Page 77 of Dolls & Daggers
A predator lives here. Stay away.
And people did. Despite my mother’s friendly demeanor and penchant for joining every social club that would have her, no one ever visited. She always went out, always needing to control how others saw her. Out there, they didn’t see past her mask. They only saw a good mother and a son in desperate need of a father figure.
A fly on any random wall in this house could have told them tales that would churn their stomachs.
The freshly trimmed grass catches my attention. Who’s taking care of it? Did she finally get a boyfriend? Or should I worry about her attentions turning to one of the neighborhood boys who mow lawns for easy cash?
My foot barely hits the first step before the door swings inward. My mother appears in the entryway, wearing a flowing sky-blue dress and a bright smile. Her long blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s the picture-perfect image of warmth and welcome,even if she towers over most of the women in town at five foot eleven.
“My sweet songbird has finally returned to me,” she greets with wide arms.
I stop on the top step, neither returning her smile nor stepping into her hug. “Mother.”
The side of her mouth twitches. For a moment, we’re frozen. Just a boy and his mom. The person who should love and protect him from the world. I hate that the little boy inside me still wants his mother’s love.
Just not the way she wants to give it.
A gentle breeze lifts strands of her hair, sending them drifting over her face. Her dress sways. She drops her arms with exaggerated disappointment. “Well, geez, Wrenley. You look like you’ve lost your best friend. What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m not here to visit, Mother. We need to talk.” My gut clenches. The steel nerve I’ve built up begins to liquefy into something cold and anxious.
She turns her back to me, leaving the door open as she storms inside. “What do we need to talk about, Wrenley? How you’re coming back home?”
Following her is like wading into the ocean. You know you’re at risk of the waves becoming tempestuous at a moment’s notice, yet the water can be calm and warm before the storm.
Robyn Campbellisbeautiful. It’s part of why I hated Dove so much when we first met. Because no matter how deranged and fucked up my mother’s actions are, I still think she’s pretty.
Call it a coping mechanism. The woman is ugly as sin on the inside, and that’s the difference between her and Dove. My girlfriend is beautiful, inside and out—even when she’s stabbing men to death, covered in their blood.
“I’m not coming home. I’m staying in New York. Permanently.” I set my keys and phone on the small kitchen table and sit as she flits around, gathering items to make tea. I have to admit the smell is nostalgic as she opens the bag of loose leaves while the kettle heats. It infuses the air with a warm, fruity fragrance with a subtle undercurrent of rose.
My mom is unresponsive as she begins to hum to herself, as though she didn’t hear what I said. A second later, she chirps, “We should go to the store for lasagna ingredients. It’s been so long since I made it for you.”
She disappears down the hall without waiting for a reply. A few seconds later, my phone lights up with a message from Dove.
Turtle Dove
Kay, so I’ve decided this spending-the-weekend-apart thing isn’t gonna work again. I miss you way too much. The bed was cold and lonely without you. I hated it.
A smile touches my lips just before the air stirs beside my face. I jump, looking over my shoulder to see my mother standing over me, staring at my phone with a disapproving grimace. I didn’t even hear her return.
Goosebumps break out along my skin. A shiver racks my body at her proximity. My muscles remember what my mind tries to forget.
“Isshewhy you’re staying?”
I swallow. “It isn’t only her.”
She straightens and returns to the counter to prepare our tea.
I push my tongue against my cheek, fighting for the strength to say what I need to with the same eloquence Dove delivers her monologues.
“She’s a pretty little thing.”
I stare at the photo on my lock screen showing Dove and me cuddled up in bed. Her head is resting on my chest, my arm curling around her bare shoulder while the other is extended holding the phone. Fang is in it too, lying on his back in my armpit, squished against my side.
This is why I’m here. They say you can’t choose your family.
But I did.
