Read Online Teased to Death (Misty Newman 1) by Gina LaManna - Free Book Online
Authors: Gina LaManna
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parked not far away."
I nodded, feeling slightly numb all over.
"By the way…" Jax looked over his shoulder just before he disappeared between two trees. "What do you mean you tried to apologize?"
I glanced up, my mouth hanging unattractively open.
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Nothing. I didn't try hard enough."
Jax gave a singular nod, and this time he was the first one to disappear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Can we please, please, please go shooting on Friday?" A small human, who moved more like a bouncy ball than the nine-year-old girl she was, tugged on my arm. Though I hadn't lived in Minnesota since she'd been born, she'd been out to visit me in California a few times, and we Skyped once a week ever since she'd learned to use the computer. The distance hadn't kept us from developing a close relationship, and being home and able to see her in person was a thrill.
"We'll see." I planted my feet, trying not to topple onto her. My sister had gotten a brand new BB gun for her recent birthday, a gift from my brother who, of course, lived far enough away that he didn't have to deal with the ramifications of putting a metal gun in the hands of an elementary schoolkid. "Where's Mom?"
Harmony shrugged. "I don't know, but if we go shooting, can you please pick up more BBs? I ran out. Also targets. Mine are full of holes."
"Sure, Harmony." Unfortunately for her, my mother had decided to turn hippie right around the time my sister had been born. Before that, my mother had named my sister Aisling, a.k.a. "dream," during a brief gothic stint. My sister Charlie (real name Charles) got the worst of it during my mother's androgynous phase. All in all, the woman I called Mom changed men more quickly than I changed my hair color, and with it changed her identity .
I liked to say I went through a backward rebellion: my mom and dad had been unhappy together since I was born. I was the oldest. After two more children together and ten years, they divorced. My mom quickly began to "find herself," through process of elimination it seemed, and when gothic didn't pan out, she switched to hippie, and on and on went the cycle.
A few more children were added to the family throughout several additional phases. Going into high school, the only thing I wanted was normalcy. Hence the strict rules I set for myself and my no-nonsense policy toward anything out of the norm, unlawful, or subpar in terms of academic achievement. .
Now there were six of us kids, three from the same parents and three from my mom—and various partners. Harmony was the youngest, almost two decades my junior. She was part of the reason I felt obligated to come back and take over my grandmother's house. I knew how difficult life could be with my mother, and I wanted to be there when the going got tough. It wasn't saying very much that I considered myself a normal role model. But compared to my mother, I was as average as a very boring insurance salesman.
"There, there. Would you like a cup of tea? You seem stressed." Harmony dropped my wrist, which she'd been gripping tightly, and clamored over to the counter. Before I could respond, she had an array of teas set out and was filling the pot with water.
"I can do that." I stood. "Should you be using the stove?"
Harmony shot me a glance as if I were the most idiotic human being on the planet. "Of course I can use the stove. I'm nine ."
The problem was, since I'd been back, I'd slowly been realizing that my sister had grown up into a self-sufficient young lady. I knew the feeling. When one grew up with a mom as flaky as ours, one learned to care for herself at a young age. It made me a tiny bit sad that my sister had spent nine years of her life becoming an independent little woman, and I'd missed a lot of it.
I reached out and squeezed her close. Harmony's small arms encircled my waist, and for a moment it felt like we were in our rightful places: She, a child in my arms. I, a responsible adult looking after my baby
I nodded, feeling slightly numb all over.
"By the way…" Jax looked over his shoulder just before he disappeared between two trees. "What do you mean you tried to apologize?"
I glanced up, my mouth hanging unattractively open.
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Nothing. I didn't try hard enough."
Jax gave a singular nod, and this time he was the first one to disappear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Can we please, please, please go shooting on Friday?" A small human, who moved more like a bouncy ball than the nine-year-old girl she was, tugged on my arm. Though I hadn't lived in Minnesota since she'd been born, she'd been out to visit me in California a few times, and we Skyped once a week ever since she'd learned to use the computer. The distance hadn't kept us from developing a close relationship, and being home and able to see her in person was a thrill.
"We'll see." I planted my feet, trying not to topple onto her. My sister had gotten a brand new BB gun for her recent birthday, a gift from my brother who, of course, lived far enough away that he didn't have to deal with the ramifications of putting a metal gun in the hands of an elementary schoolkid. "Where's Mom?"
Harmony shrugged. "I don't know, but if we go shooting, can you please pick up more BBs? I ran out. Also targets. Mine are full of holes."
"Sure, Harmony." Unfortunately for her, my mother had decided to turn hippie right around the time my sister had been born. Before that, my mother had named my sister Aisling, a.k.a. "dream," during a brief gothic stint. My sister Charlie (real name Charles) got the worst of it during my mother's androgynous phase. All in all, the woman I called Mom changed men more quickly than I changed my hair color, and with it changed her identity .
I liked to say I went through a backward rebellion: my mom and dad had been unhappy together since I was born. I was the oldest. After two more children together and ten years, they divorced. My mom quickly began to "find herself," through process of elimination it seemed, and when gothic didn't pan out, she switched to hippie, and on and on went the cycle.
A few more children were added to the family throughout several additional phases. Going into high school, the only thing I wanted was normalcy. Hence the strict rules I set for myself and my no-nonsense policy toward anything out of the norm, unlawful, or subpar in terms of academic achievement. .
Now there were six of us kids, three from the same parents and three from my mom—and various partners. Harmony was the youngest, almost two decades my junior. She was part of the reason I felt obligated to come back and take over my grandmother's house. I knew how difficult life could be with my mother, and I wanted to be there when the going got tough. It wasn't saying very much that I considered myself a normal role model. But compared to my mother, I was as average as a very boring insurance salesman.
"There, there. Would you like a cup of tea? You seem stressed." Harmony dropped my wrist, which she'd been gripping tightly, and clamored over to the counter. Before I could respond, she had an array of teas set out and was filling the pot with water.
"I can do that." I stood. "Should you be using the stove?"
Harmony shot me a glance as if I were the most idiotic human being on the planet. "Of course I can use the stove. I'm nine ."
The problem was, since I'd been back, I'd slowly been realizing that my sister had grown up into a self-sufficient young lady. I knew the feeling. When one grew up with a mom as flaky as ours, one learned to care for herself at a young age. It made me a tiny bit sad that my sister had spent nine years of her life becoming an independent little woman, and I'd missed a lot of it.
I reached out and squeezed her close. Harmony's small arms encircled my waist, and for a moment it felt like we were in our rightful places: She, a child in my arms. I, a responsible adult looking after my baby
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