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“Do you have to go?”
“No. I can’t leave you. Not again. I said my goodbyes. Look, ‘Me, I have to run. Please make dinner so I have something to eat when I get back.”
She leaves in a haste, and I close the door behind her. Her words were harsh but true.
When she came back on my birthday, she got everything out of me. I was in such a state, everything came pouring out. She got angry, sad, but mainly scared for me. She put me back on my feet, she took care of me like the amazing mother she is.
Now, she feels she made a mistake leaving me alone. I dated Nathan, I got attacked at the shop, Jake and Nathan had a fight in this house, Rose fired a gun. She knows it all and she’s terrified to leave me on my own.
She trusted me and I broke that trust for selfish reasons. I broke her trust to have a liar in my bed and to share a relationship with Jake. One that he threw away after he got what he wanted. He walked away like it meant nothing. It probably didn’t.
I’m barely done making dinner when someone knocks on the front door. Filipino pancit noodles, like my dad taught me. Except I cook mine without celery. I hate celery.
I walk around the kitchen bar and the few steps that take me to the door. Mom finally had a peephole installed after everything that happened. I recognize the face on the other side straight away and open the door wide. I gasp as soon as I see her. I hadn’t noticed the black eye through the peephole.
“Shit, Rose,” I gasp.
I step away from the door to let her in. She’s got a sleepover bag with her, and I just know it’s one of those nights.
“Don’t swear,” she says as she gets in. “It looks ugly on you.”
I chuckle before walking to the kitchen counter. I should have never told her my dad hated cursing. I know she’s following, and when I turn around, she’s dropping her bag by the sofa.
“Are you hungry,” I ask?
“Nah.” I watch as she grabs a cigarette from her pack and goes to the kitchen door. The one that leads to the tiny backyard on the other side. It’s about big enough for three people. “Back in a second,” she states as she unlocks the door and goes out.
When she comes back, her voice is even raspier from the smoke, and she smells of cold cigarettes. I’ve put pancit on two plates despite her reluctance to eat. She locks the kitchen door and I’m right behind her when she turns around, holding both plates.
“Shoes,” I growl looking at her feet.
I’m probably the least threatening person to her. Our height difference is laughable, and I have to tilt my head back to look into her eyes. I’m wearing pastel pink fluffy pajamas and she’s in her usual black jeans and a gray sweater under her black leather jacket. Her go-to winter outfit outside of school.
I’m so non-threatening, yet she still hurries to take her black combat boots off. That’s the thing with Rose, she doesn’t do things because of threats. She’ll listen if she likes you. Period.
God, my dad would have freaked out if he had seen her walk around the house with her shoes on. It’s a big no-no that my mom took years to get used to. Yet now she can’t stand shoes in the house either.
“You need to eat,” I order as I walk to the sofa and put both our plates on the coffee table.
“I’m not hungry.” She slumps on the sofa, next to me, and grabs the TV remote. “Desperate Housewives or Kim Kardashian?” she asks.
“It’s called Real Housewives, not desperate housewives,” I chuckle as I grab the remote from her.
“They always seem pretty desperate to me,” she laughs back.
“Whatever, it’s a Kardashian kind of night anyway.”
She nods and takes her leather jacket off. She grabs her phone from her back pocket and puts it on the table before settling comfortably on the sofa.
If someone had told me in September that Rose White would be watching reality TV with me on my sofa, I think I would have checked them into a mental institution.
“Oh, wait,” she says as I’m about to press play on my favorite VOD service. She searches for something in her bag and reappears a second later. “For you,” she smiles. That gorgeous smile that looks exactly like her twin’s.
My chest pinches as I grab the paper she’s handing me.
“No way,” I choke as I unfold it. “He signed!”
I look again at Nathan’s signature on the lacrosse trip slip and back up at her. Her long legs are stretched under the coffee table and she’s lazily resting her head on the back of the sofa. My eyes automatically dart to the fresh purple bruise on her face. Her ocean eyes look so dark in the dim light.
