Page 34 of Ladybirds

She fights the urge, the instinct, to defend him. “Do you have to sit back there? It’s weird.”

A blink later and his form fills the passenger seat, the dim light from the console casting shadows over his features. “Does that mean we’re not talking about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she snaps. She hates that her voice is as rough as the gravel crunching beneath her tires. She hates the burning in her eyes even more.

Seth is silent, but Sara can feel his gaze. They pass the mailbox, and she turns off the driveway onto cracked asphalt. In the distance, she can see the faint glow of the highway. Minutes pass, and Sara thinks he may (for once) leave it alone.

She always has given him too much credit.

“You know, I had a dear friend with a similar situation once. His father was a right piece of work.”

“Good for him.”

“I’m doing my very best to do the empathy thing you lot prattle on about. Do you mind?”

“Yes, yes I do. I mind. Can you please just drop it?”

“Well, I suppose since you asked so nicely,” he grumbles.

A moment of silence, and then it spills out of her like a flood. “God, he’s just such a—and it’s not like he’s even paying for it!”

Seth tsks, voice dripping with disgust. “Deplorable.”

“Why does he even care?! He’s never cared. Never. Now, suddenly, he’s all invested in what I do with my life?” She shakes her head, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. “God, he’s such a, a—”

Seth cuts her off, his words strained. “Sara, pet, perhaps you should pull over.”

The glare she sends him is swift, but sharp. “You’re the one who—”

“Yes, but you’re damn near double the speed limit, and I’d rather prefer you stick around a bit longer.”

Immediately, her foot relieves pressure off the gas—her mouth going dry when she catches sight of the speedometer. “Oh. Thanks.” Then, his words registering, she adds, “And I’m not your pet.”

He chuckles, but Sara doesn’t dare take her eyes off the road to read his expression. “Course not, Princess.”

Sometimes, she swears she could strangle him. “I’m not that either.”

“Sure you are. It’s in your name.”

“In my—what are you even talking about?”

“Your name.” Sara can practically hear his eyes rolling. “Honestly, have you never looked it up?”

His meaning strikes her, and she can’t suppress the groan that leaves her lips. “Oh. My. God.”

“Ah, there it is. The sweet sound of understanding.”

“How do you even know that? Like, do you just browse baby name books for fun?”

She can see him shrugging from the corner of her eye. “Live long enough and you pick some things up.”

“Like baby names?”

“Like languages,” he snips. “Honestly, did you think I’ve been hanging around your flannel loving lot this entire time? The world is a big place, seeing it has been one of the few upsides to my irritatingly persistent condition.”

Sara turns onto the highway, checking over her shoulder as she merges. “I really don’t understand the vendetta you have against flannel.”

“Simple. It’s flannel.”

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