Page 2 of Forget

I haven’t come into my designation yet, but Mom was an omega. I’ve always craved blankets, comfort, and cleanliness, which are all omega traits. I’m also very pragmatic. I can’t afford to have feelings right now.

Brushing away the tears still trailing down my cheeks that call me a liar, I take a deep breath as I pull my burner phone from my back pocket. No matter what happened with our finances, Mom always made sure we could communicate.

Calling my boss, I force huge lungfuls of air through my chest as I try to make sure my voice sounds calm and collected. Mr. Lars isn’t exactly the most patient of people.

“Hello?”he says gruffly, making me swallow hard. Damn, he already sounds annoyed. “I’m a little busy here, Aisling.”

“I know, that’s why I’m calling,” I explain, speaking quickly before he hangs up. “My plans changed. Do you need an extra pair of hands today?”

An extra six hour shift will at least help me put away some money, since Mom went grocery shopping yesterday. My landlord is a busybody. I’m sure he’ll notice soon that my mom isn’t coming and going from the apartment.

A part of me also thinks he pays too much attention to her, but my mom is polite and firm when she refuses his continuous requests for a date.

God, I can’t believe this is happening.

“Aisling?”Mr. Lars asks, and I can tell he’s been trying to get my attention. Shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m here, Sir,” I say quickly. “Did you need help today?”

“Yeah, I do. You sound… odd. Why?”he asks.

Why is he being a decent human? I can’t handle people being nice to me. I’ll crumble.

“No reason,” I insist. “I’ll be there soon. Just need to get settled since it was a half day at school. Thanks for letting me come in, Mr. Lars!”

He didn’t actually say that he would, but sometimes you have to fake it, a lot, to make it.

“Yeah, okay, kid. If you say so. You can help Rachel on a register,” he mutters.

Hanging up, I change into a pair of basic black pants and my uniform shirt. Stopping in the bathroom, I wash off my makeup that’s now ruined, but carefully apply some concealer to hide how swollen under my eyes are.

Scraping back my blonde hair into a ponytail, I secure it and then put little flower earrings in. Anything to find a little happiness.

March will always be marred for me now. Glancing at the time, I rush out of the bathroom and grab my keys, purse, sweatshirt, and phone. Minneapolis is cold and unpredictable in early spring.

I’ve seen weather in the upper seventies, and snow drifts that have forced schools to close other years. It’ll only get worse, to be honest. I’m not looking forward to being homeless here for long.

I don’t want to turn into a popsicle because I couldn’t find shelter one night. Homeless shelters when you’re alone and a minor can get dicey. As long as the intake people don’t show too much interest and threaten to call child services, you’re fine.

It’s the nosy do-gooders that are the problem. They ask too many questions.

Thankfully, it’s in the upper forties, and my sweatshirt is very warm. Pulling the hood over my head, I huddle inside of it, shoving my hands into my pockets. I have to leave now so Mr. Lars won’t yell at me for being late.

This is why I always try to be nice to people. You never know if someone’s mother has dropped dead on them unexpectedly, or what they’re going through in their lives.

My footsteps slow as I see my mom lying on the couch, I blink rapidly to dispel the emotion threatening to take me over again. My landlord is technically allowed to enter the apartment without permission at any time, which means he could find her here and kick me out. My heart pounds as I let the full meaning of what that means flow over me. Please, please don’t come in.

Tip-toeing past Mom as if she’ll sit up and start to talk to me, I slip out the door to head to work. I’m a good kid, but I still worry about getting into trouble. Hell, I’m not supposed to close the coffee shop since I’m sixteen.

I have a hard time saying ‘no’ to Mr. Lars though, so on occasion, I’ll do it.

My mom would have to hide a smile whenever I came home begging for forgiveness because I broke a rule. She wanted me to be safe, happy, and not have to worry about getting into a situation that I couldn’t handle.

I appreciate that she was always my safety net.

I already miss it.

“Bye, Mom,” I say softly out of habit as I lock the door, walking quickly down the hall.

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