My gut twinges. Part of me wishes my mother weren’t here today. She’s the top paralegal at one of the most cutthroat law firms in town and she can be intense. But she insisted on helping me move. Too bad my stepdad, Robert, isn’t here too. He married my mom eight years ago when I was a freshman in college, and he’s particularly adept at mellowing her out. But he’s a real estate agent, which means he works most weekends, including this one. My brother Liam, ever the instigator, cackles with laughter as he holds a foam football out of Jackson’s reach.
“Boys, take it outside, please,” Mom says over her shoulder.
I ruffle Jackson’s hair as he races past. He blows a raspberry at me. I blow one right back and both boys giggle as they run out of the room. Mom motions me over with an impatient flick of her fingers. Her makeup is impeccable, as usual, and her straight brown hair is cut into a neat bob that highlights her youthful jaw. Her style mirrors her personality: no frills, no nonsense. At least we have that in common—except for the hair. Mine is more chestnut than cinnamon, and decidedly not sleek, thanks to my energetic curls.
Tugging the sleeves of my gray shirt up my forearms, I brace my hands on my hips. “What’s up?”
She motions vaguely at the fireplace. “There’s a draft.”
I shrug. “Fireplaces are drafty.”
“And there’s mold on the ceiling.” She points directly overhead at an ominous brown spot marring the white plaster.
A shadow in the corner shifts, and for the first time I notice our landlord, Marcus, is in the room too. Marcus Belmont graduated from the same high school as Brie and me, but two years before us, so I don’t know him that well. Brie knows him better than I do—somewhat. He lives directly above us on the third floor, which he converted into a separate, self-contained apartment, so she’s had more occasions to talk to him than me since she moved in nine months ago.
“It’s not mold. It’s a water stain,” he says, expression flinty.
Mom raises one arched eyebrow. “Are you sure? It looks like mold.”
This time, when Marcus lifts his chin to the ceiling, he closes his eyes briefly as though praying for patience.
“Don’t worry, Melanie.” Brie steps forward. “I’ve been living here for months and I feel fine.” As if on cue, Brie sneezes. The sound is as tiny as she is. “That was unrelated.”
“I had the property tested last year when I renovated, and I promise there’s no mold,” says Marcus. “I wouldn’t have been able to get the construction permits otherwise.”
Mom frowns at the faded hardwood floors and cracked windowsills before settling her gaze on Marcus. “Which rooms have you renovated?”
“The bathrooms. And I installed a new HVAC system and roof. The kitchen is next on my list.”
Mom leans to the side to peer around him through the open door into the kitchen with its cramped layout and ancient appliances. She concedes with a shrug. Stepping closer to me, she lowers her voice. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m sure you could find someone to sublet your room. You can still change your mind.”
“Mom—” I place my hands on her shoulders. “We’re not doing this.”
“Cass—”
“No, we’ve discussed it already.”
With a huff, Mom paces to the opposite side of the living room. When she turns around, her lips are pressed together so tightly they form a thin line. “I simply don’t know why you want to move out when you can live rent-free with me, Rob, and the boys for as long as you want.”
“Because I can’t live in the suburbs anymore, Mom. My job at Smith & Boone starts tomorrow, and I need to be able to walk there.”
“If you started driving again you wouldn’t have to walk.”
My jaw tightens. “You know that’s not an option.”
I still don’t remember the car accident. Or the hours leading up to it. All I know—courtesy of police reports—is that, over ten months ago, I lost control of my car and crashed it into the concrete median on I-71 at ten o’clock the night after finishing the bar exam. But something in my subconscious must remember, because every time I sit behind the wheel of a car, my heart races and I breathe so fast I nearly pass out.
“Sweetie, I’m just looking out for you. You’ve been through so much and you’re still not your old self. You need all the support you can get.”
Brie places her arm around my shoulders and tucks me against her side. “She has me, Mel.”