Darling Rose Gold(18)

But no one wanted to hear about the redeeming qualities of a child abuser. I was beginning to understand people needed to put one another in buckets: good or bad. No room for the in-between, even if that was where most of us belonged. Anyone who knew our story imagined Mom was evil. The jury must have slept well the night of the verdict, picturing themselves as my white knights. But they took my mother away from me. Some days I was thrilled. Others I felt like a vital organ was missing.

I mulled over all of this while searching for parking on Belmont. A Patty pity party was not how I wanted to spend my weekend. I had looked up Stockholm syndrome at a stoplight. Vinny was wrong—I wasn’t a captive, and I didn’t trust Mom anymore. Nothing she did to me was justifiable. I locked the van and walked toward Alex’s apartment.

My pocket vibrated.

    Phil: Do you have anything fun planned today?

Me: Nope, just working

Phil: I’ve been stuck at my desk all day too



I paused. I thought Phil worked as an instructor at a ski resort? That was what he’d told me anyway.

    Me: New job?

Phil: Oh, yeah, the lodge has me doing back office work once or twice a week



The key safe was bolted to the fence. I took the spare key out of it and let myself into the building, like Alex had instructed. By the time I’d climbed three flights of creaky stairs, I was huffing and puffing at the apartment door. Shortness of breath—I knew this pattern from childhood. Soon I would get dizzy. Fuzzy spiders would creep into my vision. If I couldn’t stop them, I’d faint. I would lie unconscious on this dirty carpet until someone found me. What if Alex or Whitney didn’t come home for hours? I could slip into a coma. I’d have to go to the hospital. They’d stick thick needles in me. They might perform surgeries I didn’t need. I knocked on the wooden doorframe, trying to unjinx all the thoughts I’d had. I heard panting and realized the gasps were coming from me.

I braced myself against the door, waiting. The fuzzy spiders never came. I didn’t get dizzy.

“Quit being a freak,” I said, unlocking the apartment door. No one was home.

Alex and Whitney’s decorations almost disguised the cheap furniture and old appliances. Colorful swirly paintings hung over the couch. A big white canvas leaned against one wall. The words “NO SHIT” had been sprayed onto the canvas with red paint, but the words were upside down. I didn’t get it, which made it even cooler. I sat on the blue couch and pulled out my phone to text Alex.

    Me: I’m back from my Chit Chat interview. I can hang out whenever



I hadn’t told Alex about the interview until now. Half of me had been worried she’d want to come with me. The other half had been saving the news for a moment I wanted to get her attention.

Thirty seconds later, my phone rang. Alex was calling. I tried to remember the last time she’d called.

“What interview?” she said in place of a greeting.

“Hi, Alex,” I said.

“You had an interview with Chit Chat?” she shouted, loud enough so anyone near her would have heard. I wondered who she was with.

“The reporter even bought me these incredible muffins and a Nutella latte.” I tried to steady my voice.

“I want to hear everything. I’ll be back at the apartment in ten minutes.”

We hung up.

Eight minutes later, a key turned in the lock. Alex—long, lean, and wearing her trademark high blond ponytail—marched through the door with a backpack slung over one shoulder. She wore designer workout clothes, purchased at a 40 percent discount from the athletics store where she worked part-time. She tossed the bag onto the floor and sat across from me on the couch. Sometimes I couldn’t believe how little she resembled Mrs. Stone. Alex used to sneak me candy when my mother wasn’t looking.

She grabbed me by the knees, something she hadn’t done since I’d told her about Mom. I resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her ponytail.

“Tell me everything,” she commanded.

I spent the next hour describing each painstaking detail of the interview. Alex hung on my every word. I decided to forgive her for ignoring me the past few months. I could tell she cared—she had even silenced her phone.

“That must have been so hard for you,” she said when I was finished, twirling her ponytail, deep in thought. “I’m so proud of you for putting yourself out there.” She squeezed my knee. I wished I was wearing shorts—I had shaved my legs that morning, and they were silky smooth. I thought back to Mrs. Stone’s bathroom ten months ago, when I’d applied shaving cream for the first time.

I gave her a closemouthed smile, though I was grinning inside. “I was tired of being the victim,” I said, borrowing Vinny’s words.

“So when does the issue come out?” Alex hopped off the couch and walked to the kitchen. “Smoothie?”

I’d never tried a smoothie before. “Sure. And in a month or two, I think.”

Alex looked disappointed.

“But I get to do a photo shoot soon,” I lied. Vinny had made clear they’d use one of the photos they already had of us. “Nothing with my face,” I added. “Maybe my profile or something.”

Alex nodded. “You don’t need people hounding you more than they already do.”