Page 420 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I did what I came here to do. The seed has been planted. There’s no need to go piss on it too. It will sprout all on its own.

Chapter 35

Harper

I knock on the pool house’s door.

“What?”

Not exactly an invitation. If I wasn’t so desperate to get to the bottom of this, I’d have left. But fuck it—I want answers.

Ideserveanswers.

As soon as my mother spots me, her face falls. “What are you doing out of your room?”

“I need to talk to you.”

She shrugs, pursing her lips as she turns her back on me. I stand in the doorway, my guts growing cold. But then I see she’s topping up her glass of wine, and it just happened to be standing behind her.

When she faces me again, it’s with a hard frown. “So talk,” she says, gesturing with her brimming wine glass.

“Can I have a glass?”

We’ve never had a drink together. I guess it says a lot for our relationship that at eighteen, I’ve had more to drink with my stepfather than my real mom.

“That would be illegal.”

I blink a few times and then shake my head. “Illegal,” I parrot.

“You’re not twenty-one.” Mom cocks her head. “Do I need to explain why that matters? No wonder you’re failing.”

My heart’s in my throat. Even my fingertips have gone cold.

I wasn’t expecting a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek or anything, but this? It’s as if I’ve become my mother’s own worst enemy.

“What’s your problem?” The words slip out before I can stop them, but then I’m glad I said them because my mother’s chin moves back and her stare hardens.

“That’s how you talk to your mother?”

“I’m not even sure Iamtalking to my mom.” I wave a hand in her direction. “You’re like, some alien clone or something. What the hell did I do to piss you off?”

She takes a big sip of wine, and her throat moves as she swallows it. “It’s always about you, isn’t it?”

I take a step back as if I can somehow gain clarity by taking in more of this moment.

“Me?” I say through a laugh, touching fingertips to my chest. “I’m not the one who can’t keep a man long enough for her own daughter to finish out a grade.”

Her mouth curls into an unfriendly smile. “You think we kept moving because theydumpedme?”

Theyincluded more guys than I can count on both hands. And those were just the ones she actually had a relationship with. I was convinced she was a prostitute at one stage, except I never saw money exchange hands. No folded bills left on the dressers.

Mom comes around the bar, her wine sloshing but never spilling. “Remember Harry?”

I shake my head. Who the hell could keep track of all the guys Mom’s boned?

“He’s the sweetheart that let us live in his trailer for those few months after I lost the gig at the diner. We had to leave after I hit him over the head with a frying pan.”

My mouth falls open. I shake my head.

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