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“Night… text me when you’re home?”
“I will.”
I was exhausted as I walked up the steps. My feet were lead weights and added a hundred pounds. But I got the key in the lock and the door opened. I waved back toward the car and then slid inside and locked up behind me.
Tiddles let out an annoyed meow from where he sat on the kitchen table, tail thrashing. Yeah, I was late.
“C’mon, off,” I told him, scooting him off the table. It was almost three. If I was lucky, I could get three hours of sleep.
I made it to the edge of the kitchen, when the light snapped on in the living room and almost blinded me.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Mom.
Well, so much for being lucky.
Chapter Ten
Glass House
Two and a half hours of sleep was not enough. My eyes were gritty, my head hurt, and all I wanted to do was crawl back in the bed and sleep for another eight hours. Not that it could happen. No matter how much I wanted it. A shower helped. Brushing my teeth helped. Coffee in the kitchen helped more. My mother sat at the kitchen table, dressed for work, an overnight bag by the backdoor, and a cup of coffee next to her.
She wore the exact same expression she’d had when I walked in at three. One part irritated, one part resting bitch face, and one part—I had no idea how to define it. I hesitated to call it concerned. But her eyes tensed as she focused on me.
I poured the rest of the coffee into the travel tumbler before capping it. “Do I need to put more coffee on?” Eight more words than I’d spoken to her before. I hadn’t answered her question. Instead, I’d just crashed.
“No, I’m leaving in five minutes.”
I took a long gulp of the coffee, then rinsed out the carafe and set it to the side to dry before emptying the grinds into the trash and leaving the top open to air out the condensation left behind.
Another swallow of coffee, and I shouldered my backpack and headed for the door.
“Frankie…”
So close.
I paused with one hand on the door.
“I’m going out of town today.”
Not really wanting to have this conversation, I waited.
“I have to be in Los Angeles for the next three days, I probably won’t be back until Friday, but I might stay over.”
Still, I didn’t turn.
“Are you going to talk to me?”
I considered my answer. Then pivoted to face her. “What would you like to talk about?”
Sighing, she said, “Nothing, I suppose. I’m moving money to your account. I didn’t get to the shopping this weekend.”
Color me not surprised.
It was hard to meet her gaze and not glare. I didn’t understand her choices. I didn’t evenlikethem. And had no say in them.
“All right,” I managed finally when she said nothing else. With a sigh, Mom picked up her coffee and cradled her mug.
