Page 18 of Burning Daylight
It’s a good day for her.
I grin back. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
She’s seventeen and in her junior year, and like me, she tends to skip, although I have a sneaking suspicion it’s because nothing in her classes challenges her.Unlikeme, she’s never met a textbook she doesn’t like.
“School’s boring.” Brooklynn shrugs. “Besides, my last period is study hall, so I always come home instead.”
She moves to the side and lets me in, and as soon as I hit the small living room, I hear my mom. “What are you doing here?”
The question is blank, monotonous even, but it punches me in the stomach anyway.
I spin around and see all five foot two of my mother standing in the doorway leading to the narrow kitchen. She has one pale hand wrapped around a chipped yellow mug and the other resting on her hip.
“Coming for the pleasure of your company like always, Ma.”
She sniffs and pushes a stray piece of dark brown hair behind her ear. It’s tiring, this back and forth between us, but like everything else, I shove it to the recesses of my brain and pretend like it doesn’t affect me.
No, not pretend. Itdoesn’taffect me.
It can’t.
If I let it, then I won’t be able to keep showing up, and whether I like it or not, Brooklynn and I are all my mom has in the world.
For the longest time, my mom was all I had in mine.
Now, I don’t even feel like I have that.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Ma says, her voice softening.
The subtle change makes me bristle, because I know what’s coming next.
She moves closer, her grip tightening on her mug. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
I lift a brow but don’t reply. From the corner of my eye, I see Brooklynn sigh and move to the couch, flipping open a philosophy book.
Probably tuning us out.
Good.I wish she didn’t have to witness it at all.
“Things have been a little difficult lately,” she continues. Her gaze flicks to Brooklynn and then back to me, a tight smile crossing her features. “I got laid off again, and?—”
“You got laid off,again?” I cut in.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she snaps then draws in a breath, smoothing out her expression like she can will the irritation away. “It doesn’t matter. But if I can’t make rent in two days then…well…”
I grit my teeth until it feels like my molars might break. “There’s an art show tonight. I’ll see what I can do after that.”
“Your art.” She scoffs. “That won’t be enough, and you know it.”
My chest tightens, but I brush the feeling aside. It’s not like she’s ever been supportive. When I was little, I used to dream about the day I’d be able to make her proud. Now, resentment boils my blood whenever I think about that naive little kid.
“Fine,fuckthe art,” I say. “I’ll cancel the show.”
Something flickers in her expression. Panic, maybe.
“No,” she snaps. “Don’t be ridiculous. We need that money, and you need to show your face there. Do you know what I had to do togetyou this show?”
She’s right. She did pull strings; ones left over from her own art days, back when she used to care enough to create. If I try hard enough, I can almost pretend it was about me, and not about padding her pockets or fueling her next high.
