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My stomach clenches into a hard knot as nausea passes through. I swallow down the bile trying to claw its way up and out. I knew things had been hard, but this is worse than I thought. I hear Mom coming and quickly stack the envelopes, then throw a Costco mailer over the top.

“He’s asleep,” Mom says. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I know how busy you are.”

“It’s fine,” I say.

Mom has her arms crossed over her chest and is staring at the desk. I want to say something about the bills I saw. I want to ask how I can help, but I can’t. I can’t open my mouth. Money isn’t something we talk about. Ever. Somehow, it’s more taboo than sex in my house.

“You probably need to go,” she says, an uneasy smile on her face and her eyes darting from me to the desk.

“Right, yes,” I say.

I shrug and hold my arms out. We embrace each other and, somehow, it’s awkward. I catch an odd whiff of something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s foul. Like musty, old death. I write it off with the assumption she probably hasn’t taken time to bathe so don’t say anything.

“Love you, sweet pea,” she says.

“Love you too, Mom.”

I go outside to wait. A crushing weight is on my shoulders, and I want to cry. I’ve been self-absorbed with all this stuff happening in my life while my mom is carrying this weight alone. I’ve been selfish, concerned with my problems, and not giving a thought to anyone or anything else. Everything feels wrong. What am I going to do?

ChapterSeven

Between Dugaldand my dad I’ve missed all my morning classes, leaving me with too much time on my hands. Yawning, I make my way toReduxto get a coffee. I should sleep, but even if I try, I won’t. I’ve never been good at naps and I’m worse now than before. Every time I shut my eyes, I see Duncan being run through by a sword or worse. It’s really bad when being run through is the good outcome.

Head down, shoulders knotting, and a headache forming, I push through the door to the coffee shop. The strong aromas of fresh roasted beans and the ambient buzz of jazzed up students studying are a refreshing blast. I inhale deep, intimately aware of the way the caffeine laden air alights my synapses. This is exactly what I need.

I get in line to order and wait my turn before ordering a quad espresso with a splash of heavy cream. The barista writes on the side of the cup and asks if that’s all with a cheery smile.

“You know what, add another shot to it,” I say.

“You’re gonna be bouncing off tha’ walls,” Moira says, appearing next to me so suddenly I jump.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I say, struggling to regain my composure.

“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, I’m just—”

“Exhausted?” she asks, grabbing both my arms and turning me so she can get a full view.

I look like shit, and I know it. There are heavy bags under my eyes that there isn’t a thick enough concealer to hide. The stress is making my skin break out, and when I last caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror I’ve become a lot paler. I barely recognized my own face.

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. We walk to the end of the bar together to wait on my order. “You’re not working?”

“Not right now,” she says. “Nothing but time for me.”

“Must be nice.”

“You need to talk.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but my Midwest upbringing and social machinery rejects the idea out of hand.

“No, it’s fine—”

“It’s not and I won’t take no for an answer.”

She grabs my coffee, then grips one arm tight and guides me to a corner booth. She waits for me to slide in first, then sits on the same side, blocking any possibility of exiting without her permission. It’s odd, but then Moira is kind of a bohemian eccentric, so I let it go.

“I’m fine,” I protest.

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