flips on a light, revealing a spacious kitchen with marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances.
“Just wait right here,” he says in a rush. “I’ll get my mom’s box then have Charlotte come in and make you something to eat.”
“I can fi
x something myself …” My words fade as he dashes out of the room.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I make my way across the kitchen, heading for the fridge. I feel weird just going through their food, but I feel even weirder about the idea of someone cooking something just for me.
When I open the fridge, though, I immediately regret my decision.
“What on earth …?” My eyes widen at the glass jars covering the shelves, each filled with oddly textured substances, like glittering purple liquid, oozing green cream, and … Wait. Is that a jar of …? “Eyeballs? Oh, my God.” I slap my hand over my mouth as I slam the fridge shut, breathing profusely and fighting back the urge to vomit.
Once I get myself calmed the hell down, I dig my phone out of my pocket and send Nina and Gage a group text.
Me: So, is there any reason in particular why someone would keep a jar of eyeballs in their fridge?
Nina: Oh, my God, please don’t tell me your new parentals have eyeballs in their fridge!
Me: I could tell you that, but I’d be lying.
Nina: Gah! So gross! What a bunch of freaks! The bodies those eyeballs belong to are probably buried in the basement or something.
My gaze instinctively drops to the floor as images of what Nina said flood my thoughts. Then the vibration of my phone pulls me back to reality.
