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“It’s true!” I countered.
She shook her head rapidly back and forth, staring at the ground. “I can’t help how old he is-”
“Oh my God,” I turned around so that she was to my back. I couldn’t look at her right now. “You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?”
Her silence was answer enough.
“Mom!” I turned to face her.
Her face was beet red and she looked like she was choking on her own saliva. “Olivia, that’s none of your business.”
“Ew, no!” I squealed, shaking my head. “I can’t. I can’t,” I covered my eyes.
“Then you shouldn’t have said anything,” she defended.
“Oh my God. I think Avery’s rubbing off on me. This is bad. I wouldn’t have normally asked that. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business,” I apologized.
“It is your business, Liv. You’re my daughter. But I shouldn’t have to tell you something until I’m ready,” she said softly.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Let’s move on and pretend this conversation never happened,” she pleaded.
“Sure,” I agreed, not meeting her eyes, because I was positive that I wouldn’t be able to pretend it never happened.
Since there was nothing left to bring in, I mumbled, “I’m going to get out of here. I have to stop by the grocery store.” I really did have to go to the grocery store, but at this point, I would’ve made any excuse to leave. The awkwardness from the Nick situation had yet to leave.
“Alright,” she seemed relieved at my imminent departure. I figured, either Nick was expected to show up any minute, or she felt as awkward as I did. “Let’s do lunch next weekend, if you’re not working?”
“Sounds good,” I smiled, striding towards the door, and Nick would not be a topic that I was ever bringing up again.
I started my small cobalt blue Ford Focus and drove to the grocery store closest to Trace’s apartment. I still had trouble thinking of it as “ours”.
Trace was working late tonight and I wanted to make him dinner, because despite what he believed, I could cook. My mom had taught me most of her recipes, and while I wasn’t the best cook, I wasn’t horrible. I wanted to surprise him with a meal and finally get those three important words off my chest. Several times in the past few days, they had come close to rolling off my tongue, but I kept my mouth shut.
I pushed the cart around the store, adding the ingredients I needed, and headed to the checkout.
I planned to make homemade Fettuccine Alfredo from one of my mom’s recipes.
I loaded the plastic bags into my car and drove home.
I noticed a car in my rearview mirror that appeared to be following me, and my heart rate spiked when it pulled into Pete’s parking lot. I reasoned that maybe, they were having car trouble, and it was by coincidence that they followed me home.
But…my gut didn’t believe that.
Not looking at the person, because I didn’t want to get involved in a conversation, I lifted the trunk and picked up the two bags, the keys to the apartment clutched in one hand.
Gravel crunched behind me and fear slid like a sheet of ice down my back. Swallowing thickly, I started up the steps that led to the apartment.
A hand pushed into my back and I fell on the wood steps. Splinters imbedded in my hands and knees.
“What the-” I exclaimed.
Someone rolled me over, pinning my wrists to my sides.
I gasped when my eyes connected with dark ones, outlined by wire-framed glasses.
“Aaron,” I gasped.
