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She doesn’t waste a second to grab chocolate ice-cream once she finishes her sandwiches, eating it straight out of the container.
We joke like long time friends. I feel so comfortable with her. But sitting next to Brandon, unable to touch him, irks every fiber of my being.
And boy, am I addicted to his throaty laughter. I wish he’d laugh more.
I wish he’d open up to me.
Our conversation halts at the sound of the front door. I peep the tense look on Britney’s pale face as she glances at the ice-cream and the scraps of bread on her plate.
Heels clatter on tile with urgency, drawing closer until a gorgeous woman that appears to be around my parents’ age steps into the kitchen.
“I cannot believe you left ballet before class ended,” she scolds her daughter, then cuts to me.
Like the twins, she has ash-blonde hair and blue eyes. Her strands are neatly trimmed above her shoulders. Makeup looks professionally done, with nude lipstick and rosy cheeks. Her knee-length dress is not too fitted on her petite frame. She exudes wealth, power, and class.
Her gaze widens as she glimpses the ice-cream on the island.
Brandon straightens from the stool and introduces us. “Mom, this is Kayla.”
I hop up, quickly fix my uniform skirt, and wave to her. “Hi, Mrs. Decker. It’s nice to meet you.” My voice sounds way more formal than usual.
Mrs. Decker ignores me, cutting to Britney again. “What are you doing? You know that stuff can make you sluggish.”
Britney stands with her shoulders hunched. “It’s been a while since I indulged. It won’t kill me, Mom.”
“Ugh.” Mrs. Decker flicks her gaze to Brandon. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring those things in here?”
Yikes.
“It wasn’t—” Britney starts to speak up.
“Sorry,” Brandon cuts her off. “It won’t happen again.”
Mrs. Decker huffs before looking at her daughter. “We’ll address the fact that you left ballet another time. We’re having dinner with Mrs. Devaux shortly.” She turns away, and I hear her heels going up the stairs. Damn. She didn’t acknowledge me. It’s as if I’m invisible.
Frowning, I slant to Brandon. He clenches his jaw, still looking in the spot where his mother stood.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “That was the lovely Mrs. Jane Decker.”
I’m empathetic toward him and Britney. Things seem stressful for them at home.
Britney covers the ice-cream tub and picks up our plates.
“Why’d you lie for me?” she asks Brandon, voice even. “Don’t do that.”
He huffs and clicks his tongue. “My apologies then.”
She eyeballs him and continues to the counter.
“Let’s go to the guest house,” Brandon tells me and walks out of the kitchen.
I wave to Britney. “See you.”
She smiles in return. “Sorry about our mom. She can be dramatic when something upsets her.”
“Hm.”
“Kayla,” Brandon bellows from the passage.
