I slide my fingers through my hair and marvel at how silky Mom managed to make it. “A date?” I snort and shake my head at the thought. Who would want to date me? “No, my mom had a charity event and I bailed,” I explain. Outside, the driver honks the horn, sending a ball of nerves crashing into my chest. “Hey, Martina, can you hurry up? The driver is being impatient.” I shift from one foot to the other while she whips up my drink. The loud whirring sound of the espresso machine drowns out everything else in the coffee shop and calms me down a bit.
It feels like an eternity waiting for my drink, but it’s only been two minutes. I look at the huge clock behind the counter and sigh.
Stop making things bigger in your head than they are in reality, Sage.
“Thanks.” I smile at Martina and take the cookies ‘n cream latte with extra whipped cream. I leave her a nice tip before I tilt the red cup to my lips, testing out the scalding liquid. “Perfect.”
“Oh, Sage, there’ll be a new barista in here on Monday. Just a heads-up. I know how particular you are about your drink,” Martina calls after me. The driver outside honks once more and I nod my head.
“New barista on Monday. Got it. Thanks, Martina.” I rush out of the door and hop into the car in a huff. Did he have to blow the horn like I was taking forever? I was in there for all of five minutes.
Instead of saying what’s on my mind, I clutch the hot coffee cup in my hands and press my lips to the lid. “Sorry, I was talking to a friend,” I mutter. The driver doesn’t respond. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and I swallow my explanation about not being in there for that long.
I’m silent the rest of the way home.
I can’t breathe normally until I’m in my room again with the door closed and locked. I sit my cup down gingerly on the dresser, then kick off my heels, tear out of the silky blue dress, and scrub the mauve lipstick off with the back of my hand. Much better.
I wiggle my toes against the plush carpet and let out a tiny hum of happiness. My partially finished canvas and paintbrushes are waiting for me. Every brush in my cup points at me like they know I’ve been away for too long.
“Well, I’m back,” I say into the air. God, if Mom knew I was talking to my paintbrushes, she’d have me committed. I sweep all but a few tendrils of my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head, pull on a T-shirt, and smile.
I’m finally in my happy place.
Mars
They named me after a planet.
Back before meth was quickly killing my mother and whiskey was transforming my father into a mean bastard, my parents were nerds.
Two kids, lying in a field behind the old steel mill on County Line Road, making love and counting stars. They existed—these people. I’ve seen the proof myself in albums at my aunt Darcy’s house. Mom with her dark blonde hair and blue eyes that glimmered only for my dad. Pregnant and all smiles. Too young to be that happy about bringing a baby into the world. Their little boy named Mars, making his mark on Earth with a wail loud enough to make all the nurses at Duncan General Hospital cringe.
Hell, I still make some of those nurses cringe.
The spring of ’99 was when my parents were forced to get their heads out of the clouds and swallow a huge dose of reality.
Parenthood.
Unluckily for me, they both sucked at it.
Dad was barely old enough to get a decent paying job, and well, Mom wasn’t even legal at all.
They were just kids.
It’s that thought I desperately try to drive into my skull whenever Dad is plastered and throwing shit around our trailer.
He was thrust into a life he didn’t want. Forced to skip college and dive straight into the workforce. All his opportunities were taken…because of me.
I know this, because he reminds me daily.
She’d still be here if it weren’t for you.
Not a bitter day goes by where my dad isn’t blaming me for my mother’s transformation from Duncan’s town sweetheart to the meth head, who left her baby in a hot car while on the hunt for her next fix.
Apparently, little loudmouth Mars McKinney drove his mother to drugs.
And just like the epic dust storms planet Mars is known for, I’m one brewing to disastrous proportions. An embarrassingly long criminal record. My own stint with Mom’s beloved drug of choice. A laundry list of a million other reasons Sheriff Beauchamp is looking to lock me up over for good.