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Her shoulders shake with silent sobs.
“Jesus.” I step into her and she spins around and throws herself into my arms, crying like she did when we were little. My heart breaks all over again. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. Shh, I’ve got you.” I reassure her the best I can, holding her until she settles. “What the hell happened?” I whisper.
She shakes her head, refusing to speak.
“Come on. You need to tell me.”
She takes a deep breath in and mumbles into my shoulder.
I push her away, not understanding anything she’s saying. That’s when I notice the shirt she’s wearing is cut too. I don’t know whether to panic or storm back up to Margret’s room.
Jasmine notices the murderous look on my face. “She did it before I got home,” she finally says, her voice low. “This was the only thing I could find that wasn’t cut into pieces.” She sniffs and wipes her nose.
At least Margret didn’t cut it while she was wearing it. I wouldn’t put it past her. “I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?”
She giggles… actually giggles. The sound is like music to my ears. Even in the face of all Margret’s bullshit, she still finds humor. “I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice evening out.
“Are you sure?” I wipe the tears off her cheeks.
She grabs my wrists and nods. “Yeah.”
“All right.” I kiss her head and tuck her under my arm. “So, what’d you make me for dinner? I thought I smelled a roast when I first came in.” I smile down at her puffy red face.
“You did. Not only roast, but potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions.” She winks. She knows it’s one of my favorite meals.
“I knew I loved you for a reason.” I pull her tighter to my side.
“And as much as I love you too,” she slips out of my arms and moves toward the oven, “you stink. Go take a shower before we eat. Dad called and said he would be home in time, too.”
Her eyes light up. She’s such a daddy’s girl. Even though I blame him for not getting rid of Margret, he dotes on Jasmine every chance he gets. His job is demanding, spending less time at home than he does at work, so we don’t eat with him often. He’ll make time for me tonight, though; we’re going to have it out about Margret, once and for all.
After showering, I clean the hall and Jasmine’s room, trashing the evidence, before heading back downstairs. When I get close enough to the kitchen, I can hear dad talking. Jasmine’s voice is chipper, as if nothing’s sinister happened. The mood change is enough to piss me off. Not at Jasmine, but my dad.
I squeeze my eyes closed, controlling myself until my dad and I are alone. Jasmine doesn’t need to hear the heated words we’ll be having soon.
When I enter the kitchen, both of them stop talking. Jasmine’s face is alight with excitement, happy to have our dad for whatever small amount of time he graces us with his presence. I, however, am going to be harder to placate. I love our dad, but I hate his disregard for what’s going on. He did nothing when I pointed out several months ago the way Margret treats Jasmine. He acts as if he doesn’t believe me, but I know he cares. He needs to comprehend the severity of the situation, even if I have to dump all of Jaz’s sliced clothes on the floor in his room. He will listen.
“Jace,” Dad says cheerfully in greeting. “How you doing, son?” He clamps a hand onto my shoulder.
“Fine,” I snap.
He cocks his head to the side, trying to understand my anger. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. We’ll talk later.” I stare directly at him, letting him know I’m not messing around. He’s going to listen to what I say. Margret has to go. She’s a cancer to this family. I can’t believe he hasn’t said a word about Jasmine’s cut up shirt.
He slowly nods.
“Jace,” Jasmine warns.
Hearing the plea in her voice douses the anger brimming under the surface. A nice family dinner is exactly what she deserves, so instead of having a serious conversation, I stab a fork into her food and shove a giant bite into my mouth.
“You’re going to burn your mouth again.” She warns with a mischievous smirk.
“I’m hungry now,” I whine like a five-year-old.
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “It’s already done. We were just waiting for you.”
“That’s right. You better get my plate, woman,” I growl at her.
