EVERY YEAR, after Nicholas left her while she slept—or pretended to sleep—Livvy would roll over in the hotel bed and grab her phone. The first couple of years, she’d read the text that brought him to her and cry, clutching her phone to her chest, aching over the empty space in the bed.
As she grew older, the tears had come less and less, but she’d never been able to stop herself from rereading that single message time and again. She’d also never been able to stop the aching.
Eventually she’d get out of bed, shower, and put her clothes on. Then she’d grab her phone and delete that message. Within a month or so, she’d get a new phone or switch numbers.
Livvy leaned against the granite island and stared at the texts she’d sent Nicholas. For three days, she’d picked up her phone, determined to delete them. Each time, she’d simply reread the one-sided conversation, and put the damn phone down.
She traced her finger over each word she’d sent him, but instead of glass, she imagined she was touching his warm forearm. It had been so long since she’d caressed him like that. They were always greedy and needy, not soft or slow.
Oh God, quit it.
She swiped the conversation to the right. Her thumb hovered over the Delete. Archiving the chat was largely symbolic. She had his number memorized. It hadn’t changed in ten years. It wouldn’t change anytime soon. God forbid the man had to cope with something like a brand-new number. It would upset his perfect world.
“Livvy?”
Livvy jumped at the booming, deep voice coming from the living room. Feeling oddly like she’d been caught doing something illicit, she shoved her phone into her pocket. “Yes, Aunt Maile. I’ll be right there.”
Livvy depressed the plunger on the French press and tried to let the scent of Kona calm her.
When she’d left home all those years ago, she’d had a couple years of art school and a tiny bit of experience working at her father’s family’s little café under her belt. That slight work history had been enough for her to get a job and pay the bills while she apprenticed part-time.
While she prepared two mugs on a tray, she mentally ran through what was in the fridge. She’d lost track of time while she did the laundry and ironing this morning, and she was behind on dinner preparation. She’d tried to use the stack of cookbooks to create nice meals when she wasn’t working, but so far, her mother had only picked at every dish she made. Livvy didn’t entirely blame her—Jackson had been the twin who had hovered around the kitchen, eager to learn everything he could from their personal chef. Livvy had been much more interested in disappearing somewhere with a sketchbook.
Her hand shook as she poured the coffee and a little spilled on the counter. Son of a bitch. She set down the press and grabbed a towel, cleaning up the granite so it was gleaming again.
Sometimes she managed to go weeks without thinking of Jackson and worrying over where he was and whether he was okay. Curse Nicholas for so many reasons, but especially for bringing up her twin brother yesterday.
You weren’t cursing Nicholas in your bed last night. No, she’d been stifling his name on her lips as her fingers brought her body to swift climax. That was hardly new. She had enough Nicholas material in her spank bank that she could probably take care of herself forever.
But she wasn’t going to think about him now. That wasn’t what she was here for.
Livvy took a second to bundle her hair up on her head and picked up the tray of coffee, balancing it as she left the kitchen, using her elbow to knock open the swinging door. She was met with the sound of a cheering studio audience and the loud clicking of knitting needles, as well as the running patter of her aunt’s deep voice.
“Do you think these doctors on these shows have actual medical degrees or—?” Her aunt broke off, a grin creasing her round face. Livvy always got a slight pang in her heart when she looked at the woman. Maile Kane resembled Robert Kane, with the same dark hair and eyes and brown skin. She was large boned and sturdy, her shoulders broad and strong, her hands capable.
Her father’s younger sister had been a steady constant in Livvy’s life for forever, and never more so than after the accident. It had been Maile who had propped up her and her brothers during her father’s funeral; Maile who had tried to talk Tani out of selling her company shares for a pittance; Maile who had helped Livvy find a lawyer for Jackson when he was arrested for arson.
And once the charges against Jackson had been dropped, it had been Maile who had handed Livvy and her brother a few thousand bucks each and told them they could leave if they wished. No guilt necessary.
Livvy couldn’t help the guilt, but the money had tided her over through those first lean months. She’d spoken to Maile more over the past decade than her mother, but not by much. Never once had her aunt made her feel bad about that.
“Oh, Livvy, how nice, did you make us some coffee? It’s a little late, but you know I read this study that said you should drink a cup of coffee a day in order to maintain a good digestive system and also prevent cancer.”
“I did make coffee.” Livvy smiled at her aunt. As usual, Maile was dressed fashionably, in black jeans and an exquisite pink cashmere sweater, her shiny dark curls tumbling down her back. Livvy resembled her Japanese-American mother, but in everything else, including her love of dressing up, she could have been Maile’s daughter.
Livvy steeled herself to look at her mother, sitting on the couch, prepared for the hit of guilt and anxious need. Tani was patiently winding a ball of yarn for Maile, and didn’t glance up at her.
Her mother had been a celebrated beauty in her youth. Save for a streak of white in her hair, she hadn’t aged much, maintaining a smooth, unlined complexion and a fit figure. The metal walker next to the sofa seemed out of place.
The surgery they’d done on Tani’s hip had been minimally invasive—she’d been out of the hospital in a couple of days, before Livvy could even get to town. The first few days she’d been here, Livvy had matter-of-factly approached Tani to provide assistance in dressing and other basic matters, but she’d been straight-armed away fairly quickly. I can see to my own personal needs, Olivia. Since then, Tani had mostly only accepted help from her sister-in-law.
Gregarious, flighty Maile and distant, reserved Tani made an odd pair, but as far as Livvy could tell, they got along well, with Maile chattering and Tani listening. The two women had been living together since her mother had sold everything. This home, a wedding present from Tani’s father to Robert’s parents, wasn’t a mansion, but it was paid for, large enough for the two women and located in a quiet, safe cul-de-sac.
Tani had never talked finances with her daughter, but Livvy’d gleaned enough from their stilted conversations to determine that after she’d sold everything, even at a loss, Tani had amassed enough in savings to support both women. A good thing, since Tani had never worked outside the home. Maile occasionally talked about selling her knitted creations, but Livvy doubted they would cover all their bills.
Livvy skirted the leather couch and placed the tray on the table. She handed a mug to her aunt first. Maile took a sip. “Oh my, is this coconut milk?”
“It is. I thought you’d like it.”
Livvy picked up a mug to hand to her mother, but Tani shook her head. “No, thank you. I only drink my coffee black.”
“Try it, Tani. It’s delicious,” Maile urged.
“Too fatty.”
“I can make you a cup without milk,” Livvy responded.
Tani wrinkled her small nose. “I’ll be up all night if I have coffee now.”
It was barely three p.m., but there was no point in arguing with her mother. “Sure. I’ll drink it, don’t worry. What are you watching?”
“This doctor is so smart. It’s a show about how to lose fifteen pounds in a week on his new diet. You only eat vegetables that start with the letter c.” Maile’s bright, dark eyes went back to the television.
Livvy’d grown up with little to no television in her home, but her mom had apparently changed her views on T.V. time over the years. The older woman spent most of her day sitting in the armchair of her bedroom, switching through various channels like it was her job, pausing only to move to the living room and the T.V. there. “I really hope coffee and chocolate are on that list,” Livvy said.
Maile snorted. “And carbs.”
“Speaking of carbs, I was thinking of what to make for dinner. Pasta, maybe?” Livvy perched on the arm of the couch where her aunt sat.
“You don’t have to cook,” Tani said.
“I want to.” No, she didn’t. But she’d ordered pizza yesterday, and she couldn’t do that two days in a row. “I make a really great marinara sauce too.” More lies. She could open a jar.
“Hmm, maybe not marinara,” her aunt said. “Your mother’s allergy.”
Livvy looked at her mom. “What allergy?”
Tani shrugged. “I’m allergic to nightshades.”
“Since when?”
“A few years back.”
She thought of all the meals she’d prepared since she’d gotten home. The omelettes. The pizza she’d ordered.
All made with tomatoes.
Suddenly, Tani’s pecking made more sense.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Tani gave another delicate shrug and put the ball of yarn in the basket next to the sofa. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Livvy took a drink of her coffee to hide her annoyance. This was so like her mother, not to communicate one simple thing. Livvy had thought Tani didn’t like her cooking, not that she couldn’t eat her cooking.
Start a fight. Do it.
No. No. That would be the immature thing to do, and she wasn’t immature. At least, not that immature. “Any other allergies I should know about?”
Tani frowned at the coffee table and rubbed a stain there. Cleaning was definitely not one of Livvy’s skills, but she’d spent most of the day tidying up in here. The gesture felt like an implicit rebuke. “Dairy.”
Livvy thought of the cheese she’d put on most everything. “Got it. Sure.”
Aunt Maile nodded at the T.V. “This doctor did a whole episode on adult allergy onset.”
Livvy took another sip of coffee. “I’ll have to catch that later. Or we could go for a walk around the neighborhood, Mom. Do those exercises the physical therapist gave us. I don’t have to work tonight.”
Livvy waited, but Tani’s only response was silence. She’d talked about her part-time job about a dozen times over the past week, but Maile had been the only one to show any interest. Once upon a time, Tani would have leapt up to tell her exactly what she thought about her only daughter being a tattoo artist.
Olivia, really, I was fine with you not having any interest in the business. I spent a small fortune on art supplies and classes, and this is how you want to use it? To pierce people’s skin with ink?
The good old days. She’d never had a close, tender relationship with Tani, but at least her pecking and criticism had been some sort of attention.
When Livvy’d lost her father in that accident, she’d lost her mother too. Tani had effectively withdrawn from all her children, spending her days either sobbing or sleeping. She’d seemed oblivious to Livvy’s heartbreak over losing her father and Nicholas back-to-back, Paul’s devastation over losing his place as heir apparent to C&O, and—most important—Jackson’s run-in with the law and the two weeks he’d spent in jail. At the time, Livvy’d felt blindsided, utterly and totally alone.
As an adult who struggled with maintaining emotional equilibrium, though, Livvy could empathize. In hindsight, she could see a pattern in her mother’s behavior that suggested the depressive episode after Robert’s death hadn’t been entirely situational.
Headaches and fatigue. Growing up, those had been the excuses her mom had given when she’d retreat to her bed for days on end. There hadn’t been tears then, only silence. Livvy’s father, normally cheerful, would walk around with a worried scowl on his face, shushing Livvy and her brothers. After a few days or a week, her mother would emerge, a little more fragile-looking, but back to her cool and contained self.
Part of Livvy wanted to ask her mother straight out if she’d ever seen a doctor about her depression, but she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Even when life had been more stable, the Kanes had never discussed mental health. It had taken years for Livvy to seek help and even longer for her to understand there was no cure or magic pill that could fix everything.
In the dark days and weeks following Paul’s funeral, Livvy’d finally confronted and acknowledged the scary, lonely emptiness she’d carried inside her for most of her adult life. She’d tried to fuck it and move it and ignore it and run it away, to no avail.
It would never leave her, fine. She was done flailing in the darkness when she could take actionable steps to help herself.
Coming home right now was her chance and she’d take it. Livvy sipped her too-sweet coffee. Even if she had to cook and clean and confront her ex-lover, she’d force her mother to . . . well, maybe not shower Livvy with love, but at least care enough to criticize her a little.
Nobody had ever said her family was functional.
A knock sounded at the front door, but before Livvy could move, the rattle of keys preceded a familiar throaty voice. “Hello?”
Tani straightened. She didn’t exactly light up, but her gaze focused on the arched opening of the living room.
“We’re in here,” Maile called out.
A small, dark-haired whirlwind came barreling through the door. The six-year-old paused only when he caught sight of Livvy and shoved his silky black hair out of his eyes, a shy smile creasing his baby-round face. Kareem had his mother’s hair, build, and face, but he had his father’s smile.
Livvy wasn’t great around kids, but her heart caught, something deep and warm lodging there. She wanted to grab the kid and haul him in for a hug, but he barely knew her and would probably be freaked out. She settled for a smile, dialing up the warmth.
“Hi, Livvy,” he said.
“Aunt Livvy,” Livvy’s sister-in-law said as she rounded the corner of the door and smiled at Livvy. Sadia had been Livvy and Jackson’s best friend from the time they were in elementary school, well before she’d fallen in love with and married Paul. She hadn’t changed much over the past decade, though motherhood had rounded her already dangerous curves.
“He can call me Livvy,” she replied, not for the first time. It felt odd to hear the kid call her “Aunt.” She and Sadia had kept in contact more than she had with any other member of her family, but that didn’t mean she knew Kareem beyond photos and videos. Before this week, she’d seen him exactly three times in his life. He’d been a newborn the first time, a toddler the second, when Sadia had traveled to meet her in Manhattan for a weekend, and she assumed he’d been too tired and confused at his dad’s funeral to remember the third time.
“He’ll address you with respect,” Sadia said firmly, then came close to pull Livvy in for a hug, which Livvy returned a little awkwardly.
It was odd adjusting to being around someone who didn’t hesitate to touch her. She hadn’t known how much she craved that kind of casual physical affection. She was a loner by necessity—it was hard to make friends or form lasting attachments when she was constantly on the road.
Livvy held on a beat longer than she needed to, only because she knew she could. At Paul’s funeral, her mother had carefully stood on the opposite side of the grave. It had been Sadia who stood next to Livvy, arm wrapped around her shoulders. She didn’t know who had been giving who comfort.
“Aunt Livvy,” Kareem mumbled, then skirted around her to continue to his grandmothers. He launched himself at Maile, who had thankfully placed her coffee down first. She gave him a fierce hug, squeezing until he wriggled free. With no sign of reticence, he flopped on the couch next to Tani and curled in close to her side. “Hey.”
“Kareem,” her mother said, and there was a fraction of genuine warmth and happiness in her voice.
“Be careful not to jostle Grandma,” Sadia cautioned her son. The boy gingerly readjusted himself next to the older woman, taking exaggerated care not to move her. Sadia hitched the large tote she carried up higher on her shoulder. “Hello, Aunt Maile. Mom.”
“Hello. My goodness, Sadia, you look lovely today. Doesn’t she look nice, Tani?”
Tani spared Sadia a quick glance. “She looks the same to me.”
Sadia smoothed a hand over her round hips and maintained her smile. “Thank you, Auntie.”
Livvy gritted her teeth. No, she would not be jealous that her mother had made a passive-aggressive barb at another woman instead of her.
Pathetic, party of one.
“I brought over some sandwiches and those quiches you like from the café.” Sadia patted her bag.
“Oh, how nice,” Maile said. “We were just wondering what to do about dinner.”
And there was probably a nightshade and dairy-free sandwich in there for her mother. Because Sadia’s been here while you’ve been gallivanting all over the world.
Funny how the critical voice in her head sounded like Paul.
“I’ll go put them away,” Sadia said.
Livvy jumped up. “I’ll help.” Sadia didn’t need help, most likely knew this kitchen as well as her own, but she’d take any opportunity to spend some time with her best friend. Sadia was always either working or with her son. Livvy’d barely seen her since she came home.
Sadia placed the tote on the round kitchen table and pulled out a smaller bag. If Livvy peeked, she’d probably see a number of pouches inside the huge tote, along with notebooks and pens. Sadia was ruthlessly organized. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing food over. We had some excess from lunch.”
Sadia operated Kane’s Café now, the place established by Livvy’s paternal grandparents. Robert had liked to joke he’d had his eye on Tani his entire life—a reference to the café’s location, right across from the original C&O store.
Her father had willed the local landmark to Paul directly, so Tani hadn’t been able to sell it when she purged the company and the house from their lives. Running a single café instead of a grocery chain had been a step down for her brother, but it seemed he’d been able to pull a tidy living together for their family.
She hadn’t been back to see Kane’s yet, though she had fond, warm memories of the place and her grandparents. It was one thing to deal with her mother and family. It was quite another to deal with . . . well, everything else.
Not all painful memories were created equal. And she wasn’t convinced confronting each one would be to her benefit.
Like Nicholas.
Or the café. Because if she went to the café, she’d have to see the flagship C&O. Or rather, Chandler’s, the building that had replaced the original after the fire.
“Please, how can I mind you bringing us ready-made food?” Livvy accepted the heavy bag and walked it over to the fridge. “I feel like I should be feeding you, though. You’re always running around.”
“Aw, don’t worry about that. I grabbed a sandwich before we left the house and made sure Kareem ate. He’s in this phase where he mostly survives on peanut butter and pickles and pizza.”
“You raising a kid or a pregnant woman?”
“I’m raising a pit. A bottomless one. Thanks for letting him stay here for the afternoon.”
Livvy shut the refrigerator door, then moved back to the sink. “No problem.” She was apprehensive about babysitting the kid herself, but Maile and her mother were here, and apparently they took care of Kareem quite a bit. Besides, she figured if she didn’t swear, drink, or let him do either of those things, she should be okay.
She poured her coffee into the sink and grabbed a sponge. Doing dishes as she used them felt weird to her—allowing them to pile up was more her speed—but there was no doubt something a little satisfying about having an empty, gleaming, stainless-steel sink.
Sadia pulled a planner and pen out of her bag and dropped into a seat at the table, stretching her long legs out. She flipped the book open. “So my sister will pick Kareem up at 6:30, okay?”
“Which sister? The doctor?”
“Haha. Very funny.”
Livvy grinned and scrubbed her mug. All four of Sadia’s sisters were either in medical school or physicians. “I try.”
“It’ll probably be Noor.”
“Sounds good. Are you working ’til closing?”
“Yes. We have a barista out sick. But then I have a shift at the bar, so Kareem will probably end up staying at Noor’s ’til late.”
Livvy shot a glance over her shoulder. Sadia was jotting something down in her planner, giving Livvy a chance to observe her. There were half-circles of exhaustion under her best friend’s eyes. Sadia never discussed finances, but Livvy’d assumed things were, if not great, at least manageable. “I didn’t realize you were still pulling shifts at the bar.”
“Part-time.” Sadia closed her planner with a snap. “It keeps my bartending skills sharp. You need something to fall back on.”
Sadia’s tone was light, and Livvy couldn’t detect any hint of a lie. Still, she pressed. “You’re doing okay with the café, right?”
“Sure.” Sadia raised an eyebrow. “A more important question is, are you doing okay with Mom?”
Sadia calling their mother “Mom” had given Livvy more than some comfort over the years. Paul hadn’t wanted to talk to her and Jackson had been mostly unreachable. It had felt like she’d had a real sibling. “Yeah, sure. I mean, we don’t talk much, but then, she’s never been a talker.”
“A person doesn’t need to talk much to be difficult.”
Livvy grimaced and started cleaning out the French press. “Ugh. Sorry for what she said out there. You look fabulous today, and you always look fabulous.”
Sadia huffed out a laugh. “You caught that, huh? Don’t worry about it. Your mother is in the minor leagues for backhanded insults. Last time I saw her, my mother asked if I wanted Noor’s old clothes. Her maternity clothes.”
Livvy groaned. “Oh God, Mama Ahmed, why.”
“Because she is who she is,” Sadia replied prosaically. “Can’t change that. Can only accept it.”
“Saint Sadia.”
“Hardly a saint.” Her chair scraped against the tile. Sadia got up and came to stand next to her at the sink. She grabbed a sponge and began efficiently cleaning up the coffee grounds Livvy hadn’t even noticed on the counter.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind. Let me help.”
Livvy placed the carafe on the drying rack. “You’re always helping. You’ve been here for years taking care of Mom. I haven’t.”
Sadia stopped cleaning. “Hey. Did you hear that?”
Livvy listened for a moment, but all she could hear was the muted T.V. show, punctuated by Kareem’s high-pitched chatter. “What?”
“That shirt you just put on. All that hair is so loud.”
Livvy’s lips twitched. “Shut up.”
“You left for your own reasons, good reasons. I don’t blame you a bit.”
“Paul did.” Livvy winced. “Sorry.” Though they’d shared a lot over the years, they’d tacitly agreed the second Sadia had started dating Paul that her role as Livvy’s best friend would be separate from her role as Paul’s significant other.
“Paul blamed a lot of people for a lot of things,” Sadia said, breaking the rule herself. “I know he was hard on you. I tried to convince him to give you a break, but I’m afraid I wasn’t successful.”
Livvy had barely talked to her brother since the day after Kareem’s birth, when she’d driven in to see the baby and he’d confronted her in the hospital hallway. Mom’s getting older, and I’m the one who’s been stuck here taking care of everything while you’re gallivanting all over the country having fun. Grow up, Livvy.
Paul hadn’t seemed to grasp Livvy wasn’t wandering around aimlessly with the family fortune backing her. She’d traveled because . . . well, because she had to, and she’d worked her ass off, more often than not in menial jobs that her childhood of comfortable wealth hadn’t exactly prepared her for.
She wasn’t sure what her big brother had wanted of her. To stay here and occupy the same role she’d been raised to play from birth, even though their roles had been eliminated?
She supposed it didn’t matter. It was too late to ask him. “Thanks for trying to change his mind. It’s not your fault he considered me some sort of flighty playgirl.”
Sadia made a dismissive noise. “I don’t think you were wrong to leave, and I think it’s incredibly brave of you to come back right now.” Sadia rinsed the sponge in the sink and dried her hands. “And you never need to feel guilty about anything I choose to do. Paul may be gone, but you’re still my sister, and Tani’s my mother.”
“Ah, there it is,” Livvy said dryly, in an effort to hide the lump in her throat. “Perfect Asian daughter-in-law sense of responsibility.”
Sadia snorted, but she sounded amused. “Lord knows, I’ve been neither the perfect daughter-in-law or the perfect daughter.”
In her worn jeans and soft T-shirt, no one would guess Sadia had grown up rich. Not as rich as the Kanes or Chandlers, but her parents were both successful cardiologists, which was how they’d been able to afford to send all five of their daughters to the same private schools Livvy had attended.
Sadia’s family hadn’t had a problem with her dating a man who wasn’t Pakistani or Muslim—but they’d had serious opinions about her quitting school and marrying a man who was no longer heir to a fortune. Sadia and Paul’s elopement had driven a wedge between her and her family, though they’d softened since Kareem’s birth. Livvy dried her hands as well. “You’re perfect to me.”
“Same.” Sadia faced her, leaning against the sink.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She meant to say thank you, but instead she blurted out, “I saw Nicholas a few days ago.”
Sadia’s nostrils flared. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do I need to kill him?”
Livvy gave a half-laugh. Standard. Her friend was forgiving when it came to slights against herself, but hurt a person she loved? She’d pull a knife. And she didn’t even know about Livvy’s and Nicholas’s unconventional arrangement over the years. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”
“There’s many reasons you love me. Shall I? Kill him?”
“No.”
“Stab him non-fatally? Trip him? Let me trip him.”
“We were bound to run into each other sooner or later.” She repeated the words she’d said to herself for the past few nights as she tossed and turned in her bed. Bound to happen. Like the inevitability of the situation made it any easier or better.
Bound to have your heart ripped out eventually.
“Probably,” Sadia said gently. “But that doesn’t make it any less difficult, I’m sure. I always get a little kick in my gut when I see Nicholas, and I didn’t have half the investment in him you did.”
Livvy shifted. “You see him?”
“Of course. I don’t speak to him. Paul would have gone through the roof if I had, and I’m not sure what I’d say anyway. But I’ll see Nicholas or Eve at the grocery store occasionally.”
Livvy raised an eyebrow. “You shop at Chandler’s?” She tried to keep the accusation out of her tone, but she wasn’t sure if she entirely succeeded. Nicholas couldn’t ever be seen at a competitor store, which meant if Sadia was seeing him at a grocery store, it was their grocery store.
No, it wasn’t theirs. It was his.
Sadia met her gaze without flinching. “Yes. Paul forbade it, but once—well, I started shopping there. Of course it hurts, every time I step into that place. But at the end of the day, Rockville is my home too. My son’s home. They have the best prices and quality and I’m not feeding my son anything but the best simply because of my pride.”
“Right, of course. I’m not blaming you.”
Sadia regarded her without a shred of anger. “Despite my choice in grocery stores, I’m still more than willing to maim or murder Nicholas for how he dumped you.”
Livvy tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “The decision to end our relationship was mutual.”
“Honey. I was there.”
“Well.” Livvy wiped her hands on her jeans, like she could wipe away the past. “It’s been forever. I’m over it, and so is he.” So many lies. “He seeing someone now.”
Her friend pressed her lips tight. Livvy waited for Sadia to tell her it was silly to be upset by that, or ask how the subject of who he was dating had even came about. Instead, she took a step closer and pulled Livvy in for a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. That rat bastard.”
Livvy rested her head against Sadia’s chest and breathed in deep. She wrapped her arms around her friend and relaxed, marginally. “He is a rat bastard, isn’t he?”
“The rattiest bastard.” Sadia’s hand smoothed over her back.
Livvy didn’t care if she was acting childish or needy. She simply absorbed the physical affection like a starved flower absorbed the sun. “I hate him so much.”
“I know.”
“His girlfriend is probably the worst.”
Sadia hummed. “I’m sure she’s the most terrible human on the face of the planet. Like, animals can sense how evil she is.”
Livvy choked out a chuckle and disentangled herself from her sister-in-law. “Poor Nicholas.”
Sadia squeezed Livvy’s shoulder. “Let’s not go that far.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You will.” Sadia’s tone was firm. “You’re here. You’re trying. You’re going to be fine. Promise.”
There is nothing wrong with you. You’re fine. Livvy smiled mechanically, hiding her disquiet.
Not well enough.
“What’s wrong?” Sadia asked.
“Nothing.” Jackson hadn’t been good at comforting words, but he’d been the only one who’d witnessed her struggles when they were young. He’d always fallen back on a few key phrases.
She’d appreciated the sentiment, but the words hadn’t helped. On the contrary, they’d only made her feel more pressure to pretend she was fine. “The way you said that. For a second, you reminded me of Jackson.”
Sadia’s lashes lowered. “Does he even know Tani was in the hospital?”
“Yeah. I emailed him.”
“Maybe he didn’t get it.”
“I’m sure he got it.” He just didn’t want to come home. Jackson hadn’t even attended Paul’s funeral, though she didn’t want to remind Sadia about that.
“How do you know?”
“He responds to my emails occasionally.”
Sadia frowned. “What email address do you have?”
Livvy rattled it off. She memorized things that were important. Like Nicholas’s number. And her only link to her twin brother.
Sadia blinked. “I’ve emailed him there. He’s never responded. Not once.”
Oh. “Emails get lost.”
Sadia nodded, but strain had appeared around her eyes. “I sent more than a couple. But that’s fine. No big deal.”
It didn’t sound like no big deal. Livvy knew Jackson hadn’t maintained his ties to anyone but her, and then, only in the most cursory ways, but she hadn’t realized Sadia had tried to reach out to him. “Do you want me to tell him to contact you?”
“Uh, no. That’s fine. I don’t know what we’d even talk about, it’s been so long.” Sadia shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. “In any case, if he doesn’t respond when it comes to his brother’s death or his mother’s illness, he’s certainly not going to pick up the phone because you told him to chat with me.”
Livvy winced. She wanted to defend Jackson, but she wasn’t sure how. He should have contacted Sadia when Paul died. Especially if the woman had tried to contact him.
“Mom! Can I have chocolate milk?”
“Of course,” Sadia called out and strode to the fridge. “Can you go on out there and check on things while I make Kareem some milk?”
Livvy suspected Sadia wasn’t really concerned about how her son was faring with his grandmothers, but she respected giving people their alone time when they needed it. “Sure.”
In the living room, Aunt Maile was busy at work knitting, and Kareem and Tani’s heads were bent over something.
“Draw me another one, Grandma,” Kareem demanded.
“What are you doing?” Livvy asked, craning her neck to see what was on her mother’s legal pad. She caught a glimpse of a cartoon character before her mom covered the pad with her hand.
A torn-out page rested by Kareem’s leg, and Livvy picked it up, recognizing the chubby character instantly. “Hey. This is really good.”
“It’s nothing. Something to amuse the boy.” Her mother tried to snatch the paper, but Livvy neatly sidestepped her, taking in the sketch. This wasn’t good, it was excellent, the character’s face set in his usual sour lines, his leg raised like he was about to step off the page.
“It’s not nothing. I can’t tell you how many requests I get for this tattoo.”
“People get cartoon tattoos?” Kareem asked.
“Sure,” she said, at the same time her mom sternly said, “No.”
“You will not be getting any tattoos,” Tani told her grandson, ignoring Livvy. “It’s not for respectable people.”
Her heart jumped at the hint of subtle criticism. It was a happy jump. You’re sick to crave this type of attention.
Sadia joined them and perched on the arm of the sofa, holding the milk out to her child. Her face was placid again, whatever tension Jackson’s name had invoked gone. “Mom’s always drawing stuff for Kareem.”
“She is? You never drew stuff for us.” Her mother had loved and appreciated art, and she’d used a tiny room above their garage to store her supplies. Livvy had started sneaking sketchbooks and materials out of there from the time she was in third grade. It had been one thing they’d had in common.
But that had been a hobby Tani had only occasionally had time for. She certainly had never sat around and drawn pictures for her kids.
“You don’t remember the mural on your bedroom wall?” Maile asked.
Tani glanced at Maile, and Livvy didn’t miss the frown on her mother’s face. It cleared quickly, leaving her brow smooth again.
“The mural?” Livvy tracked the stray memory floating through her brain like a wispy ghost. “Wait. I do.” A castle, with a tiny, dark-haired, light-brown-skinned, freckled princess inside, with dark eyes just like hers. She and Jackson had shared a room then, and he’d been featured as a small knight on a steed, his wavy dark hair peeking out from under the helmet. “God, how old was I?”
Tani bowed her head and smoothed the paper out. “Four or five.”
“Six, I think she was,” Maile said. Her fingers flew, the yarn between them working up rapidly. “But you only had it up for a few months.”
After that, her room had been a soft baby blue until she’d hit high school and thrown a tantrum for blood red. “I remember being sad it got painted over so quick. Why did you spend all that time working on it if we were redecorating?”
“Well—” Maile started.
Tani closed her sketchbook with a sense of finality. “A whim.”
“I should get going,” Sadia said. “Livvy, I texted you all the emergency numbers, though Mom and Auntie have them too. Remember—”
“Noor will be here at 6:30. Got it.”
“Are you working at the bar tonight?” Maile asked, then continued before Sadia could answer. “Livvy, why don’t you go with Sadia tonight? You’ve been cooped up here with us since you got back. It’s not healthy.” Maile’s needles moved faster. Livvy had no idea what her aunt was making. She’d once peeked into her aunt’s closet to find it filled with plastic containers stuffed with yarn, but she didn’t know where the woman stashed her finished goods.
“I haven’t been cooped up.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Tani said crisply. “You don’t need to be here.”
Oof.
She hid her flinch. She knew her mother meant she didn’t need to be at home tonight, but she couldn’t help but interpret it as you don’t need to be here at all.
Sadia glanced at her. “Sounds fun. It’s Friday, so I might get swamped, but we’ll surely have chances to talk.”
Livvy forced a smile. “Sure. That sounds great.” She didn’t know if it would be great or not, but what else did she have going on? Sitting at home and cooking and cleaning and trying to bond with her mom? Or staring and rereading her text messages to Nicholas? Neither of those things sounded particularly healthy.
And damn it. She was going to be healthy, even if it killed her.