Page 79 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
Bringing my supernatural friends with me is next level.And if she knows I’mdatingone of them? I don’t even want to think about what she would say.
Back in the day, this house was gorgeous. It was a typical 90s suburban home: gray panels, with a little brick, and a nicely trimmed yard. The yard isn’t as taken care of now that my father is gone. The overgrowth isn’t concerning, but other things about the home are. There’s the garland of garlic around the door, for one.
“I want to see the mask.” Margaux unbuckles.
We decided to take her car, and it’s one my mother knows well… which means she’s probably expecting us inside. Terrific.
I turn to Caldwell with my lips pressed together. “You can wait in the car.”
His lips twitch up at the corner. “Why would I do that? You already saw my childhood home.”
“Don’t expect hers to be anything like yours,” Margaux drawls. “Mrs. Underwood is a piece of work.”
“The garlic thing must be a myth,” I say, squinting at Margaux.
Of course, it is. She’s been inside the house more times than I can count, and the garlic has never stopped her.
Margaux lets out a cackle. “You think a little fragrance is going to keep us away? Please. We don’t particularlylikethe smell, but it won’t kill me.”
“Then there issometruth behind it…” Caldwell lowers his head to hide a smile.
“Oh, shut up.” Margaux marches forward, leading me into my own home. “She won’t like you any more than she does me, so you had better keep your witchy ways under wraps.”
“I was planning on it,” he says.
“Good luck. She’s paranoid. She’ll probably be ableto smell it on you.”
That would explain why my mother dislikes Margaux. There’s no other reason, aside from her parents having everything my mother wants. Money, comfort, and a long-lasting marriage.
Why should she blame Margaux for that?
The door swings open before we reach it, and there stands my mother. I’m short, about five foot two, but my mother is a good two inches smaller than me. She looks tiny in the doorway. Her long hair is held back in a tight bun, and she seems to age each time I see her.
I don’t see eye-to-eye with my mother on most things, but she is genuinely happy to see me. She loves me, and I’ve never had to doubt it, even if her love is often overbearing.
A smile takes her face, making her look years younger, and she rushes down the cracked path to wrap me in a tight hug.
“I didn’t know you were visiting!” she says in my ear.
“It was a last-minute thing…” I exchange a look with Margaux as I pat my mother’s back.
My mother pulls away, resting her hands on my shoulders. She looks me up and down. “You’re not eating well.”
“I am!” I roll my eyes playfully.
Strode has no shortage of food.
“You probably aren’t eating therightthings. Come inside, I’m going to make dinner for you and”—she turns to the other two, her eyes narrowing—"your friends.”
Margaux gives a small wave. “It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Underwood.”
I shake my head at Margaux. Using my mother’s married name is a trigger.
She blinks at Margaux. For a moment, I think she’s going to chew her out. Luckily, that doesn’t happen. She doesn’t even remind her of her new surname.
“Quite,” my mother says, turning her attention to Caldwell. “And you are?”
Caldwell offers a handshake, which my mother accepts.
