Chapter 25
The low sound of harp music felt like a jackhammer to my brain. Groaning, I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand.
One hour. That's how long I'd been asleep. It wasn't nearly long enough.
With muttered curses, I reached past the clock and fumbled for my cell phone, still making that dreaded sound. With bleary eyes, I studied the display.
Shit. It was Loretta, the stepmother from Hell.
I had a choice to make. Suffer a little now? Or suffer a lot later?
I did the smart thing. I answered. "Hello?"
"Don't tell me you're still asleep," she said.
"Not anymore."
"There's no need to get snippy," she said. "Not all of us can sleep the day away, you know."
I felt my jaw clench. "You do remember I work nights, right?"
"Save me the sob story," she said. "You've had a chip on your shoulder as long as I've known you. And to be perfectly honest, I'm more than a little sick of it."
Damn it. I should've suffered later. If I hung up on her now, would she forget that I'd answered? No. She wouldn’t. Loretta never forgot anything.
I forced myself to think of Josh, my thirteen-year-old brother. Unlike me, he lived in Loretta's house. He ate Loretta's food. And if I didn't pull it together fast, tonight he'd be taking Loretta's shit – insults, nitpicking, verbal abuse. And my Dad wouldn't do a damn thing.
Better me than Josh.
I closed my eyes and choked out an apology. "I'm sorry."
"As far as apologies go," she said, "that was barely adequate."
If she didn’t like mine, she should've seen Brittney's.
"I'm sorry for that too," I said.
"Are you being sarcastic?"
Was I? Probably. Should I apologize for my apology? Damn it. I should've let it go to voicemail. My body might've been awake, but my mind was still out cold.
"Are you still there?" she said. "You fell back asleep, didn't you?"
"No, I'm still here."
"If you say so."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? What did she think? That she was talking to a recording?
Still, in a lame attempt to sound friendly, I made myself smile as I said, "Is there a particular reason you called?"
"Are you laughing at me?" she said.
"No. I'm not laughing at anything. I was smiling into the phone, just like you told me the last time we talked."
"Alright, whatever." She gave a loud sigh. "I'm just checking in about Thanksgiving. You are still bringing the dessert right?"
"Wait a minute," I said. "I thought I was bringing a salad?"
"Oh for God's sake," she said. "Not this again."
"Not what again?"
"Don't be dense." With another sigh, she pulled out her overly patient voice and spoke very slowly. "Yes, I did ask you to bring a salad, but you pitched such a fit that I switched the menu around just for you."
"So I'm bringing the dessert?"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
I rubbed my eyes. She was doing this on purpose. I just knew it. "Okay," I said. "What kind of dessert? Pie? Cake? Something else?"
"Look, you've got one thing to bring," she said. "Me? I've got a whole meal. Is it really that much trouble to figure out the dessert on your own? Or do you want me to send you a recipe book too?"
"Sorry," I said. "I'll bring a pie."
"Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
"Why?"
"Because Lauren Jane hates pie. You just love to stick it to her, don't you?"
Lauren Jane? She had to mean Lauren, her natural daughter. But I'd never heard the Jane part before. It must be new.
Lauren was about my age, but I had no idea what she liked, or didn't like. In truth, I barely knew the girl. She was the upstairs daughter. As for me, I'd been relegated to the basement from day one.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know," I said. "I'll bring a cake then."
"For Thanksgiving? What do you think this is? A birthday party?"
My brain was foggy, but my head was pounding. For the life of me, I couldn't think of another single dessert. I was gripping the phone so tight, I feared it might shatter.
I tried to keep my voice calm as I said, "Okay, then I'll bring a surprise."
"Oh, I'm sure you will."
And then, before I could respond, she hung up without saying goodbye.
I turned off the ringer and flopped back onto the bed. For at least an hour, I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to fall back asleep. But that woman got under my skin like almost no one else.
It didn't help that I knew she was doing it on purpose. Someday Josh would move out, and I'd be free to tell her exactly what I thought of her and all her games.
Until then, I was screwed.
I should be used to it by now. But somehow, I wasn't.