Page 78 of Cinder
“No.” A small smile flickers. “She didn’t.”
There’s pride in her now, and I realize it’s not for herself—it’s for Elle.
And it hits me in a way I’m not prepared for, because now I think about the way she kneels to talk to Elle instead of speaking over her. The way she lets her answer first and the way she doesn’t rush to fix things for her, just reinforces her independence.
It’s one thing to make my daughter laugh. It’s another to stand guard over her confidence like it’s something worth protecting.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that,” I say. “What Olivia’s mom said.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. And you shouldn’t have had to put up with that shit, either.”
“I know,” she repeats, blue eyes flicking to mine. “But she didn’t handle it alone. I handled it with her.”
I study her across the counter. This woman who stepped into my house with a duffel bag and somehow filled it with noise and light and penguin-shaped sandwiches.
“There’s a crew roast dinner thing at the station tomorrow,” I say. “We do it most Sundays.”
She arches a brow slightly. “Is this some sort of invitation?”
“Yeah.”
It absolutely is. I don’t usually go, not every week at least. Sometimes I use the excuse of being tired, other times I just don’t feel like being around noise or happy families. But I’ve already agreed to go tomorrow, and when I picture walking in, Penny’s with us.
“It’s loud,” I add. “And Mason’s insufferable when he’s had two beers.”
“I’ve met Mason.”
I almost smile.
“We’d love for you to come,” I say, more quietly.
She looks down at her hands. “We?”
“Yes, we. Elle… Me. The crew. You’re part of this.”
Her fingers curl around the edge of the counter a bit harder, and the kitchen goes strangely quiet for a moment. Maybe because she doesn’t believe I mean it.
Maybe because she does.
“Based on earlier today, I’m not sure Maplewood agrees with you,” she says, trying to lighten whatever this is.
“I don’t care what Maplewood agrees with.”
She huffs a soft breath through her nose, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Sorry, it’s just… I’m not really used to people making space for me like this.”
I remember what she’s told me about her stepfamily, but surely there must’ve been some good parts.
“You must’ve had some people,” I say carefully.
“Sure.” Her smile is thin around the edges now. “But usually because of what I could do for them or who my dad was. Once that stopped being useful…” She shrugs lightly. “Turns out I was pretty replaceable.”
There’s no bitterness in her tone until she adds the next part.
“And the guy I was seeing at the time only liked me for my last name.” She doesn’t look at me as she says it. “I thought he loved me. Turns out he liked the access and the networking—and one of my colleagues—a little too much.”
