Addicted After All (Addicted #3)(118)

Rose’s heels clap as she marches to the door.

“Rose,” I call out, eyes wide. “It could be a trick.” Like another bucket or worse.

Daisy hops off the stool, but she hesitates and lingers back. My fearless sister is frightened right now. I clasp her hand and watch Connor take a few lengthy strides, his legs much longer than Rose, and before his wife can protest, he’s in the foyer and opening the door.

Very softly, Daisy whispers, “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Chills prick my arms. “You won’t be…one day.” I nod resolutely at this idea. “It’ll just take time.” From someone who’s battled pieces of her mind, I know this fight. We can wish for it all to be better, but it’s bigger than us. It feels out of our control, but somewhere deep down, it’s in reach.

I want to express this to my little sister, but the new voice in the foyer extinguishes my thoughts.

“I should really have my own key. Three of my four daughters live here.” My mom—she shows up unannounced all the time, but never to see me. I usually hide out in my room or the nursery. Maybe that’s my fault too. I should be more sociable.

“I’ll have one made for you,” Connor says as he returns to the kitchen. Rose looks ready to claw out his eyes. Then again, Connor could be lying to our mom. Trying to win her over.

In two quick seconds, Samantha Calloway appears: her strand of pearls choked against her neck, her brown hair pulled into a strict bun. She places her white designer purse on the bar counter.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Rose asks unenthusiastically.

“Don’t be so hostile, Rose,” our mother refutes. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello. It’s Saturday.”

“So it is,” Rose grumbles.

Our mom spots Daisy, and her demeanor lightens, like she’s found a purpose for visiting. “Oh honey, I thought you were planning on dying it back to honey-blonde.” She approaches Daisy and inspects the platinum-blonde strands between pinched fingers. “I’ll make an appointment for you at the salon—”

“No, it’s okay,” Daisy cuts her off quickly. “I’m not sure what color I want yet. But the next time I dye it will be the official color.” She shrugs. “No more changes for a while.”

Our mom purses her lips, as though concocting ways to convince Daisy of the honey-blonde color. I squeeze my little sister’s hand, supportive of her decisions. Whatever they are, as long as she makes them herself. I’m standing very close to my mom now.

My chest tightens as I prepare for the inevitable cold shoulder. Very little eye contact. Even less conversation. It’s her go-to with me for the past few years.

“Where’s Jane?” our mom asks, avoiding my nearby presence. “I’d like to see my granddaughter before I leave.” Her silver bracelets clank together as she fingers her pearls.

The exclusion of my son rings in my ears like a blow horn. It’s been plaguing me for some time. I can handle the silent treatment directed at me. But I envision a future where Maximoff is ostracized by his own grandmother. I’d rather him be surrounded by love than know that kind of pain.

My words overflow, too strong to contain. “I have to talk to you.” She startles like I yelled in her ear. My voice is almost a whisper. “In private.”

Her shoulders constrict, her collarbones jutting out, but she nods anyway. Not shutting me down. It’s a start, I think. I make a point to do this on my own, leading my mom into the bright sunroom without glancing back at my sisters.

I shut the oak door behind her, the hollow parts of my stomach twisting in real knots. The last time I shared my mom’s company, alone, was years ago. I believed that I wasn’t vocal or strong enough to confront her, but I have a reason to try now.

She stands uncomfortable and rigid beside the floral-patterned couch.

“You can sit down if you want,” I instruct.

She chooses to stay upright. “Are you planning a date for your wedding?” It’s a safe topic. One that I’ve trained myself not to contemplate for long.

I lick my chapped lips. “No…” Just tell her how you feel. It’s not as easy as it seems.

She crosses her arms, scrutinizing all of the brass furnishings in the sunroom. “I think you should choose a date in the summer. May or June. It’ll give me plenty of time to plan it.” I follow her to the floor-length window; outside the leaves are dark green in the middle of August.

I swallow a lump. “I need to know something…”

She spins around, and her cold, daggered eyes zero in on mine. It’s not like Rose. She carries an air that says: you are not what I wanted you to be. “Yes? Speak.”

I muster the bits of courage inside of me to ask, “Why are you more interested in Jane than Maximoff? Is it because he’s my son?” The question is as pained as it sounds.

Her stoic face hardly fissures. “I’ve never had a boy, Lily. I’m more comfortable with Jane.” She pauses like there’s more, and she touches her dangly pearl earring in thought. My heart beats rapidly, waiting for a slice of the guillotine. “You…and I, we’ve had our differences. I don’t want to cause anymore unnecessary drama.”

This is partly my fault. I’ve been avoiding her too, and now it’s like we stand on two separate planes of existence. I miss the days where she would stick up for me if Rose was being too harsh. Where she’d cut in during family luncheons and ask me about college. I messed up. So badly.