while clutching the steering wheel with her other hand.
“Huh?” That “huh” was a knee-jerk reaction. What I really mean to say is, “Mind your own damn business.” Honestly, I don’t want to talk about what went on between Jackson and me, not now, not ever. But because Jackson and my mom have this strange little friendship, namely, they like to call each other and complain about all of my flaws, I know she’ll find out eventually, and I guess I’d rather she hear it from me than him.
“Did he take you out to that nice Chinese restaurant?” Mom asks with a dreamy sigh in her voice.
I glare at her. “You knew about the restaurant?”
She sets down her handkerchief and flashes her best condescending smile. “He called me yesterday and told me his plans.”
Okay, now I’m pissed. “You know I hate Chinese food.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Mom waves me away with a flick of the wrist, as if nothing I say matters. “Did you see the prices at that place? Easily a hundred a plate. For that much money, you can learn to like it.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. I’ve been thinking of the best way to break it to my mom, but suddenly I don’t give a shit about her feelings. It’s not like she cares about mine.
I turn up my chin and flash my own condescending smile. “I broke it off with Jackson.”
Mom’s hand flies to her chest. “Pardon?” she says in a breathy voice, looking as if she’s about to pass out. “I didn’t hear you.”
She must have taken her foot off the accelerator because the car starts to slow down.
I fold my arms across my chest and center my gaze out the front window, watching other cars speed past us. “I broke up with him. Gave back the ring.”
The car swerves, and I grab the door handle, praying that all the airbags in mom’s luxury car still work.
“Christina Marie, that is not funny.”
But her eyes just about pop out of her head when she looks down at my bare engagement finger. The car swerves again, narrowly missing a pickup truck beside us. The driver lays on the horn and speeds up.
Even though my stomach has practically launched into my throat, I hold my ground. “I’m not joking.”
She angles her body, her eyes more on me than on the road. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, but you have. Pay attention to where you’re driving!” I holler.
She gasps and faces forward, but not before I witness a look of horror in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. How could my darling, obedient girl use that tone of voice? She’ll probably need several extra weeks of therapy after my outburst.
We ride the rest of the way home in stony silence, which suits me just fine, but as we pull into the circular drive of our two-story upscale home, a lead ball settles in the pit of my stomach, because this silent treatment is just the beginning of something far worse. I’ve seen the extent of my mother’s wrath when other people have angered her. Up until this point, I’ve always done what I’ve been told. I cringe when I think just how far she’ll go to make me pay for my defiance.
* * *
I wake up to a blinking cell phone. No surprise there. I had turned off the volume because I knew my friends wouldn’t let me get any sleep. I stretch a cramped arm and pick up the phone, surprised to see it’s already six o’clock. I’d slept almost the whole day, although considering my wild night, I know I needed the rest. I scroll through my messages. Five voicemails from Karri’s mom and three texts from Jackson. I ignore the texts. Whatever the hell he has to say, I don’t care.
Karri’s mom, on the other hand, I can’t ignore. The woman is a saint, the kind of mother neglected, unloved kids like me have fantasies about. It pisses me off that Mrs. Peterson is Karri’s mom. Karri doesn’t deserve her. She deserves a mom like mine, one who is selfish and spiteful, just like Karri.
The first few voicemails, Mrs. Peterson asks if I know when Karri is coming for Tyler. She
“Huh?” That “huh” was a knee-jerk reaction. What I really mean to say is, “Mind your own damn business.” Honestly, I don’t want to talk about what went on between Jackson and me, not now, not ever. But because Jackson and my mom have this strange little friendship, namely, they like to call each other and complain about all of my flaws, I know she’ll find out eventually, and I guess I’d rather she hear it from me than him.
“Did he take you out to that nice Chinese restaurant?” Mom asks with a dreamy sigh in her voice.
I glare at her. “You knew about the restaurant?”
She sets down her handkerchief and flashes her best condescending smile. “He called me yesterday and told me his plans.”
Okay, now I’m pissed. “You know I hate Chinese food.”
“Oh, pshaw.” Mom waves me away with a flick of the wrist, as if nothing I say matters. “Did you see the prices at that place? Easily a hundred a plate. For that much money, you can learn to like it.”
I blow out an exasperated breath. I’ve been thinking of the best way to break it to my mom, but suddenly I don’t give a shit about her feelings. It’s not like she cares about mine.
I turn up my chin and flash my own condescending smile. “I broke it off with Jackson.”
Mom’s hand flies to her chest. “Pardon?” she says in a breathy voice, looking as if she’s about to pass out. “I didn’t hear you.”
She must have taken her foot off the accelerator because the car starts to slow down.
I fold my arms across my chest and center my gaze out the front window, watching other cars speed past us. “I broke up with him. Gave back the ring.”
The car swerves, and I grab the door handle, praying that all the airbags in mom’s luxury car still work.
“Christina Marie, that is not funny.”
But her eyes just about pop out of her head when she looks down at my bare engagement finger. The car swerves again, narrowly missing a pickup truck beside us. The driver lays on the horn and speeds up.
Even though my stomach has practically launched into my throat, I hold my ground. “I’m not joking.”
She angles her body, her eyes more on me than on the road. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, but you have. Pay attention to where you’re driving!” I holler.
She gasps and faces forward, but not before I witness a look of horror in her eyes. I know what she’s thinking. How could my darling, obedient girl use that tone of voice? She’ll probably need several extra weeks of therapy after my outburst.
We ride the rest of the way home in stony silence, which suits me just fine, but as we pull into the circular drive of our two-story upscale home, a lead ball settles in the pit of my stomach, because this silent treatment is just the beginning of something far worse. I’ve seen the extent of my mother’s wrath when other people have angered her. Up until this point, I’ve always done what I’ve been told. I cringe when I think just how far she’ll go to make me pay for my defiance.
* * *
I wake up to a blinking cell phone. No surprise there. I had turned off the volume because I knew my friends wouldn’t let me get any sleep. I stretch a cramped arm and pick up the phone, surprised to see it’s already six o’clock. I’d slept almost the whole day, although considering my wild night, I know I needed the rest. I scroll through my messages. Five voicemails from Karri’s mom and three texts from Jackson. I ignore the texts. Whatever the hell he has to say, I don’t care.
Karri’s mom, on the other hand, I can’t ignore. The woman is a saint, the kind of mother neglected, unloved kids like me have fantasies about. It pisses me off that Mrs. Peterson is Karri’s mom. Karri doesn’t deserve her. She deserves a mom like mine, one who is selfish and spiteful, just like Karri.
The first few voicemails, Mrs. Peterson asks if I know when Karri is coming for Tyler. She
Similar Books
