“What on earth are you doing?”
I jump, pushing the pan to the back burner as if I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to. Staring at her with wide eyes, I’ve drawn a completely blank.
“Were you—were you trying to make breakfast?” she asks, her face a bundle of surprise.
I shrug sheepishly.
“Wow, I expected you’d want a continuation of yesterday’s discussion, not deliver some ass-kissing,” she says, blinking rapidly. “I’ll take it.”
“Yeah, well, I think I screwed up the eggs.” I point to the charred remains.
She nods, a hint of a grin sparkling in her eyes. “They certainly are beyond resuscitation.”
My gaze falls to the floor and I scrunch my face.
Mom sets her briefcase down on the counter and takes the handle of the frying pan and the wooden spoon. “Looks like you just had the oil too high. How about we start over?”
Walking to the small countertop compost bin, she scrapes the contents into it and rinses the pan out in the sink.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod.
“You did a great job with the dicing, though. How about you do that again and I’ll start the toast,” she offers.
I set to work and before we know it, a newly cooked version of the meal is laid out before us. She’s right. I definitely had the oil on too high. The eggs, too, come to think of it.
“Thanks for getting this going. I was planning on swinging through Panera on the way to work,” Mom says, reaching for my hand and giving it a squeeze.
“Thanks for teaching me how to make eggs without burning the house down,” I grin.
A smile lights up her face, but her eyes glass over. Instead, tears work their way to the surface.
“C’mon Mom,” I say, tipping my head, “don’t do that.”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m—I’m okay,” she whispers. But her voice cracks, betraying its sentiment.
“What’s wrong now? I thought this was a good morning.”
“It was—is.”
“So then, what?”
“It’s just—I’m going to miss you so much,” she says, her lip quivering.
I sit up straighter and lean in. I search her eyes, pleading with my own.
“Mom, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”
Her greenish-hazel eyes, just like the ones I’ve acquired from her, blink slowly as a single tear falls. She swipes at it and shakes her head.
“I wish I could believe that, sweetie. But I know you. I know how stubborn you are. You’re just like your—” her words break off and she holds my gaze for a moment.
“Even if I am like Dad,” I whisper, “I really haven’t decided yet.”
A twinge of guilt punches me in the gut, but I ignore it.
She gives me a knowing look, but nods. “Well, thanks for a nice breakfast, sweetie. I—I gotta get to work,” she says, pushing away from the table.
“Yeah, uh—me, too,” I say, blinking back the surprising spring of emotions.
Each collecting our things, we trod down the front steps, one after the other. Mom heads to her SUV and drives off with a small wave, but I keep walking. I move in a haze past the garden of flowers I’d normally stop and admire and onto the sidewalk. Hiking my purse strap up, I consider heading to the cemetery again to clear my head and relieve some of the guilt I have over trying to make this all about Mom. I should be opening the craft store in the next fifteen minutes, but no one will notice if I’m a couple of minutes late. Most of the locals don’t even stroll in until well past nine, anyway.
“Eh, why not?” I say, walking straight past work with a shrug.
As I turn the corner, I hear someone yell, “Hey—Dru! Drusilla.”
My insides trip all over themselves, and I chance a glance over my shoulder. Jogging after me, his dark hair flopping up and down with his steps, is the same guy from last night. Surprisingly, his features are even more striking in the daylight. I’m oddly excited to see him again.
I continue walking, but despite myself, slow my pace a wee bit, just in case he really wants to catch up. After a moment, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, didn’t you hear me back there?” he asks, matching my stride as we walk shoulder to shoulder.
“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, didn’t realize you were talking to me. Sorry, forgot about the nickname,” I lie, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
“Ouch. You already forgot about our tit-for-tat in the cemetery?” he says, pretending to jab a knife into his heart. “That hurts.”
“That’s life,” I say, quoting my mom without thinking. She says that no matter what crap thing goes wrong. Who knew I’d already be turning into her this young?
“Well, all right then,” he says.
I turn to look at him. He’s dressed in a casual button-down shirt beneath the same leather jacket as before. It splays itself open nicely, revealing an outline of his trim torso. His ripped-up blue jeans certainly suit his shape.
Goose bumps flash across the back of my neck and I shiver involuntarily. Most of the guys in town think they look like God’s gift in their baggy Champion shorts and t-shirt that could fit three of them inside.
“So, you look like you’re on your way to the cemetery again. Are you still sorting out whatever was bothering you last night?” he asks, watching me closely with those discerning silver eyes.
I nod. “Yeah, a lot on my mind.”
“Anything I can do to help? I’m a good listener,” he says, grinning broadly.
“No. Thanks, though,” I say, my gaze surveying the expanse in front of me.
“C’mon. Nothing I can do? Are you sure?”
“Nope. I think it’s pretty much screwed,” I say, covering my mouth with the crook of my pointer finger.
“That sounds dire…” His eyebrow twitches upward.
I let out a slow sigh and curse under my breath.
“Well, see, I just got a full ride to the Windhaven Academy, but my mom doesn’t want me to go. Last night we got in a big fight over it.
