Page 30 of Ladybirds

“You didn’t know you could,” he says softly. When she looks, he’s watching the tv without really seeing it.

Sara closes her eyes, breathing shaky. “But I wanted to.” She wished so desperately for him to hurt, she managed to do what should have been impossible.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “But given the situation, I can hardly fault you for it. Let’s just consider ourselves lucky you didn’t feel the urge to go to any more drastic measures, shall we?”

They both fall into silence. On the television, Maria takes her cheating husband into her arms and forgives him and (despite not having watched any of the previous episodes) Sara finds herself as disappointed as Seth is.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sara hates that her first day back to school is literature.

She’s dreading the make-up work with a fierceness that leaves her equal parts nervous and resigned. Her professors have already agreed to give her two weeks to catch up, no points docked, but Sara suspects her grade will suffer despite their kindness. Math is one thing—it’s all just numbers—but the reading and essays from the other two classes are going to bury her.

So, when Jen suggests they meet for lunch after class, Sara accepts. Not because she needs a Vietnamese coffee (she does) but because maybe, just maybe, the promise of hot noodles and a sugared dose of caffeine will be enough to get her through her class in one piece.

When her alarm goes off, she flirts with the idea of begging for one more day off and canceling her plans for lunch. Her eyes itch and her limbs feel heavy. A glance in the closet mirror proves that she looks as much of a mess as she feels. Sara stares at her reflection a full five minutes before the alarm goes off again and she groans.

If she cancels, Jen will worry. If she cancels, she might show up here.

She doesn’t need to look around to know her apartment is unsuitable for company. There are dirty dishes scattered like landmines throughout, the carcass of a rotisserie chicken still sitting on the counter, and the litter box so overdue for cleaning she cringes every time she walks into the bathroom. It’s easier to make herself presentable.

She drags herself out from under the covers, one grudging limb at a time. At the foot of her bed, Ansel twitches; his paw reaching up to cover his face. Sara scratches the top of his head, giving him a soft kiss on his furred cheek, and smiles when he gives a grumbled whine.

At least one of them gets to stay in bed.

The pho is hot; the broth warming her stomach and drawing a contented sigh from her lips.

Jen reaches for a spring roll, glancing up at her carefully. “So how was class?”

Sara finishes slurping up her bite of noodles before answering. “Do you want to do my make-up work? I’ll pay in love and affection.”

Jen gives a sympathetic twinge. “That bad, huh?”

Sara doesn’t justify her question with an answer, but she does drink another spoonful of broth. By far, one of the best things about living in the city is having access to the types of food she’d have to drive over forty minutes to an hour for back at home.

She stills at the thought, heart cringing at the reminder that she’s supposed to visit her father in a few days. “I’m going to see Dad this weekend,” she says, because as much as she’s dreading it, she’d rather talk about him than Oma. The tattoo on her hip is healing nicely, but the scars on her heart run far deeper. She’s not ready for those wounds to be prodded.

Jen’s answering smile is awkward—a strange mix of sympathy and hope that only she’s ever been able to pull off. “Maybe it’ll be ok?”

“Yeah,” Sara mutters, “Maybe.” She stirs the soup, watching the noodles swirl in the bowl. “How’s it going with your family?”

Jen rolls her eyes. “Oh, you know. My mom still hates my future husband. So that’s been great. I told her I wasn’t going to do a bridal shower, and she flipped her lid.”

Sara stills, eyes darting to Jen’s face. “You don’t want a shower?”

“With my mom? There, in a confined space, with Miles’ family?” She shakes her head, leaning into the back of her chair. “Yeah, no. I’d never put my in-laws through that. I love my mom, but she’s a straight-up Karen. Which is hilarious because,” Jen gestures pointedly to herself—sculpted eyebrows raising. “Not like she adopted a baby straight out of China or anything.”

Sara cringes. She doesn’t disagree. Mrs. Foster is the type of woman to sing her daughter’s praises one moment and then condemn immigrants the next. “Yeah, I see your point.”

Jen sighs, raising her cup of coffee mockingly. “Yay for problematic parents!”

“We should start a club.”

“Who should be president?”

Sara pretends to think about it. “Well, your dad is pretty chill, so I guess I win with two for two.”

Jen snorts on a laugh, a delicate hand covering her mouth. “God, it would be the most popular club on campus.”

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