Page 66 of Red Hot Harmony

“He sounds like a flake.”

“He’s not a flake.”

“How do you know?”

Harper gave me a shrug. “Because we talk.”

“You talk?” I needed a second to process. “Like on the phone?”

“No. Like emails and Instagram.”

“So you struck up some long-distance relationship with a guy you’ve never met?”

“It’s not a relationship,” Harper growled. “We just chat. And I’m not even sure he’s into guys, but he’s cool and he’s the real deal and has an awesome sense of humor, and I don’t need a security guard to escort me to the meeting with him.”

And then he left without another word.

It stung and I needed a moment to regroup. Once I’d rearranged my mind a little, I walked over to the bathroom door and knocked lightly. “Bug, is everything okay?”

“Go away,” came from inside.

“Do you need help?”

“Just go away, Mom!” She sounded broken and my heart did a little flip.

Knowing all too well that my kid didn’t like to be fussed with or consoled or chastised or...talked to, I sat on the edge of my old bed and waited.

Outside, the band was performing some Sinatra classic and I felt as if I’d been transported back in time. Then finally, my patience began to run out and I made another attempt to speak to Ally.

“Bug?”

Silence.

“You’ve been in there a long time. Let’s not ruin Grandma and Grandpa’s party.”

“I already ruined it,” she said, and this time, I heard a sob slipping between her words.

I touched the handle, not expecting it to give—more an instinct—as I pushed it down, but the door creaked open and there she was, sitting on the toilet seat in her strapless bra and panties with what was left of the dress crumpled on her lap.

She looked thin and fragile, and I wanted to hug her, but I was also lost for words because there was a massive splash of color beneath her left ribcage.

Red and black. Shapes that vaguely reminded me of a rose and some other type of flower.

My warm feelings became cold, and I pushed the door open so hard, it slammed against the wall. I thought something cracked. Maybe it was my heart. Maybe my sanity.

“Are you serious?” That was all I could muster as I crossed the bathroom and wrenched Ally upward.

“What the actual fuck, Mom?” She shoved at my chest, her fingers clumsy and unsure.

“Explain, please!” I motioned at what I already knew was a tattoo, not a fake one, because there were still small scabs here and there, which meant she’d done this recently. I just couldn’t understand how I’d missed it. And on top of everything else, I was too shocked at the moment to pay attention to how comfortable my kid was with using the word “fuck.”

“You can’t just barge in here!” she sneered.

“I’m your mother. I can and I will until you’re eighteen.”

“How about some privacy?”

“Are you seriously going to talk to me about privacy after this?” I made another elaborate gesture, pointing at her inked skin. “You can’t just do stuff like this, Ally.”

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