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He thought I was an ally. A confidant. A partner in crime.
He couldn’t have known that Barrett Bloom has always worked alone.
Chapter 10
I DON’T WANT IT TO seem like I went running home to my mom when things got hard, but here I am. In Mercer Island. With my mom.
“Already homesick?” she says when I show up at Ink & Paper. Then she frowns, stepping out from behind the cash register so she can get a better look at me. “Barrett. My darling of darlings. Treasure of treasures. Please don’t tell me this is what you wore on your first day of school?”
After waiting for the bus in the rain, I can only imagine what I look like. The waistband of my leggings has migrated down to my hips, so I reach down and yank them up. I think the hole in the crotch is getting bigger. It’ll be a small miracle if I make it through the rest of the day without flashing anyone my underwear patterned with dancing doughnuts.
The rest of the day. Nope, can’t think that far ahead. Because on the other side of the rest of the day is a fucking black hole.
“Absolutely not,” I tell her, and it isn’t technically a lie. “I changed after my last class.” I pass a display of velvet-covered bullet journals we arranged over the summer. “Does a daughter need a reason to visit her beloved mother?”
She ropes me in for a hug, and I inhale the scent of the organic rose body butter she uses every day. “Is it pathetic to say that I miss you?” she says. “The house just isn’t the same without your wisecracks.”
When I try to laugh, the sound gets lodged in my throat. “See, I’m just looking out for you.”
My mom releases me and rummages for something behind the counter. As expected, she’s in jeans and a graphic tee with a pencil sketch of the Seattle skyline. We have the same shape, curves in places I used to think were supposed to be straight lines until I realized that was bullshit. I’ve always wanted to be as fearless about my body as she is, and even if I’m halfway there on most days, she’s carried hers with confidence for longer than I have, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get there.
The major difference is our hair. Hers is dark blond and cut short, while I have my dad’s side of the family to thank for my tight ringlets.
“Now that you’re here… look what showed up yesterday.” When she holds up a package of greeting cards, I don’t even bother fighting back a squeal.
I know exactly what they are, only because we’ve been talking for the past few months about the new Seattle company that made them, using only found materials and two gorgeous vintage letterpresses we toured over the summer.
“They’re even more perfect in person,” I say, reaching out to stroke one. GREETINGS FROM THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST, the card says, in a perfect blue font swirled with raindrops that dip when I run my thumb along them. “I’ll take twenty.”
My mom tidies up the shop, getting ready to close for the evening, while I hop onto the counter after she insists she doesn’t need my help. It’s not quite as seamless a hop as it was when I was younger, sitting up here and sorting inventory for her.
The shop has been a downtown Mercer Island staple for the past nine years, almost as long as the Blooms. My mom grew up in Seattle and lived with her parents until she graduated college with a business degree, then moved the two of us into a microscopic studio apartment. Mercer Island had been touted as this idyllic Pacific Northwest suburb, the perfect place to raise a family. Plus, there was more space than she had in the city. She found the storefront and an apartment to rent in a single weekend, which she said felt like fate, and her sharp eye and incredible taste made Ink & Paper an almost-instant success.
But Mercer Island was also a place where the line between haves and have-nots was especially stark. By the time we moved into a house, my classmates were remodeling and upgrading and excavating their backyards to add swimming pools.
My mom switches off the lights and locks the doors, and I follow her out to the car. “How do twice-baked potatoes sound?”
“Like cheesy, carby perfection.”
A pause, and then: “You okay if Jocelyn comes over for dinner tonight too?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? She practically lives there anyway.”
“True. But even so… it’s quieter without you there. I didn’t expect that.” Her expression changes. Turning wistful, maybe. “I thought I was prepared to be an empty nester, which still sounds like something I’m nowhere near old enough to be. I know it’s only the first week, and it’ll get easier—for both of us.”
“It will,” I say, hoping I sound more reassuring than I feel.
Now that I’m off campus, I can breathe a bit easier. The air out here is less stifling, almost letting me believe it’s no longer September 21.
Maybe that’s it—the university is cursed, and if I fall asleep here, I’ll wake up where I’m supposed to be.
Unless… I can’t wake up on Wednesday if I simply don’t go to sleep.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.
“So. Are you going to tell me what happened?” my mom asks as we pull into the garage.
“Who said something happened?”
