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The chair squeaks back. “Mom! I just woke up.”
“Yes, but an hour from now you won’t have time because you’ll be rushing out the door to see Reagan. Sorry, this is important. Now sit back down.”
My breath holds. Until a couple months ago, there’d have been no question he’d comply. Something has shifted lately. I don’t know why.
On the back of his head, the adorable cowlick that’s been a thorn in my side many school mornings over the years stands tall as he reseats himself, a churlish set to his mouth.
Here goes nothing.
“You got home at one o’clock, Jacob.”
“So?” Biceps that have been growing in the last weeks swell as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“So, not only did you blow off curfew last night, you weren’t home when you told me you’d be.” With stormy rain pounding the window beside me, I’d worried more than ever.
Huffing, he rolls his eyes toward the window over the sink where freshly washed sunlight streams in.
I should have addressed this last night, but I couldn’t. John the Jerk sapped all myoomph, which isn’t to say there was much there to begin with. These recent go-rounds with Jacob are exhausting.
“What does it matter? I was just at Reagan’s house.”
He says it carelessly, as if hanging ‘til all hours with his girlfriend is a silly concern.
“Jacob…”
“Her parents were there. So were her brothers.” He punctuates the declaration with a word of which I don’t approve.
Sighing, I pick my battle. “Are you saying you two were with her parents the whole night?”
He squirms in the chair.
I’ve met the parents in question, and, while nice enough, they give off definite kids-will-be-kids vibe. Worse, in that massive house of theirs, I figure a full mile might separate Reagan’s room and theirs, and I’m not so certain we share the same concern in the first place.
Same goes for her brothers—which brings me to the second matter. “I’ve told you I don’t want you going over there anymore.”
This time he pops forward. “That’s so unfair! What do you have against Andy and Alex?”
My mouth works. I already know the mother’s intuition argument doesn’t work with him. “Jacob, you can’t afford any more trouble. You have to—”
“I’m not getting in more trouble, and I told you I wasn’t selling drugs in the first place!”
“I know that, but Ja—”
“Then you should trust me. It’s crap that you won’t let me go to my own girlfriend’s house.”
“I…”
Suddenly, it’s like his argument scores a point, even though I know in my heart of hearts that I’m right. I’m not being irrational, neurotic, or unfair, it’s just…I can’t deal right now. With him, with my fears.
Sighing all the way to and from my core, I stand up and walk toward the door. “We’ll talk tonight.”
And then I leave the room, the bitter taste of failure on my tongue.
Chapter 3
Hollie
Did I say I like mornings? My bad.
