Page 19 of Entangled

A week later,I pause as I step into the kitchen to get a bite to eat. Mom is wiping down the already-pristine kitchen counter. Her blonde hair is up in a tight chignon, and her knee-length skirt and suit jacket are free of creases. She knows I’m here but doesn’t acknowledge me as I step deeper into the room, wondering what I ever did to deserve her cold shoulder. Why she hates me so much that she won’t even look at me.

“Mom?” I slide the chair out at the island. She continues wiping.

Tears bead in my eyes the longer she ignores me. “Mom?” I try again, but she puts the cloth down on the drying rack and shuts the cupboard to her right before walking out without another word.

The front door slams shut shortly after.

I release a shaky breath, and the tears blurring my vision spill over, trailing down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them off with my sleeve, then dig in my jeans pocket for my phone.

Me: Message me when you arrive home so I know you’re safe.

My fingers move over the screen before I swipe away more tears from my cheeks.

Me: I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.

An automatic message pops up, notifying me that the message failed to send. My lip begins to tremble, and my eyes burn as I continue staring at the screen. She truly is gone. I know she is, but a small part of me still can’t accept it. How long will grief have a tight hold on me? When will I stop listening for her laughter and expecting my phone to buzz with an incoming text?

She’s never going to reply to my latest message.

Pocketing my phone, I jump off the chair and leave the kitchen, walking toward the front door. I need fresh air. I need to get out of this silent house.

The late afternoon sun is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s a cold, gray winter’s day. The thin layer of snow on the sidewalk, which began to melt after lunchtime, is now icing over. I’m on my porch, rubbing my hands together and blowing on them to keep warm, when a taxi pulls up outside of Grayson’s house. With my heart in my throat, I watch him exit with a beautiful woman in tow. I can’t take my eyes off her long, amber hair, flushed cheeks, and green wrap coat as he smiles at her while unlocking the front door.

They disappear inside his house, and I stand there for a long moment, unaware of the cold that seeps through my thin clothes. My fingers begin to tingle and I soon lose feeling in my toes. I’m torn from my stasis when a car speeds by, and a guy sticks his head out, letting out a wolf howl.

My cold feet carry me back inside. I close the door with a soft click and press my forehead against the wood, inhaling a trembling breath. Who was she? I haven’t seen Grayson bring any women home since his wife’s disappearance. If he’s had affairs, he’s kept them on the down low, away from Chloe.

But she’s gone now.

I hurry upstairs to my bedroom and come to a sudden halt in front of my window.

His curtains are drawn.

As I move away, the backs of my legs connect with the bed. Unable to take a full breath, I plop down, my fingers twisting the bedsheet. Is he with her right now?

More to the point, is he fucking her?

Shooting to my feet, I pace, chewing my thumbnail. Why am I so agitated? Why do I have this sudden urge to knock on his door, if only to disturb their cozy little date?

I stop pacing, instead choosing to stare through the window, then start back up. My feet burn a hole in the carpet. Back and forth, from my door to my window, then to my door again.

Is she moaning his name? Does he like it? Does he enjoy how she feels? Is he thinking of me?Of course,he’s not fucking thinking of me.

Sliding my fingers into my hair, I fist the strands tightly until my scalp prickles.Stop it, Willow! He’s Chloe’s father. You have no right to be jealous.

But I am jealous. I’m so jealous, I want to throw something. I’ve cooked him countless meals and engaged him in conversation when he was at his lowest. It’s thanks to me that he returned to work the other week. If I hadn’t encouraged him, he’d be drinking himself to death with his curtains drawn.

Now the curtains are drawn for an entirely different reason.

I resume pacing, chewing my nail to the wick.

CHAPTER9

WILLOW

FEBRUARY 5TH, 2016

I hateeverything about school these days: the classes, the teachers, the students. Even the ugly brick walls, which have been painted yellow to spruce them up. It’s not like it’s Easter all year round. I’m struggling to see the point without Chloe. Mom doesn’t care, and now that my best friend—my only friend—is gone, my grades are slipping. They resemble a landslide. It’s why I’m here with the student counselor in her tiny office with too many fake plants and framed certificates. She’s watching me from across the mahogany desk with concerned eyes.

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