“Decide to take me up on my offer to go furniture shopping?” she asks, a tremor of excitement in her voice that she tries to hide. Uh-oh. If that’s her expectation for this meeting, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.
You aren’t giving this a real shot, Dakota, I tell myself, but it hurts too much to try. And I’m so emotionally drained, I can barely breathe through the tears sometimes. I never expected to feel this lonely, to feel this disconnected from Sally and Nevaeh, to miss home so bad that I get dizzy thinking about it. Shit, I knew it would be hard, but not this hard.
“Actually, I was wondering if we couldn’t give my grandparents the money to send the rest of my things over?”
There’s a long pause where Tess waffles between being pleased that I’m looking to make a more permanent stand here—not by choice—and irritated that I’ve called the Banks family my grandparents.
“Yes, of course, honey. I’ll shoot them an email tonight and send the money in the morning.”
A slight smile plays over my lips, but not because of Tess. Because my grandparents are highly unlikely to check their emails anytime soon.
“I could call them?” I suggest, hope burgeoning in my chest. If I called from Tess’ phone, they might answer.
“Honey,” Tess begins, letting her voice trail off. She looks so … Seattle, dressed in an expensive dress shirt paired with Birkenstocks. Her makeup is flawless, the lake stretched out and shimmering outside her office window. There’s this ‘outdoor chic’ look that everyone in the Pacific Northwest seems to be obsessed with. Like, they wear hiking boots or expensive Fjallraven outdoor gear whether they’re going on a hike or not. Just to be fair, they do seem disturbingly obsessed with hikes, coffee shops, and telling everyone who wants to listen how much they hate people from California.
“Then you’ll have to call them. My grandparents are old school; they check their emails once a week and they ignore texts.” I focus on my breathing, struggling to keep the anger and resentment from my voice. Instead of letting me talk to my family to ease the transition, Tess has forbidden me from them. Does she even recognize how cruel that is?
“I can do that,” Tess agrees reluctantly, looking me over. “You look nice today.”
My stomach clenches tight as I consider how to approach this moment. I can’t tell Tess about Maxine or she’ll definitely prevent me from going. But I also can’t run out on her again. The look on her face … I can’t trigger a grieving mother’s PTSD, not even if she’s among my least favorite people in the world right now.
My heart sinks. I’d hoped Tess’ compassion—and obvious guilt—would win out over her jealousy, and that I might be able to convince her to let me see Maxine. But after that reaction to my suggestion about a phone call to my grandparents?
It’s clearly not happening.
“Thanks,” I breathe, and then I turn and head down the hall before the tears can start falling.
“Somebody die, Little Sister?” Chasm asks, leaning against the wall in the hallway with no shirt on. His arms are crossed over his chest, his smile tinted with mischief.
He’s undeniably pretty to look at, but his inked arms and edgy haircut aren’t enough to make up for that rotten personality of his. He may as well be The Prince of Sloths’ personal knight in shining armor, always coming to Parrish’s rescue. Also, he says things to me in Korean that I don’t understand but that—because I am a K-drama freak after all—get the gist of. None of the things he says to me are polite, that much I know whether I speak the language or not.
The only thing Kimber wants to talk about besides TikTok trends is Chasm. Apparently, he’s half Korean, lived in Seoul with his grandmother for the first nine years of his life, and then was shipped over to the US to live with his dad. The way Kimber puts it, his father is basically a sociopath or something. Guess that’s why Chasm’s always hanging out here.
You’d think—you’d think—that our shared past—that is, living with one family in one place and then losing it all to live somewhere else with someone else—would give us some sort of connection. Instead, all this guy has given me is a cocky shell instead of a personality. He behaves like a bodyguard, like he’s Parrish’s only protection against the world. I know absolutely nothing about him other than straight facts and wistful sighs delivered by Kimber. Since it’s the only thing she’ll speak to me about without scowling or insulting me, I listen.
I stop walking, watching as Chasm moves into Parrish’s bedroom and cracks the window, climbs onto the roof, and starts to smoke a cigarette.
