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If I could protect her by taking the blame and the burden, I would in a heartbeat, but that might not be possible this time, and Gia’s going to have to keep her head high through it all.
Without me.
“I wish Mom was here.”
That only makes me angrier, and I can’t keep the spite from my voice as I reply, “Mom is at her very important boyfriend Jim Langley’s house schmoozing her way to fame at some stupid networking party and couldn’t give two fucks about us and what’s going on, Gia.”
“She’s still our mom. You don’t know that she doesn’t care.”
Oh, she cares, all right; she cares about using us to get famous with no regard to how we feel or how she’d drag us through the mud to do it. But other than that? She couldn’t care less.
“Yes, I do know she doesn’t care, Gia, and deep down you know it too.”
Gia jumps up from her chair. “But she was here! She asked to see you! Zia Stella is going to turn me in, but I couldn’t do it then and I can’t do it now. You mentioned Mom’s boyfriend’s house is in Malibu, and a Greyhound from the bus stop in town goes right there, so we can be there in like a day! I bet if I just saw Mom, she’d take me in, she’d understand, she’d know what to do.”
A burning heat scorches my insides as my blood boils.
I don’t want to crush Gia’s view of Florence, but I also don’t want her to hold on to false hope and think Mom will swoop in to save the day. She’s too old and knows better than to have fantasies that make Florence out to be something she’s not, something she’llneverbe.
“The only thing Mom understands is how to use people to get what she wants. The sooner you accept that, the better.”
Gia frowns down at her feet but doesn’t argue, and I let it go. We have bigger things to worry about than Mom right now.
My phone vibrates. It’s Isla saying she’s outside.
“Shit.”
I text her back quickly and grab the bag Gia and I were wrestling over from the floor. Unzipping it reveals Brandon’s phone, still in its obnoxious phone case emblazoned with the gold letterB, and I bring it with me to my room.
“Where are you going?” Gia asks, trailing after me.
“My ride is here.”
“You’re really going to work? Can’t you stay so we can sort this out? I don’t know what to do!”
After throwing Brandon’s phone in my desk drawer, I grab my purse from where it hangs on my closet door handle and almost bump into Gia when I turn.
“No, I’m not going to work.” There’s no way I can walk around and smile and make small talk andof course Ican get you more extra salsa for the fifth time in three minuteswhen everything is falling apart.
“Then where are you going?” she asks, staying on my heels as I walk through the hall and down the stairs.
My phone beeps again, but it’s not Isla asking what’s taking so long—it’s my phone telling me my battery is about to die. I throw it into my purse to worry about later.
“I’m just going to run in to work and pick up my check for the last two weeks and ask for this week’s check now. I’ll only be an hour, max. Then I’ll be back, and we can make a game plan.”
“But why? What do you need the money for?”
“Just in case,” I say, slipping on my shoes and pulling on my jacket. I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do, but I need to dosomethingother than sit here and feel useless, and at least this way I’m taking some type of action and feeling like I’m in control, something that’s slipping from me more and more every day.
Her eyes widen. “In case what?”
I don’t want to run through the possible scenarios with her out loud and stress us both out more, so instead I say, “I don’t know, Gia. In case.”
She worries her lip, and I have to force myself to calm my own inner panic and look at her. “Why don’t you start on your homework to keep your mind occupied? I’ll be back before you even know it. We’ll figure it out. We’re in this together, always, okay?”
Without looking at me, she mumbles, “I’m always making your life harder. I can never do anything right.”
There’s a deep ache in my chest at her words, and I want to wrap her up in my arms and convince her that neither of the things she just said is true. But my phone vibrates in my purse, and this time it’s probably Isla wondering what’s taking me so long.
