My fingers shake as I read the simple note over and over, pressing it to my chest as if I’m in a dream. A trance.
I glance down at the cupholder.
There’s something else, something that cracks my heart into a million pieces and tapes it back together at the same time.
Sitting inside the cupholder is a giant cup of iced coffee.
Chapter 12
Lex
Thanksgiving is definitely the worst holiday: giving thanks, counting our blessings, celebrating with the ones we love. Blah, blah, blah. It’s just another cruel reminder to the people with hollowed-out hearts that we don’t have enough pieces to fill the gaps.
Mom adjusts my turquoise tie in the full-length mirror as we gear up for a dinner for three at some overpriced steak house. The kind of place where you can’t even see your food because the lights are nonexistent. This dinner is solely for appearance’s sake, to keep the image alive and well that the Halls are an all-American family celebrating a time-honored tradition of upholding values and kinship on a holiday rooted in violence and colonization.
“Why aren’t you wearing the rust-colored tie?” my mother asks me, dragging the knot up to my throat. “I wanted us all to match.”
“I figured I’d save the matchy-matchy look for the next family photo shoot. You know, the one where we all pretend to be perfect.” Our eyes meet in the mirror. “We rented that poodle last time. Where is she? Maybe she can wear the rust-colored tie.”
“We didn’trenta dog, Lexington. We borrowed Lulu from your aunt Gia.”
“My mistake.”
Gripping me by the shoulders, she spins me around to face her. Her hair has extra hair in it. Extensions or something. But no amount of glitter or jewels canhide the vacancy in her eyes. They look exactly like mine. The pearls around her neck are a noose, and the long-sleeved salmon gown rimmed with gemstones is only a pretty shield to conceal her bruises.
I glance away, down at the floor. “Your makeup looks nice. Hides your black eye.”
She releases me sharply. “Don’t start.”
“You started this. I’m just along for the ride.”
Her crimson lips thin as she turns back to the mirror and fluffs her layers of hair. “I want you on your best behavior tonight. I mean it. No outbursts, no embarrassing spectacles.”
“I would never.”
“That includes unwarranted sarcastic comments.”
I loosen the tie around my neck that’s compromising the thinning oxygen in the room. “So you want me to put on my acting hat. We both know that’s not a problem.”
“Just one day,” she bites out, pivoting to face me. Her teeth are bared, the rouge on her cheekbones pinkening. “All I ask is for onegoddamnday, where you behave like a well-mannered, respectful member of this family. Your father—”
“My father can go fuck himself.” I send her a pleasant smile as I comb a hand through my gelled-up hair. “Respectfully.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. We stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the gilded mirror, me trying to maintain the force-fed grin and Mom trying not to lose her shit and ruin her makeup. We look so similar right now. My sleek suit, her Prada dress. Matching golden hair and blue eyes. Carved from the same stone and blackened in the same dirt.
But my mother chooses this.
I never will.
As I hook the button on my suit jacket, I glance down at the turquoise tie. There was a reason I went with this color, and it wasn’t solely to piss off Mom.
It reminds me of Stevie. She always wears a splash of blue-green, and I wonder if she even realizes it. Every day I’ve seen her over the past three months, that color accessorizes her in some way. Obvious, subtle, sometimeskeenly hidden. Earrings or a headband. Nail polish or a thumb ring. Even her old car.
I wonder why she likes the color so much.
I wonder why I care.
The front door claps shut from down below, and I pop my head up, my chest deflating with a flat sigh. “Showtime.”
