“Know what?”
“You're a smart girl. I just hope you'll be careful.”
“I will,” she says. I said the exact same thing to her when I told her about Peter.
“Okay,” Mom says. “You sure you don't want anything? I can whip up some pudding or something.”
We walk down the stairs, meeting Dad. He has his own stern look on.
“Claire, don't tax yourself. I'll do it.”
“Sam, please.” The pleading tone in her voice gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Tex is clearly uncomfortable.
“We'll help. I haven't been over here to make anything in so long,” Tex pipes up.
“You mean ruin it,” I say, trying to pick up on her light tone. “Don't tell me you've forgotten the blueberry cobbler incident.”
Her eyes narrow with fake anger. “We said we would never speak of it again.”
“Speak of what?” Mom says.
“Exactly,” Tex says, giving her a high five. I forgot how well they got along together.
An hour later Tex, Mom and I are on the couch with three spoons and a giant bowl of chocolate chip pudding. We're all engrossed in the love story playing out on the screen.
“French braids!” Mom yells.
“What?” The girl on the movie has French braids, but I'm not sure what that has to do with anything.
“It's on the list,” Mom says, yanking on my ponytail. “Tex, can we use your head?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, licking her pudding spoon. Mom proceeds to arrange Tex on the floor, with me sitting behind her so I have full access to her hair. It's not as long and thick as mine, but still, there's quite a bit to work with.
“Okay, so you take a little bit here and another there, and start.” My first attempt is awful, so I undo it and start again. I'm fine with a basic braid, and I can do a fish bone on another person, but for some reason the concept of the French braid baffles me.
“Ouch,” Tex says, when I unintentionally pull on a few strands.
“Sorry.”
“Be careful,” she gripes. I make a face at her back and try again.
By the time the movie is over and the pudding is consumed, I have a halfway decent French braid on Tex's head.
“Not bad,” she says, reaching up to feel it. “You wanna come over every morning and do that?” My fingers are actually tired from concentrating so hard on getting it right.
“Good job, ma fleur. You're a natural.” I'm not, but it's still nice to hear anyway.
Dad comes in to get the pudding bowl and taps Mom on the shoulder, giving her a look. She is coughing a lot, and I had to get her a second box of tissues. I've also been making Tex use the sanitizer.
“I think that's it for me. Thanks for letting your old crusty mom hang out with you,” she says.
“Oh stop it, you're awesome,” Tex says, getting up. She looks like she wants to give Mom a hug, but doesn't know if she should. Mom goes for her, giving her one anyway and kissing her cheek. Tex looks at me, and then starts to cry.
“I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry.” She sobs on Mom's shoulder. It's been several weeks since I told her about Mom, but I guess seeing her in person and seeing how sick she is opens the gates to the water works.
“It's okay. Shh, it's okay.” They stay like that for a while. I feel like I'm the intruder now. Mom has to let go of Tex so she can cough.
“Claire,” Dad says, the sharp tone back in his voice.
“I'm coming, I'm coming. I hope I didn't give you any of my germs.”
“Who cares?” Tex sniffs. Mom gives her another squeeze.
“Bye, Tex. Thank you for being such a good friend to Ava. I'm glad she has you.”
Tex wipes her eyes and nods. Dad takes Mom back to bed and Tex blows her nose.
“I can't believe I did that. I'm such an ass. She's the one who's...” She can't finish the rest.
“I know. I feel that way every single day. She's always the one comforting me and it should be the other way around.” We both sit back on the couch and Tex tries to get herself under control.
“I'm sorry I'm such a bitch most of the time. I don't mean to be.”
“I know. It's a defense mechanism.” She gives me a look. “Peter's been all over the psychology textbooks. I guess it rubbed off on me.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“Everything.” She doesn't want to say 'when your mom dies,' but that's what she means.
“Honestly, I don't know. I'm still trying to get through every day. Even if I didn't have the whole Peter and Di thing, I still wouldn't know what to do. I don't think you can prepare for something like this.”
“So the book was a bad idea?”
“I would have tried really hard to pretend I liked it.”
“You're not a very good actress.”
“Yeah, I'm aware.” She gives me another hug and gets up.
“I think I'm gonna go home with Viktor. He's good at this stuff. Hey V, I'm going to the car,” she says the last part not to me, but to the noctalis upstairs.
“V?”
“Yeah, don't you think it sounds sexy?”
Not really. “Sure. Why not?”
She beams at my white lie. Maybe I'm getting better at it.
Jamie calls me later that night as I'm doing more homework with Peter.
“She's gone, Ava.” His voice is both robotic and full of pain at the same time.
“Brooke?” I sit up and stretch my neck. Ugh, I shouldn't have stayed in that position.
“She left with Helena to find Di,” Peter says.
“Thanks for telling me, you jerk,” I say, glaring at him. “You have to stop doing that.”
“You were concerned about Claire. I did not want to worry you.”
“You have to stop doing that,” I say.
“Ave?” Jamie says.
“Sorry, Jamie. I'm so sorry. Do you know when they'll be back?” They probably won't be coming back alone.
“She just left. I miss her so much, it hurts.”
“I'm so sorry.” I know he's better off. My life would be better off if Peter wasn't in it, but my soul and my heart wouldn't be. I can't judge his love if he isn't judging mine.
“They will be back,” Peter says. “It is time.”
I take a deep breath. “Don't worry, Jamie. It'll be okay. Okay?”
“I hope so. I just want her back.”
“I know, I know.”
We are all chasing after the ones we love.
Twenty-Four