Page 24 of Devil on Skates
Chapter 11
IRINA
I GET TO THE COFFEEshop where I’m supposed to meet with my mom about fifteen minutes early and grab a corner table, away from the crowd.
I check my phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media but avoiding Xavier’s message, which I still haven’t deleted.
You can run, but I’ll always find you.
I should be freaking out because that sounds like a threat, but I keep reading it over and over again and feeling this weird rush that’s all kinds of wrong.
“Irina! Honey!” My mom’s voice cuts through the noise, making heads turn.
She never really blends in. Her designer sunglasses sit on top of her perfectly highlighted hair, and her stylish coat and high heels are out of place in here.
I stand to hug her, catching a whiff of that familiar mix of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke that she thinks nobody notices. “Hey, Mom. You look great.”
“And you look tired,” she says, eyeing me like she always does. “Are you eating okay? Sleeping enough?”
“I’m fine. It’s just the exam time,” I say on autopilot as we sit down. “How’s Owen? And the house renovations?”
She launches into stories about her life with her new family. Ever since she got remarried a few years ago, we’ve been seeing each other less and less, but she always tries to pay me a visit whenever she can.
She gives me all the details about the kitchen remodeling, Owen’s golf tournaments, and the social scene in their gatedcommunity. I nod along, asking the right questions, while my mind keeps drifting back to Xavier’s message, Keith’s coldness, and all the messy complications I’m tangled in.
“Enough about me,” she says, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Your dad mentioned you’re seeing someone. Keith? Noel Costello’s son?”
Of course she knows. Dad must have presented it like it’s a done deal, not the awkward getting-to-know-each-other stage it actually is.
“We’re just... figuring each other out,” I say.
“And? How is he? Your dad says he’s pretty mature for his age.”
“He’s... polite, smart, and focused on his future.”
My mom’s perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow, and I can tell she’s picked up on my hesitation. “That sounds more like someone you’re planning to hire for a job rather than a boyfriend.”
“We’re not really at the boyfriend stage, I guess.” I stare into my cooling coffee. “Just seeing if we click.”
“Seeing if we click,” she repeats, narrowing her dark eyes at me. “Sounds just like something your dad would say. Is this your relationship, or is he pulling the strings again?”
My lips part in surprise. My parents have never criticized each other openly around me after the divorce, but I’m familiar enough with their fights to sense the strain between them. Dad’s rigid control versus Mom’s craving for spontaneity.
“It’s not like that,” I say, although even I don’t really believe it. “Dad just introduced us. He thinks Keith’s good for me.”
“And what doyouthink?” She leans in, her eyes intense. “Does this guy make your heart race? Do you think about him when he’s not around? Or is this just another one of the things your dad is trying to force?”
My heart rate speeds up. I don’t want to stir up the old family drama, since I still remember the raised voices and the heavy silences all too well.
“Mom, it’s not like that. Keith’s nice. We’re just figuring things out.”
“Nice.” She curls her mouth. “I marriedniceonce. You deserve passion, honey. Real connection. Is your dad forcing you into this?”
“No!” I say too fast. “He’s excited about it, but he’s not forcing anything.”
Her face softens a little. “Oh, honey. You’re trying to keep the peace, just like when you were a kid.”
I sigh. Countless times, I’ve adjusted who I am just to keep the peace. How much of who I am is me? And how much is just a mask to avoid fights?
