admirable than anyone else? How disappointing to have the curtain drawn back and find a hopping, schoolyard bully in miniature. How disappointing to find her so everyday cruel and ordinary.
“I’m about over you as a mom,” she said and cursed the shake in her voice. “I’d tell you to invest in a pet, but PETA’s taken a strong stance on cruelty to animals.”
Okay, so maybe she did want to hurt her mom. Edy couldn’t say why she went for the second swipe, only that when she dealt it, it cut both ways. Silence engulfed them. An apology hung on her lips. But her mouth wouldn’t move. She didn’t know why.
It wasn’t as if she thought her mom had been sitting at home in lemon skirts, teary eyed as she waited for her homemade cookies to bake. This was Rebecca Phelps. Everything worked to her advantage in the end, and in the end all things worked to her advantage. This encounter would end with a knife in Edy’s back.
“I do hope you found the Kentucky fried chicken filling,” her mother said and rounded the room enough to show up in Edy’s peripheral. “Because it’ll have to tide you over for dinner. You’re heading up to your room for that one. And you’ll stay there until I’m interested in seeing your face again. I can’t imagine that will be for awhile.”
“Fine. The feeling’s mutual,” Edy muttered and snatched up her bag. Words spilled from her recklessly; she couldn’t figure the why or the how. She found each one of them dangerous, thrilling, insane and warmed to this braver, bolder Edy.
“‘I do hope you found the Kentucky fried chicken filling,’” Edy mocked. “Well, you would know, country bumpkin!”
Okay, that was dumb and disrespectful and she’d yelled at her mother. Plus, she liked the people she knew from Kentucky, all three minus her mother.
“You’re in your room a week!” her mother shouted as Edy thumped upstairs with the luggage. “A week in that room, you ungrateful little brat.”
A week. A month. Under lock and key for your natural born life. These were the weapons every parent had. Edy shot an uncertain look behind her. Wouldn’t the staircase collapse and time warp as all of the great minor demons engulfed her in hell’s mighty flare? No? Probably not? Hmm. And it was in this way that Rebecca Phelps deflated, transforming from monster that she was to mere little mortal.
~~~
At a quarter to nine, Hassan slipped through Edy’s window with a backpack of samosas, a half bag of stale tortillas, and a bottle of flat Pepsi. He apologized for forgetting the cups and suggested they turn the bottle straight up instead. Edy unraveled from her fetal position on the bed and greeted him with a barely there nod as he laid out his offerings.
“Samosas are hot,” he said. “They’re from mom.”
Edy lifted a brow. The same mom who looked about ready to split her side wide with a scythe the same day?
“She went wild laughing at you calling Becca a country bumpkin. I’m pretty sure it’s her new favorite story,” he said.
They hesitated at the mention of his mother, eyes meeting without wanting to. Another crossroads, another boundary with ambiguity waiting on the sidelines.
“Yeah, so there’s that,” Hassan said and dropped his gaze to the floor. He plucked a plump pastry from the lot of them and thumped it in his mouth. He took another and walked it over to hers as if teasing a child. Little bits of steam tantalized her lips, while whiffs of mouth watering spices clenched and twisted her stomach.
“Open up,” Hassan said. “I know you’re starving.”
Open up. A second sort of hunger bated Edy and more than her mouth met him in reply. Lashes fluttering, fingers curling, she pushed back on a blush-worthy appetite and focused on the food instead.
“How did you find out?” Edy asked around a mouthful of savory meat. God, it was just what she needed—his mother’s samosas—not the other thing. A brush of his thumb against her lips brought
“I’m about over you as a mom,” she said and cursed the shake in her voice. “I’d tell you to invest in a pet, but PETA’s taken a strong stance on cruelty to animals.”
Okay, so maybe she did want to hurt her mom. Edy couldn’t say why she went for the second swipe, only that when she dealt it, it cut both ways. Silence engulfed them. An apology hung on her lips. But her mouth wouldn’t move. She didn’t know why.
It wasn’t as if she thought her mom had been sitting at home in lemon skirts, teary eyed as she waited for her homemade cookies to bake. This was Rebecca Phelps. Everything worked to her advantage in the end, and in the end all things worked to her advantage. This encounter would end with a knife in Edy’s back.
“I do hope you found the Kentucky fried chicken filling,” her mother said and rounded the room enough to show up in Edy’s peripheral. “Because it’ll have to tide you over for dinner. You’re heading up to your room for that one. And you’ll stay there until I’m interested in seeing your face again. I can’t imagine that will be for awhile.”
“Fine. The feeling’s mutual,” Edy muttered and snatched up her bag. Words spilled from her recklessly; she couldn’t figure the why or the how. She found each one of them dangerous, thrilling, insane and warmed to this braver, bolder Edy.
“‘I do hope you found the Kentucky fried chicken filling,’” Edy mocked. “Well, you would know, country bumpkin!”
Okay, that was dumb and disrespectful and she’d yelled at her mother. Plus, she liked the people she knew from Kentucky, all three minus her mother.
“You’re in your room a week!” her mother shouted as Edy thumped upstairs with the luggage. “A week in that room, you ungrateful little brat.”
A week. A month. Under lock and key for your natural born life. These were the weapons every parent had. Edy shot an uncertain look behind her. Wouldn’t the staircase collapse and time warp as all of the great minor demons engulfed her in hell’s mighty flare? No? Probably not? Hmm. And it was in this way that Rebecca Phelps deflated, transforming from monster that she was to mere little mortal.
~~~
At a quarter to nine, Hassan slipped through Edy’s window with a backpack of samosas, a half bag of stale tortillas, and a bottle of flat Pepsi. He apologized for forgetting the cups and suggested they turn the bottle straight up instead. Edy unraveled from her fetal position on the bed and greeted him with a barely there nod as he laid out his offerings.
“Samosas are hot,” he said. “They’re from mom.”
Edy lifted a brow. The same mom who looked about ready to split her side wide with a scythe the same day?
“She went wild laughing at you calling Becca a country bumpkin. I’m pretty sure it’s her new favorite story,” he said.
They hesitated at the mention of his mother, eyes meeting without wanting to. Another crossroads, another boundary with ambiguity waiting on the sidelines.
“Yeah, so there’s that,” Hassan said and dropped his gaze to the floor. He plucked a plump pastry from the lot of them and thumped it in his mouth. He took another and walked it over to hers as if teasing a child. Little bits of steam tantalized her lips, while whiffs of mouth watering spices clenched and twisted her stomach.
“Open up,” Hassan said. “I know you’re starving.”
Open up. A second sort of hunger bated Edy and more than her mouth met him in reply. Lashes fluttering, fingers curling, she pushed back on a blush-worthy appetite and focused on the food instead.
“How did you find out?” Edy asked around a mouthful of savory meat. God, it was just what she needed—his mother’s samosas—not the other thing. A brush of his thumb against her lips brought
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