Page 387 of Vicious Saint
“I know I’m in no place to question your choices—”
“Exactly,” I cut her off, “and that’s why your sentence is going to end right there.”
“Hendrix—”
“Juniper…” I cut her off again. “You’re my mother, therefore I’m biologically programmed to always love you. But if you wantanyshot at forgiveness, then back the fuck off and let me make my own decisions. Especially when it comes to the family you hid from me.”
Do Iwantto want a relationship with Dante Salvini?
Obviously not.
But sharing bloodandthe blame in two deaths makes it hard not to feel a sick, twisted connection to someone. Or at least that’s what my conscience has been trying to convince me of.
A look of sadness washes over Mom’s face, and I hate how much seeing her this way adds to my physical pain.
So much a part of me, albeit a small one, wants to reach out and hug her. If not for Mom’s assurance, then my gratitude for being alive to see her again.
Seems the universe is in agreement with the larger part of me, because a moment later it steals my chance.
“Okay, baby. I will trust your decision.” Mom motions to the mug. “But can you at least agree to drink up before your tea gets cold?”
In spite of my determination to stand on business, I appease her and take a sip, continuing with several more in silence as Mom looks on with an adoring smile.
I’m halfway through the tea when another knock comes from the door, followed by a dramatic Shakespearean voice.
“A glorious morn to my fair and gracious, bestie!”Archer waltzes in, holding a life size Black Panther plushy in his arms. “I cometh bearing gifts!”
Let me start by saying I tried really fucking hard to stay mad at the idiot throughout his days long attempts at forgiveness. Which included, but was not limited to, pleading phone calls, FaceTimes, voicemails. Cards and candy baskets. Even a ridiculous video of him acting out a scene fromThe Taming of the Shrew.
Dressed up as grovelling Katherina.
I stood my ground, though. That is, until Thor, Iron Man, and The Hulk showed up last night to sing “Sorry” by Justin Bieber.
It was not only painfully hilarious, but thoughtful enough to remind me of who Archer is at his core, and how selfless he’s always been when it comes to our friendship.
All of this, plus the honest fear of a whole ass drama club showing up for the rest of The Shrew, is the reason he’s comfortable enough to greet my mom and nearly deck me in the face with an oversized superhero.
“Milady…” He drops the plush next to me. “I present…a body pillow imported straight from Wakanda.”
I shake my head in amusement.
Archer kisses my forehead, then takes the mug from my hand. Sniffing and sipping and…gagging.
“Okay…that shit’s nasty.” He places the mug onto the nightstand. “Like drinking flowery piss.”
“How the fuck do you know whatflowery pisstastes like?”
“Google. Ever heard of it?”
If I had two working eyes, they’dbothbe stupefied blinking right now.
“I’ll leave you guys to…whatever this is.” Mom chuckles and stands, ruffling Archer’s hair before exiting.
“Momz is aware I’m not a seven year old, right?”
“Says the guy who just barged in here with a gigantic stuffed doll, talking about flowery piss.”
“A body pillow,” he deadpans. “Which I’m starting to believe you no longer deserve.”
