Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Only the ones with pacts for a limited number of days. What about you?”
“I think monogamy is the only way to have a true connection with someone. I think our society undervalues it.”
“Probably true.”
Her face darkens as she prepares her third and final question. She shoves the cookies away from her and focuses squarely on my face. It makes me squirm because, while I have no idea what she’s going to say, I already know I don’t want to answer it.
“Third question—what did you mean when you told me that your mom is the one who burned you?”
I sit up. I’m acutely aware of how closely she’s observing every move I make. I also know she’s expecting an answer to this—to the one question I avoid from anyone.
My heart sinks as I think about my mom and the circumstances surrounding her leaving Harlee and me.
I don’t want to answer this. I want to avoid it like I always do because it’s not something I talk about to anyone—not even Crew and River. But, for the first time in my life, I can feel a small fissure in my heart that wants to allow some of the story to come out.
Maybe it’ll help lighten my load. Maybe I won’t feel so … alone.
My heart pounds in my chest as I try to figure out where to start and how much to tell her.
The beauty of telling her is that it won’t matter. I can walk out of here tonight and never see her again.
That’s supposed to make me feel better. It doesn’t.
“Hollis?” she asks softly.
“The last time I saw my mother, I was sixteen,” I tell her.
It seems like enough to see how she reacts. Surprisingly, she reaches out and touches my arm.
“I’m sorry. That must be hard. What happened to her?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
My heart sinks as I say the words out loud. I don’t know what happened to my mother.
I could try to figure it out, I’m sure. One night, River looked her up but couldn’t find anything. I figure she’s in jail somewhere, rotting away for some misdeed.
“I was six when she lost custody of Harlee and me the first time,” I say, staring at the wall ahead of me. “We left for school, and Child Protective Services picked us up around lunchtime. Apparently, our parents had a meth lab in the basement, and they got hauled off to jail as one does when things like that happen.”
She squeaks a gasp. “I’m so sorry, Hollis.”
I can feel Larissa’s gaze on my cheek, but I don’t look at her. I’m afraid of what I might see.
“My sister and I got split up,” I say. “We stayed in touch for a few years, but after that, we lost contact. I have no idea what happened to her.”
“I can’t imagine. I wish I could … help. But … Hollis. I’m so sorry.”
I nod. I get it. But there’s nothing she can do.
“I bounced around from foster family to foster family,” I continue for some strange reason. “In their defense, I wasn’t an easy kid to take care of. I had a ton of energy and a chip on my shoulder, and I ran away from most of them at the first opportunity.”
“That must have been awful for you,” Larissa says. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
I look down at her and hold my breath, expecting to see pity. Instead, I see something else—something warm and kind and hopeful.
I don’t know what to make of that, but it makes me want to keep talking.
“When I was fourteen, my mom got custody back,” I say, my voice staying surprisingly steady. “She didn’t get Harlee, just me. Dad was still in prison, so it was just the two of us.”
My jaw clenches as I remember leaving the foster home I was in and moving back in with her. I didn’t know her anymore and had only seen her a few times at visitation. She didn’t look like the mom I recalled, and I didn’t feel like I knew her—or her me—at all.
“We did okay for the first few months. But then shit got hard, and she lost her job, and we couldn’t afford food. We were going to get evicted. So she got back into her old clique …” Tears sting the corners of my eyes. “And I sold my first bit of dope for her. I was sixteen.”
“Hollis,” Larissa whispers, her voice clearly in shock. “Oh, my gosh.”
I run my tongue over my teeth as I think about how badly all of that could’ve turned out.
“I know,” I say. “She got picked up again a few months after, and I went back into foster care. Stayed with a couple named Philip and Kim, who were too nice to the kid I was back then.”