Page 55 of The Devil and His Sparrow

FRIDAY CREPT UP ON ME, and now that it was time to go out with Mom, nerves burrowed deep into my skin. I’d hyped myself up to talk and speak my mind about what I wanted—a bit more privacy, the freedom to eat and dress how I wanted, the choice to listen to music again—but now that she was on her way to get me, I was ready to jump ship. I paced my living room in my pleated pants and crisp blouse as I chewed on my thumb nail.

“You can do it,” I chanted to myself. “It’s just talking. You can talk to your mom.”

My lunch from hours earlier threatened to come back up.

I can’t do this.

Zagan was still in New York. I had no idea what he was doing right now, but before I could think about what I was doing, I reached for my phone to call him. I needed his deep, sultry voice to calm me down before I paced a hole right through my floorboards.

“Zagan’s phone,” a chipper male voice answered. It took me a moment to recognize it as Xander.

“Um—”

A shuffle erupted, and I heard Zagan’s distant voice demanding his phone back. After a few seconds of major commotion, Zagan finally said, “Iyla? Sorry about that. Xander took my phone.”

I closed my eyes and waved my hand dismissively, even though he couldn’t see me. I had bigger worries than Xander. “I can’t do it, Zagan. I’m freaking out. I—I’m just going to go through dinner how we normally would. In silence.”

“Hey, hey. Deep breath. You’re psyching yourself out. You’re the one who said you wanted to be free, remember? This isn’t free, Iyla. It’s fear.”

I worked to calm my breathing like he said, and hearing his voice helped to get my sporadic heartbeat a bit more under control. It didn’t stop the anxiety crashing through me, however.

“I—”

My phone chimed in my ear. I pulled it away to look at the notification, and my stomach plummeted when I saw the text from my mom.

“Oh god, she’s here,” I shrieked in a panic.

“You can do this, Iyla,” Zagan encouraged calmly. “You can talk to her.”

“I wish you were here,” I groaned, holding my head. The air lodged in my throat when I realized what I’d just said, and I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I mean … I … you know … bye.”

I hung up and stared at the end call screen. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that to him. Our friendship was still new, and I wasn’t sure how to feel just yet about how easy and comfortable I felt with him. So to admit that being around him made me feel better was kinda embarrassing.

I pushed that mortification down as I took a deep breath and prepared to walk downstairs to meet my mom. It was amazing how I’d gone from being so excited to spend time with her to making myself a trembling, sweating idiot over it. That was my sign that talking about my future and potential slack in rules wasn’t an option.

I made my way downstairs and outside to where Mom’s car sat idle by the curb. I climbed in and offered her a smile. “Hey. Thanks for picking me up.”

She nodded and pulled away from the curb. “I hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to that new restaurant that just opened downtown.”

The place she referred to was a new local high end eatery that had a variety of food. My chest warmed when I realized she was taking me to such a nice place, and it made relaxing in my seat easier. I couldn’t remember the last time Mom had done something so thoughtful for me.

“That sounds wonderful. Thanks, Mom.”

The car fell quiet with only the sounds of exterior traffic filling the space. I swallowed and twiddled my thumbs in my lap as I searched for something to say. It was typical for our car rides to be quiet, but this was a special day. I wanted things to be different today and maybe even change how we interacted with each other in the future. Her decision to take me somewhere nice only fueled that hope.

“How was work?” I asked.

She glanced at me then focused on the road again. “Busy.”

I waited for her to elaborate, but nothing more came. All I got was the one word, but hey, that was one more word than what we’d usually share.

Baby steps.

After twenty minutes, we pulled up to the brick restaurant. I walked alongside my mom in her cream pantsuit. Her hair was pulled back in a perfect French twist with not a single strand out of place. I’d tried to put on my own dignified outfit to impress her, but I had no idea if it worked. She hadn’t complained about what I wore, so I assumed that meant I’d succeeded.

The hostess greeted us, confirmed our reservation, and immediately led us into the packed, dimly lit dining room. Mom and I took our seats at a table off to the side.

“What can I get you two to drink?” the waiter asked.

---