Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [44]
“I’m not stupid.” Only stupid people yell at my mother. Or Ramon’s, for that matter. They were very different, but they were both the kind of woman you said “yes ma’am” to and meant it.
Ramon glanced at me. “I’m just saying, you know, watch it.” We stepped onto the porch, and Ramon stopped to adjust his clothes.
I was about to knock, but the door swung open before I had the chance.
“Oh, it’s you,” Haley said, tilting her head a little to the side. “Who kicked your ass?” She reached out to touch the bruise on my cheek, but I batted her hand away.
Haley had gotten all the looks in the family and seemingly all the talent, too. She was one of those people who excelled at everything she attempted without actually trying to. Since she was my little sister, that made me proud. A little envious too, but mostly proud. I wished I had half her drive. I couldn’t imagine Haley in my stead; a college dropout with no real plan or goal. She would have a list of options or a five-point plan the minute she left school. Some people are just annoying that way.
Her looks plain made me nervous. I trusted my sister to be smart, and she could definitely take care of herself, but I didn’t trust fifteen-year-old guys. I’d been one.
She glanced down at the bag Ramon was holding, her long black ponytail shifting with the movement. “Did you bring me a present?” She reached for it, but Ramon moved his hand out of her grasp.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I told her. My sister didn’t really mince words. It’d gotten her into a lot of scuffles growing up. Then she developed a mean sucker punch, and the fights stopped. “Feel like letting us in anyway?” I asked.
Haley gave me a lopsided grin and stepped back, managing a mocking half bow at the same time. I ignored her and walked in.
My mom was fixing a cup of tea when I entered the kitchen. I’ve always been amazed at how my mom and sister could seem so alike at times and yet be so different. They were about the same height, and they shared the same freckles, but that’s where the similarity ended. My mom was calm, slender, and blue-eyed with strawberry-blond hair that she usually pulled back in a braid. My sister was slender but curvy, with black hair, steely eyes, and no compunction about getting in your face. And yet, looking at them, there was no doubt they were mother and daughter. Both were confident and smart, and both fiercely loyal, but my mom will get you to do what she wants and make you think it was your idea. Not in a mean way, but very craft y.
“Hey, honey, cuppa?” she asked. My mother had never once been surprised to see me show up. I didn’t know how she did it. I’d always thought it was some sort of mom super-power, or that she’d LoJacked my car. Now I wondered if there was more to it. “What happened?” She hesitated, then reached for my cheek.
I shook my head. “A fight, but that’s not what I want to talk about. I’m not really here for a pleasant social call.”
She turned away from me and grabbed up an extra mug anyway. “Then you must be here on an angry social call. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” My mom believed in the universal healing powers of hot chocolate, especially if the wound was an emotional one.
I opened my mouth to protest, but my mom talked over me. “You want any, Ramon? I have real whipped cream.” She poured the milk into a pan—enough for Ramon, I could tell. Mom knew he would say yes. After she put the milk away, she got out her ingredients, one of which was a hint of cayenne. It sounds weird, I know, but it’s good.
“Yes, please,” Ramon said, coming in the doorway. He kissed her on the cheek and set Brooke’s bag on the table.
I scowled at him, trying to remind him that we were angry. Ramon ignored me.
“How’s your mother?” My mom set up a couple of mismatched mugs with one hand while stirring the milk with the other.
“She’s doing great,” he said. “She wanted me to thank you for that ointment you gave her. She said it’s working real well.”
My mom smiled and nodded, adding the chocolate to the milk.
“Mom, c’mon, we need to talk.”
She