Page 6 of Not Another Yesterday
I grin. “Don’t get used to it. I’m leaving in a minute.”
His face sours. “You’re never home anymore!”
He’s not wrong. I turned eighteen three months ago and have spent most weekends at Ronan’s apartment since then. Combine that with college classes and my parents’ full-time jobs and they only catch the occasional glimpse of me, usually in passing.
“I was home all day,” I say. “I helped Mom brine the turkey and I baked three pies from scratch, including your favorite pecan pie.”
A smile brightens his expression. “I just wish you’d spend more time with your family, Kitty.”
I shrug. “I’d be home more if you weren’t so mean to Ran.”
“I’m not mean to him.” He crosses his arms over his chest, eerily reminiscent of a sulking child. But he knows I’m right. While my dad doesn’t outright argue with Ronan, he’s not what I’d consider even lukewarm. On the rare occasion Ronan does spend time with my dad—only when absolutely required, like for my eighteenth birthday dinner with both our families—my dad purposely ignores Ronan, speaking to him only through me.
It's exhausting, and even though Ronan takes it in stride, I know it gets to him. How could it not?
“Okay, then let Ran sleep over.”
On cue, my dad’s face contorts. “Not a thought I’m going to entertain.”
I smirk. “Letting Ran…sleep?”
“In the same bed as my daughter,” he says stiffly.
“You know that’s already happening, right?” I say, then take a bite out of a leftover Granny Smith from my pie prep.
“Not under my roof it’s not,” he huffs. “You’re eighteen. I can’t stop you from spending the night with your boyf… with Ronan, but I can put limitations on where you guys…sleep,” he says, his tone gruffer with each word.
“Becauselocationmagically changes the fact that we’re… sleeping?”
My mom exhales noisily. “Oh, for crying out loud. You two need to—”
“Ignorance is bliss,” my dad says.
My mom shoots me a look—the kind that begs me to take the high road.
I swallow my bite of apple. “Fine. Your house, your rules. But if you could try being nice to Ran tomorrow, that would make me happy. And in return, I’ll spend the night at home.”
“I’m always n—”
“No, you’re not, Bobby,” my mom says. “You’re a curmudgeon when it comes to Ran. He’s a good guy. He’s good to Kitty. And if you don’t want to push our daughter away, maybe try a little harder.”
She shuts the pantry and walks out, leaving him standing there with his arms still crossed.
***
Ten minutes later, I spot Steve’s black Challenger parked in the driveway next to Frank’s Tahoe and I pick up my pace on the short walkway to the Soult house. I climb the three steps to the familiar dark-green front door and knock three times.
“Stevie!” I exclaim when Steve opens the front door and throw my arms around his neck. I haven’t seen him in weeks.
Steve moved up to Boston at the end of August and has made only rare showings in New York. Between school and the four-hour drive, he’s had plenty of excuses.
“Hey, Cat!” He squeezes me tightly, his chest solid and warm.
“It’s so good to see you! How are you?” I step back to take him in.
His light brown hair is longer now, and his face is scruffy, probably five days past clean-shaven. It suits him. He looks relaxed and happy in dark jeans and a fitted black henley that shows off his broad shoulders. He and Ronan look so much alike, and yet completely different.
“I’m great,” he says, a giant smile on his lips. “Really great. How about you?”
