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Dammit all.
I love my folks and I’d be hopelessly screwed raising Nell without them. Although they’re part of this whole situation, we’re not exactly co-parenting here.
I don’t need them undermining decisions this big in front of Nell.
Only, it’s too late.
She’s giving me a tense, hopeful look, glancing between me and my father like she’s begging him to veto me on this.
Fortunately, Dad has the good sense to keep his mouth glued shut.
“The answer’s still no,” I say firmly. “Considering you tried to pull one over on me, you’re lucky I don’t ground you. Now finish your ice cream so we can go home. I want your homework done before dinner.”
Nell’s nose scrunches up and her mouth quivers.
For a second, I think she’s about to burst into a proper tantrum—but then she catches herself.
She’s been doing that a lot more lately. Too grown-up to cry, trying to be a big girl and act ladylike. So after a few trembling moments, she sniffs and lifts her chin.
“I’m not speaking to you,” she announces.
“Fine,” I answer, exchanging patient looks with my parents. “As long as you get your homework done, you don’t have to.”
Nell doesn’t answer.
Guess she’s serious about the silent treatment then.
What the fuck ever.
That leaves things a little quiet and strained, the adults talking about Redhaven’s latest gossip while Nell makes a very loud, spoon-clanking show of finishing her ice cream.
There’s really not much else to say.
My parents and I keep in regular contact, and it’s a small town—everyone knows what’s going on with everyone else, and when you’re not the gossipy type, there’s not much to add.
I see enough truth behind the rumors up close, the petty and ugly and explosive.
That doesn’t stop Ma from making a pointed comment about hearing a certain someone’s back in town.
My father gives me a knowing look.
Shit, I should’ve expected this.
I just grunt and ignore them, but I guess it’s proof how mad Nell really is when that doesn’t even get her to prick up her nosy little ears. The kid’s a diabolical little gossip in the making, always up in everyone’s business and connecting dots most grown-ups wish she couldn’t string together.
Half the time, I’m proud of her when she’s smart as a whip.
The other half, I wonder if she’s too old to keep quiet with a pacifier.
Some of the stuff that comes out of her mouth would make the Pope blush.
When everyone’s done, I kiss my mother’s cheek, let my father clap a friendly hand to my shoulder, then usher a sulking Nell outside to the car.
As I tuck her into the passenger seat and watch her to make sure she fastens her seat belt, something hits me.
Don’t know what to call it. An instinct,I guess, like somebody just touched the back of my neck with ice-cold fingertips.
It makes me look up just in time.
