He pointed at a chateau-looking house. I parked at the curb across from it, hoping the cops didn’t show up.
“Call her,” I told Sebastian, thinking we should have already tried. He called, but she didn’t answer. He typed out a text, and we waited, but she didn’t respond.
I leaned my head back against the cool leather of the headrest and sighed. True, she might already be home, tucked in all safe and sound, but I needed to know for sure, even if it meant staying here all night.
Sebastian spoke. “You know, mom and dad may have died when I was young, but I still remember stuff they told me, like the story of when they met. Do you know the one I mean? At the music festival?”
I nodded, thinking back to how Dad loved to tell us stories. “Yeah, they were both seventeen and as soon as dad saw mom dancing, he said he loved her.”
“Exactly,” Sebastian said. “And you know what I remember most about that story? It was how his face looked when he told it. Like all soft and shit.”
I glanced at him in surprise because yeah, I remembered how crazy my parents had been about each other, but I’d never thought Sebastian would.
He sighed. “And from that day on, they were always together, like it was meant to be. I hope I find the same thing someday, and I hope you do.”
I shook my head. “All I need is you, little brother. Nobody else.”
He nodded. “If that’s really true, and you’re giving up on love, then leave Nora alone. If you can’t commit, then let someone else have a shot.”
I couldn’t answer. Fuck me, did he mean himself?
An hour later, we watched as Nora’s white Volvo pulled into the drive of her house. I cranked the car, and we drove home, Sebastian deep in thought, and me . . . I was miserable.
Chapter 17
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Nora
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“When I was a four, I thought Mother was a goddess. When I was fourteen, I knew she was a monster.” –Nora Blakely
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After I’d fled the gym, I drove to a local diner where I planned to drown myself in buttery pancakes and crisp bacon. I sat myself at a cracked vinyl booth and picked up the greasy menu being held up by the napkin dispenser. A few minutes later, the waitress approached with a little smile and a pair of old orange flip-flops. I stared at them in confusion.
“Hon, these were left here a while back, and well, I thought you might want them. Technically, we can’t serve you if you don’t have any shoes,” she said with a gentle Southern twang.
I blinked in surprise, looked down and saw bare feet that were covered in dirt from the parking lot of the gym and the restaurant. And so. It was settled. I’d officially teetered over from barely holding it all together to losing it completely. Sign me up because I was ready to be committed. I had no shoes, borrowed clothes on, blood on my elbows, tangled hair, and a tear-streaked face. Oh, and no Leo, no soulmate, no mister right, no true love, no beloved. I sucked.
I tried to remember where I’d left my shoes, and then I dimly recalled leaving them in Sebastian’s car. “I lost my shoes,” I told her nametag, not wanting to see the pity that must be in her eyes. “Thank you,” I said, taking them from her and slipping them on.
She smiled sweetly and nodded like it happened all the time. I sat there with borrowed flip-flops and ordered my late-night breakfast, intending on savoring every delicious morsel before I went home.
Someone was at home, and I sensed trouble. Whatever was waiting for me in that cold house, I didn’t want to give in and take it like I had before. I wanted to fight.
As I ate, I had a conversation with myself about Leo. I’d laid it all out to him. Again. The roulette ball had landed, and it seemed I was an expert at mastering the art of losing. I’d taken a chance and told him what was in my heart, and he’d rejected me. Again.
About an hour later when I walked through the door at home, Mother was the one who greeted me, an irritated look on her face as she sat at the kitchen table. Her brown hair was bound up in a perfectly loose chignon, and she wore a soft-green bathrobe. It struck me as odd because I hadn’t seen her in night clothes since I was a child. She wasn’t the type to lounge around in comfy clothes, and I tried to picture her in one of my usual garbs: sweats, a hoodie, and my fuzzy multi-colored socks.
Normally, when she was home, we’d have a light dinner that Mona had prepared, we’d sit in the living room and discuss world events for an hour, and then we’d tell each other goodnight. I wouldn’t see her until morning and most times not even then. The station usually sent a car for her around 5:00 a.m., which was before I got up.