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I never understood why she felt the need to go into such detail about everything. Mentioning the bread rolls was enough. We all knew the cake was for her to sneak in after midnight. Gremlin, she was.
Maybe because she knew I was sort of a foods girl. Food was my weakness—more like my kryptonite—and she hated that I didn’t try harder to burn off the calories or maintain a strict diet like she forced herself to do.
Unlike her, I refused to eat a single pea, drink a full glass of water, and then claim myself full. I’m full when I’m actually full.
“Anyway,” she waved a hand in the air. “I was coming up to tell you so you don’t make plans. Your father would like you there. It will be served at 6:30. Don’t be late to the dinner table.”
“Sure,” I muttered beneath my breath as she walked towards the door.
Before she could go, she glanced back, giving me an odd look as she ran her eyes all over me in my shorts and cami—no bra.
Turning, she said, “Last night, Mrs. Tiller said she saw you getting out of a truck—a truck she’d never seen before. She thought it was a young man driving?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed and her shoulders squared. “Are you dating someone?”
“No,” I lied.
“Who do you know that drives a truck? Was it a friend of Kylie’s? You know, I really don’t like you hanging with that girl. She’s very obnoxious and not very classy. She takes everything as a joke when you need serious peers—people that will steer you in the right direction, which is upwards and beyond, not backwards.”
“Mom, can you get out of my room?” I thinned my eyebrows, staring at her like a hawk. “I don’t care what you think of Kylie. You can’t change our friendship. I hang out with her because she understands me. She’s my best friend because, unlike you and all those serious people, she isn’t judging me all the time or criticizing every aspect of my life. Wait—no. There was Mitch, but you know… he’s gone now.” I held my hands out and shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.
Mom’s face went blank, as it always did when I said the name she was so afraid to say, but then something else filled her eyes. I swear it was remorse.
She knew how close Mitchell and I were.
She knew he was my only real friend growing up.
Not only that, but something told me that Mom only came up to my room and talked to me because she wanted to have some sort of connection with me—even if it was an annoying, bitchy type of connection.
That mother and teenage daughter connection.
Without much thought, she straightened herself up, adjusting her red blouse and flipping her curls back. “Be at dinner, Jennifer. Dressed properly and on time.” She walked away with those last words, out of my room and down the stairs.
I didn’t care.
I sat back down, grabbing my cellphone off the pillow. I sent Drake a text before I could start thinking about what I said about Mitchell. I knew Drake was probably working, but I was starting to miss him and now I needed to see him.
I needed to laugh or relax or something. Or maybe I just wanted to be so close to him that all I could feel, all I could think, and all I could do was be consumed by him.
Instead of texting me back, he called, and a grin swept over my face when I saw his name pop up on the screen.
“Hi,” I breathed.
“Hey, Snoop.”
“Are you busy?” I asked. I heard pans clanking in the background and deep laughter. It was most likely the twins.
“On break right now. Was just about to call you.” I can hear the delight in his voice.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m serious. I told you I would call. You just didn’t give me enough time.” He was such a smug little bastard.
“Sure,” I teased. “So how was the showdown thingy last night?”
He was quiet for a moment. “It was okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Just okay.”
I sighed. “Did any fighting happen?”
“Jenny, don’t,” he mumbled.
“What?!” I pleaded.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re interested or that you like what I do.”
“But I am interested and I’m okay with what you do.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“So fill me in? Any fighting?”
“None. Just a bunch of yelling, showboating, chair throwing.”
“Yeah?”
“Lots of sweat too,” he laughed as if he recalled something funny. “The AC went out. People got irritable.”
“Sounds exactly like the Dawg Pit I visited.”
“Yep.”
I was quiet for a second. I listened to the twins cackling like banshees in the background. Sighing, I focused on C.C. in the recliner.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I frowned. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”
“You’re quiet. Are you thinking?”
“I tend to think a lot.”
“What are you thinking about right now?” His voice was relaxed and soothing. I wanted to open right up to him, but I held back.
