Page 21 of The Deals We Make
Instead, I find myself heading upstairs. I open the door to Mom’s bedroom where I find her watching TV. The room smells musty, and now that I’m really paying attention, it looks as though Mom hasn’t washed her hair in a long time.
“Should I open the window for a minute, to let some fresh air in?”
She shakes her head, glassy eyes focused on whatever she’s watching. “No. Gets too cold. Then everything’ll get damp.”
“Mom, it’s already cold in here. I’ll turn the heating on.”
Mom shakes her head. “The heating system broke.”
“When?” I ask.
She shrugs. “A while back.”
I add getting a heating engineer out to service the system or whatever to my mental list. “Do you need anything?” I ask.
Mom glances up from the television, then returns to watch some TV judge award a thousand bucks for a busted front door. “I’m okay. You can go.”
I do as she says, but once I step foot outside, I sigh.
Her words brush up against an invisible wound.
You can go.
You’re unwanted, Calista.
I never fit in at school. Too clever. Too nerdy. Too indifferent to all the cool kids and the jocks. I had an old laptop that had been my father’s, and when I closed the curtains to stop the daylight glare on my screen, I built a world I felt safe in.
Part of me is ready to just take Mom at her word. But the other part of me yearns for…something.
I pull the door open to the hallway closet and reach for the spare bedding. It’s dusty and smells a little. I head to the basement and throw it all into the washing machine as I resolutely plan how I’m going to make tonight bearable.
Next, I’m going to get a ride to the store and pick up groceries before they close. Perhaps only buy enough food to go meal by meal, given the state of the fridge. As I make my way back up the stairs, there’s a knock at the door.
I pull the door open, and Ti stands outside, multiple bags in each hand. “Brought you supplies,” he says gruffly. The words rumble through me, reverberating in my chest.
He never used to sound so…commanding.
“Ti, I never told you about that so you would go?—”
“Just move out of the way, Cal.” Wrinkles mar his otherwise smooth brown skin.
I do as he says. His presence in Mom’s home is too much. I remember when he’d come over after school. He was all arms and legs and hadn’t grown into the bulk he is now. He’d bringme his mom’s homemade jerky and my mom would make us hot chocolate.
With a confident stride, he goes straight into the kitchen and places the bags on the floor.
When I follow him, I see his shocked stare as he looks around. “Shit. I had no idea it had gotten this bad.”
“Yeah. Me neither,” I say. I don’t even have the energy to be mad at him right now.
He tugs off his thick, lined leather jacket.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He looks at me like I just asked the most ridiculous question in the world, then glances at the cleaning supplies I’ve assembled on the counter. “I’m gonna clean this health hazard up for your mom.”
“I don’t need your?—”
“I wasn’t offering to help you. I’m doing it because your mom doesn’t deserve to live in this shithole. If you say you don’t need my help, I might just tie you to that chair and get on with it by myself. I’m not leaving just because your stubborn, ungrateful ass can’t just say, ‘Thank you, Vex.’”
