He sweeps past me, our bare arms brushing.
A wild spark flares between us, enough so that Parrish actually stops and looks back at me. But instead of confusion or curiosity showing on his face, he looks almost … scared? That emotion fades in the blink of an eye and then he’s back to being pissed off again. His perpetual default.
He turns away, even as I open my mouth to speak. Whatever I was going to say is lost, and I swallow back the emotion like I always do.
Back inside the house, I find Kimber chatting happily in Maxx’s direction as Tess looks down at her phone with a slight crease in her brow. She pauses to glance up at me, this softening of her features reminding me of my sister when she was looking at Maxx. It might not be romantic love, but it’s love all the same. Tess is looking at me like she needs me, and I don’t know how to process that. I might’ve developed inside her belly, she might’ve changed my diapers and breastfed me and cared for me for two years, but … I don’t remember her at all. Except for the smell of her perfume, that is.
I look away, toward the pretentious white marble floor.
“We're ordering dinner in, Mi—” Tess pauses again, and I glance up to see both Parrish and Maxx staring at her. “Dakota,” she corrects, like the word is foreign and sticky in her mouth.
You can do this, Dakota, I tell myself, thinking of my grandmother’s anguished face, of my grandfather’s broken ankle, of my sister hugging me so tightly that I forgot how to breathe.
“Come look at the menu and pick something out.”
“Usually, you just click our saved order,” Kimber says, her voice more caustic and biting than Parrish’s even. Honestly, if I were forced to choose between them for an arena battle, I’d pick Parrish as my opponent. Kimber is harboring so much resentment for me, it makes Parrish’s feel like a drop in the ocean. “We order from there all the time; we have a saved family order.” She sounds furious about it.
“Well, we have a new family member to add to our order,” Tess says, her voice halfway between understanding and angry. “Besides, Maxx is here—”
“Maxx’s order is saved in your phone, too,” Kimber interjects, turning her matching raven eyes over to me. “You're the only person here who doesn't belong.”
“Kimber Celeste!” Tess snaps, finally losing that tentative control on her cool. “I have a deadline this week, your father has five surgeries scheduled, and your sister is trying to adjust to her new life. Have some compassion.” She hands me her phone as I feel a small surge of triumph beneath my ribs. You go, Tess! But the outburst fades as quick as it came when Kimber’s eyes tear up and she turns on her heel to race down the hall toward the stairs. With a sigh, Tess follows after her. “You can go ahead and place the order once you’ve chosen,” she tells me, reaching up to cup the side of my face and then pausing at the last second, like she’s thought better of it.
Tess disappears after her daughter—her real daughter—and I’m left to float there in the middle of the cavernous living room like a boat with no sails. The sadness comes roaring back with a vengeance, and my arms pebble with goose bumps.
“Hey,” Maxx says softly, drawing my attention back over to him. His shoulders are a bit broader than Parrish’s, like he doesn’t work out just for his physique, but like it’s a part of who he is. Maxine did describe him as some sort of up-and-coming motocross star, so I suppose that makes sense. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn't she be?” Parrish scoffs dismissively, wincing as he turns the sink on and begins to wash his tattoo with some orange Dial soap. He watches me, rather than his tattoo. I ignore him as best I can. I try, I really do, but I’ve only got so much in me.
Without really looking at the menu on Tess’ phone, I click the most appealing thing I see—it just so happens we’re ordering Mexican food, and I’ve chosen street tacos—and submit the order.
“Because her entire life has been upended,” X says, his voice patient but verging on frustration. He gives his friend a look that Parrish doesn’t notice because he’s still staring at me. “Your mom can’t even call her by the right name.”
“Mia is her name,” Parrish snaps back, finally deigning to glance Maxx's way. “It’s printed right there on her birth certificate, the one that’s fucking framed and hung on the wall in the entryway.” He turns back to me, his expression less cruel but somehow harder to look at. Resolute, is what it is. He delivers the next words to me, not like an insult, but like a fact that I damn well better get used to. “Tess is your mother—your real mother. She picked the name Mia. She raised you until you were taken from her, and then she ran herself into the ground looking for you. Fight it all you want, but you’re Mia Patterson. Dakota is just the name given to you by some filthy fucking drug addict. You know why she picked you, right? They told you that part?”
