“Oh. Do you need me here? Or can you handle it on your own?” At least she’d asked, but she also looked—relaxed. More relaxed than I’d seen in a long time, and her reaction to the broken table had been wry humor.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, skipping over the fact Mathieu was coming over. “You’re going out?”
“Yes.” She avoided looking at me as she turned to the toaster and fed a bagel of her own into it. “Have plans with some of the folks from work.”
I took another bite of the bagel, mostly to give my mouth something to do that didn’t involve me snorting derision or saying something rude. Mom didn’t like a lot of the people she worked with or at least so she often said. Then again, Mom had been working for the same company for years. She’d put in her time and then some.
Asking her once why she stayed when she seemed so unhappy had backfired. She stayed because it put the roof over our heads and the food in our fridge. I learned to leave it alone after that.
“I’m glad,” I said finally after I washed down the bite. “I’m glad you seem to be making more friends there.”
Oh, that sounded awful and I winced. But Mom just gave me a tight smile. Bagel ready, she set it on a plate, then took it and her coffee into the living room. I stayed at the little table in the corner of our kitchen and ate the rest of my bagel. My phone lay on the table next to my plate, facedown. I’d left it indo not disturb.
After finishing my bagel, I wiped off my hands and then double-checked my recipe for opera cake. The multiple layers required a lot of different ingredients. I had most of them, but I would have to stop at the store after work. The whole thing would take at least a couple of hours, and it looked complicated as hell.
Was I crazy to try and make something like this? There was an elegance to the dessert, and it looked delicious. At the same time, it was what Mathieu described as his favorite, and he was going to be here to play along.
Well, if it was a disaster, I had time to try a simpler one—like chocolate mousse, which I happened to freaking love. I was adding the last item to the list when the text from Jake came in.
Jake:Are you still pissed?
That was it, nothing more, just the single message. If I hadn’t been staring at the screen, I wouldn’t have seen it. I’d made a point of not reading their messages mostly because I didn’t want them to see the read receipt. I was still mad. The night before, I’d actually worried if I caved and read the messages, I’d look for a reason to get over it.
Nope.
Morning came and I was still mad at them. All the anger I thought I’d let go of over the summer just boiled in my blood. My head hurt I was so pissed. Pressing the phone off and locked, I slid it into the pocket of my shorts then grabbed the laundry basket from under the table. “Going to grab my laundry,” I called.
“Okay,” Mom answered, her tone distracted. I bet, if someone asked her in two minutes where I was, she’d have already forgotten. I stuffed my feet into flip-flops and headed out the backdoor. The laundry room was off the courtyard next to ours. Ten on a Sunday morning, and it was already hot and steamy. Even with the doors propped open, the air in the claustrophobic room housing three washers and three dryers seemed to have a physical presence. The heat swelled the room, making it seem heavier, even if it was dryer sheet scented.
I’d timed my return perfectly. The dryer kicked off just as I stepped inside. Two of the washers were agitating loudly and a second dryer continued to run. I set my basket on the floor and checked the chipped linoleum table for folding. It was mostly clean. I swiped a hand over it looking for lint or dust. Nope.
I had a week’s worth of school and work clothes, not to mention a handful of pajamas in this load. I dragged the items out to the table to start separating.
Midway through folding the shirts, I glanced to the shadow in the doorway and, really, I wasn’t remotely surprised to see Coop standing there. He leaned in the doorway, dressed in a tank top and shorts, his own feet stuffed into flip flops, too. The sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the downturn of his mouth or the frown he wore.
“Coop,” I greeted him and went back to folding my shirts. The panties were already in the basket. I needed to get jeans and shorts next. Bras were stuffed in the stack still.
“So youaretalking to me.”
“I’m not playing that game. I can be polite.”
“Except you’re not answering any of us, and you kicked us out last night.”
“Well, you were all a bunch of assholes last night.” I told him, turning and setting the stack of shirts in the basket, then dropping a bra in there that I’d uncovered before I snagged my jeans. Hell, I hadn’t even gone out in the ripped pair the night before, but I’d washed them anyway.
“Frankie… I get that we broke the table.” He straightened and raked his hand through his hair. “And I shouldn’t have been messing with your phone. You shouldn’t have had to wrestle with me to get it back.”
We were dancing down the yellow brick road to an apology, I could almost feel it. Course, any minute now, the flying monkeys were going to show up.
“But…”
Yep. There they were.
“But you said you were pissed at us over dating.”
I snapped another pair of jeans out and then folded them in half before setting them atop the others.
“Are you really that mad at me about dating Laura?”