I rub my fingertips together and resist the nagging urge to climb to the second floor landing to see if I can watch Blair’s exit. Something tells me she’s already blended in with the shadows.
Taking out my phone, I skim my Instagram notifications. There’s a slew of likes and comments on my picture of Red this morning and the one I shared from practice of my cleats next to a soccer ball. Bishop left a load of emojis in a comment on both posts that makes me snort. It’s funny to imagine that tonight could have gone differently if I hadn’t walked to the garage intent on a joyride when I did.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I’ve never looked before. Does Blair have social media?
A search of her name pulls up nothing. I switch to Gemma’s profile and scroll until I find a recent photo of the two of them. They’re on Lucas’ boat in the middle of the lake, his pug dog cradled between them. Gemma grins brightly at the camera with her arm around Blair while she’s more reserved, attention on Lancelot the pug.
There are two profiles tagged in the photo. One is Lucas’, so the other must be Blair’s. My mouth curves. Thank you, Gem, for always being an open book.
I click on the @disblair username. It’s private. Her profile photo is a picture of her when she had her hair dyed blue-gray. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie and holding her hand up to hide most of her face. One brown eye peeks between her fingers, taunting the camera.
“Shit.”
It can wait for later. Or I could pay her for access to her account. I stroke my chin.
Swiping out of the app, I hesitate. Glaring at the message icon for a minute, I give in, pulling up my text history with Dad.
No response.
Which I knew.
A rough sound tears from my throat.
I fucking knew, and I still couldn’t help checking.
“Goddamn it, you idiot.”
I squeeze the phone in my hand until my knuckles turn white. My weakness pisses me off.
I briefly consider telling my parents about a break in. My breath hisses between my clenched teeth. No, I won’t tell them.
I’ll handle it all on my own, like everything else. They pushed me to be independent and I took it a step farther. I haven’t needed the monthly guilt money they dump in my bank account for more than a year. Through investments and planning with my financial advisor, I can walk away from them whenever I want. The problem is taking that step.
My phone starts vibrating. I hate the flash of hope that bubbles in my chest.
The caller ID is my uncle.
“Hey, Uncle Ed,” I greet after accepting the call. “What’s up?”
“Hey, son.” His voice is warm.
When he calls me son, my chest aches. It’s something he’s always done, almost like he accepted me from birth as I grew up alongside Lucas, his biological son. Lucas and I are cousins, but my aunt and uncle have given me everything they’ve given him.
“Did you eat yet?”
“No.” I scrub my hand through my hair. “Why?
“Come on over. Your aunt is still adjusting to cooking for two instead of three or four now that the kids are off at college.” He chuckles on the line. “I want to hear how the first week of your senior year has been.”
“Yeah,” I answer hoarsely, hoping he doesn’t hear it. I clear my throat. “That sounds cool. I’ll be over in fifteen.”
It’s pathetic how fast I jump at any chance to leave my empty house for a little while longer.
“Excellent. See you in a bit.”
When Lucas and I were kids, I spent a lot of time with his family instead of mine. My parents traveled even more often back then, and it was before they hired au pairs to raise me for them. I called Aunt Lottie my mom back then.
Secretly, I still wish she and Uncle Edward were my actual parents. But only the stars I sit under late at night hear it.