Page 12 of Ice Darling
Those were simpler times.
Happier times.
Before my life changed forever.
“She’s fine, Mills. Just tipsy,” Mom says.
“I’m not tipsy. I’m perfectly sober,” I mumble as my eyelids droop. Mills helps me into the backseat. I melt into the leather seats. It’s so warm. So soft. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden in an expensive car. I’d forgotten how good it smells. How smooth the drive is.
My eyes start to close. Maybe, for once, I can fall asleep without a prescription.
Before I can test that theory, Mom sticks a water bottle in my face. “Drink this.”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around my torso, curling into a ball.
“You’ll have a terrible headache tomorrow if you don’t sober up, Cordelia. I don’t know why you drank tonight when you know you’re not a drinker.”
I shake my head again.
Mom lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sit up. I’ve been patient enough. It’s time to explain yourself.”
That’s why she wants me sober. So she can talk to me.
In that case, I’ll lean into my tipsy state because the last thing I want to have right now is a conversation with my mom.
I groan and wrap my arms around my stomach.
That doesn’t deter my mother at all.
“Young lady, do you know what a mess you’ve created? You left home so suddenly. And with nothing but a text saying you were heading onto the road and not to contact you! I was worried sick for months!”
I keep my eyes closed.
“You didn’t answer my calls. Didn’t answer my texts. Thank goodness you used the family card, or I would have had no idea if you were dead or alive. But then you stopped using the card completely, and I was back to guessing again.”
I let my head loll, pretending I’ve fallen asleep.
“I know you can hear me, Cordelia.”
Tilting my chin up, I croak, “What do you want me to say, Mom?”
“I want an explanation.”
“Adults leave home all the time. It’s no big deal.”
“That’s not an excuse, and youknowit.” Her eyes are wide. The shadows from the passing lampposts bathe her in light one minute and darkness the next. What a perfect imagery.
Sometimes, it feels like Mom and I can finally see each other, finally find common ground. And then there’ll be darkness, and I can’t tell which one of us is human under the mask.
“We both know you’re not just anyone. You’re Cordelia Davenport. You’re a woman with your own trust fund. You’re someone with legacy, withresponsibilities.You walked away from everything this family offered you for…for what? An auto-mechanic certificate at a community college halfway across the country?”
I inhale deeply.
It was a mistake to get in this car.
“And now you’re working forpennieson the dollar in the hot sun, fixing cars, when you have an entirelifeback home. A family.”
That word strikes a terrible chord.
