Page 121 of Your Coffin or Mine
Chapter 37
AUBREY
One Week Later
“Scoot over.”My best friend grunts as she tries to make room by pushing me with her hips and wiggling.
I grumble back at her as I slide over on the couch, and my fingers tighten on my white cloak that’s been covering me like a security blanket. We aren’t going to talk about that, or how it somehow smells like Vlad, and we definitely aren’t going to talk about how I’ve been secretly crying off and on since I made it through my grandmother’s front door.
Burnie sighs like I’m trying her patience, which, I mean,good. Mission accomplished. Because, after a week with her up my ass, I am starting to feel smothered. My social battery is hitting its limit.
But I still would rather her be up my ass than alone in my apartment. My stomach flip-flops with dread at the thought of being there alone.
Her hand heads near the popcorn bowl and I strike like a cobra, smacking the shit out of her. “Hands off, that’s mine.”
“She’s going feral again, Estelle!” she hollers, telling on me. “You have got to learn to share.”
“When I do, you eat it all!”
“Aubrey Lynn, you share your popcorn, or you don’t get any cheesecake after dinner,” Grams yells from the kitchen. “Bernadette, you stop eating it all.”
“Tattletale,” I whisper, as Burnie sticks her tongue out at me like a baby.
It has been this way since we were eight years old. She even has a bedroom upstairs—so after she decided to stay with us a week ago, no questions were asked. We haven’t stayed at my grandma’s since we were teenagers. Grams has been acting like we are on the brink of starvation, and all I want to do is go sit in my old treehouse and cry my eyes out. Sigh. If only the woman were a bad cook, it would be easier to say no.
I roll my eyes, even when she pulls me to her for a hug.
“Love you, Miss Bitchiness,” she snarks teasingly.
“I love you too.” And I really do.
I move over and she tucks in with me, lifting her legs and resting them on the old wooden coffee table.
There is a full-sized couch and two recliners in the room, but Bernadette is in comfort mode. Unfortunately for me, her way of comforting someone is cuddles. Sometimes forced, apparently. I’m almost positive she wants to become my colon at this point, and when I told her that, she just laughed. My best friend, people.Let me tell you.
“Stop pulling on the blanket. I’m fine sitting by myself, you know.”
“I am acting as your shoulder to cry on, and I can’t help that you always seem to have the snacks,” she huffs as she finally steals it from me.
“That’s fair I guess.” I let her have half the blanket, smiling inwardly as she scoots to touch me in some way.
“Here,” I offer, handing over the blue-colored bowl of popcorn.
When I stepped off the plane in Wheeler—a tiny town outside of Atlanta—in the middle of the night last week, I paid for a cab straight to Gram’s. Burnie arrived within fifteen minutes, and if anyone did the math, they’d know she sped the whole way. Gram lives an hour from the city, and thirty minutes from mine and Burnie’s suburban apartments.
A new phone was delivered the next day. It had a welcome message as soon as I turned it on, saying,Have a nice life, little lamb. It was a threat, and Frank Stein’s way of proving he knows exactly where me and my family are.
I threw it away and have never been happier when garbage day came. It was enough to keep me mostly quiet about everything in general. I reached out to my phone company to get a new number as soon as I could, scared that if Vlad were to contact me, Frank would make good on his threats. I just haven’t been able to force myself to block him on socials.
I can tell Bernadette is about ready to burst with questions because I have barely spoken of Vlad at all, but I have no idea what to tell them.Frank Stein doesn’t want me to be with the man I love, and walking skeletons exist?Hah! It even sounds insane in my head.
What’s worse is I am pretty sure I owe the skeleton an apology, and that’s not even the weirdest thing about my trip. My heart hurts with missing Vlad, and I really can’t seem to stop crying.
She cackles at something on the television, and the popcorn bowl bounces.
I manage a half grin at her dramatics. “Calm down, homemade popcorn is sacred.”
I breathe out a sigh, glancing around the old farmhouse walls, decorated in a light flower wallpaper with beige trim. It’skind of strange staying here as an adult, and I’m glad Grams hasn’t changed the place much.
