The moment I put on the headphones, the beat thumps through me, echoing in my skull and every bone in my body. Whoa. Nice one.
"Good for when you can't sleep," Merc says, smiling.
"You mean you can't sleep because you get such a mega headache from this song."
"Oh suck it up, Ginger. You'll love this song. Listen to it first, and then pass judgment."
"We shall see about that, Mercurius. And I've never been a ginger. Not about to start now."
"Pardon me, missus," he says with a terrible British accent. At least I think it's British. "I see now ye're a propah blond."
"God, please tell me this isn't how you come on to girls."
He looks offended. "I don't need to fucking come on to girls. I'll let you know, girls flock to me."
"That so."
"Ah-huh. All the time. They go on their knees, begging to go out with me."
"Why am I not convinced?"
He grimaces. "Some sister you are. No support at all."
"Aw, Mercky. You're cute. I'm sure girls are falling over their feet to get to you. They're so blinded by you they can't see any other guy. They cry out your name as they come on someone else's cock and can never find true love because of you." I pause for dramatic effect. "How was that?"
"Screw you." He pouts and makes sad eyes at me. "That was fucking awful."
I laugh. "I thought it was being supportive."
"That's it, I'm not making any more playlists for you."
"Aw, don't be that way. You know I adore your playlists."
He grins. "You'd better."
But he knows it's true. We share the same taste in music. He says he taught me everything I know in that respect. I insist I am the one who got him hooked on alternative pop, hip hop, and indie rock music since I'm older by a year.
It doesn't really matter.
Merc and me, we're close. Closer than we are with Octavia. She was always kind of like a second mom to us. But Merc and me, we're thick as thieves. We're like twins. He knows about stuff that happened to me. I know about stuff that happened to him, that nobody else knows.
And we pretend we know nothing and that nothing ever happened, that life is a unicorn's rainbow fart and smells of roses.
That's how we roll. It's easier to get through the day-and night-that way. Besides, I kind of like the smell of roses … and my illusions. They're warm and cozy like this kitchen. I try not to think I lost my trust in men, in people, my confidence in myself, and that now I fake it every day.
Try not to remember that the only place I've ever felt safe since we left Destiny is Jarett's arms. That all I want is to grab my phone and call him, find him, meet him.
"Gigi? Hey." Merc tugs the headphones off my head. "What did you think of the song?"
"It's awesome," I say, and can't even remember the melody. "Gimme."
"Goes on your new playlist," he says with a grin, pleased with himself. "Songs for the winter."
"That sounds sad." I take a sip from my tea. I think of Jarett's bare apartment and shiver involuntarily.
"Nah. Winter is a good time. You know, a time to rest and reflect, a time for secret changes under the surface."
"Wow." I gape at him. "That was deep."
"Read it somewhere," he says sheepishly, cheeks coloring, and jams the headphones on his head. "Going to make that playlist."
"You do that," I mutter, watching him as he leaves the kitchen, blond hair standing up in all directions.
I'm happy when I make him smile. When I see joy in Mom's, or Octavia's eyes. I want the people I love to be happy.
I want Jarett to be happy, and safe.
But he's not mine to care for, to worry about, to want and to love. My trail of clues has gone cold.
So he'd do anything about his adopted family. So maybe he's steadfast and true to those who help him.
But why should I be glad when he seems to care more about his creepy asshole of a brother than me, or even himself? It sounds like his promise is an excuse to stay on the wrong side of the law. And that's not good.
Not good at all.
When I return to the kitchen later to make myself a sandwich and grab a glass of milk, my thoughts still on the same man, the same dilemma, I find Mom baking.
Figures I was so lost in my own mind I didn't notice the divine smells wafting up. My stomach must have noticed, though. No wonder it's been rumbling for the past hour, demanding to be fed.
Mom glances up from the row of perfect cakes she's baked and smiles. "Hi, sweetie. Merc said you were home today. Feeling okay?"
"Yeah. I took a nap. Speaking of which … " I frown. "Have you talked to Tati? I had a weird dream that the baby was yelling at her through her belly that he wanted out."
She snorts softly. "You're probably just antsy, like I am. But your sister is fine, I just talked to her. Now come help your mom ice these cakes. You're so much faster than me."
I shuffle closer in my fluffy bunny slippers and tug my overlong sweater down, over my LaRue leggings with their print of cute Dead Sugar Skulls. "Move over, heathen. Only I can ice these cakes properly."
"Thank you." Laughing, she kisses my cheek and busies herself getting another cake out of the oven.
"Wait, how many cakes have you baked, Mom? This has to be illegal. I know you don't get paid for this, but you've practically opened a bakery in our kitchen."
"Shush now. Get to work, or I'll never be ready on time. And no dipping your finger in the icing!"
How does she always know?
"Doing the usual rounds today?" I grab the spatula and get to work.
"Yeah. Least I hope so. I got no driver today, so I'll have to call a cab. Always harder. I wish I'd learned to drive. You should, Gigi."
"I'm planning on it. Matt said he'll teach me after the baby arrives."
She arches a brow. "He'd trust you with a car?"
"Psht." I slather icing on the cake in front of me. "Why wouldn't he? He can see how careful and studious I can be."
"Have you met you?" my mom, the traitor, says. "And did you notice you just spread icing on the table, too?"
Crap. I shake my head and bite my lip not to laugh. Whatever. My brother-in-law is pretty awesome. He'll teach me, and then someday I'll buy my own car.
Mom wants that. She wants for me to be independent, because she never really was. By the time she moved away from her home and parents she never talks about, and got a job, she became pregnant with Octavia, then me, and then Merc. She was trapped from the start. No time or money for driving lessons, let alone buying a car.
She'll never tell you she was trapped, though. She talks of my childhood with such joy, she makes it sound like a perfect time, when I know for a fact she was working three jobs to make ends meet.
While our douchebag of a father had it all and never gave her a cent to help out. Never acknowledged us. Never wanted anything to do with us. Instead, he trained his own son from his legal wife to look down on us and call us names on the street.
"What's wrong with you today, girly?" Mom is frowning down at the cake I'm supposed to be icing. "You're not concentrating. Want me to do that?"
"No. Sorry. Just a lot on my mind." I focus on finishing the cake, then start on the next one. "Going to visit Becky again? Your friend who lost her memory?"
"Every week," Mom says. "It's Alzheimer's."
"Right. I remember now. Must be so hard for her family. Does she have kids?"
"Oh, I bet you remember the Lowes. Lived just down the street from us. Old house with a big tree outside and a swing."
I freeze, the spatula gripped tightly in my hand. "Becky Lowe? That's her name?"
"Oh yes. Becky Lowe. She has two boys, Sebastian, and … what was the other one's name?" She taps her forehead, frowning. "James? Jack?"
"Jarett," I whisper. "Jarett Lowe."
"That's the one." Mom gives me a sunny smile. "See? I was sure you remembered them. Good people."
Oh my God. What do you know: sometimes clues come from the person you'd least expect.
"Tell me about him," I say, putting down the spatula on a handy plate.
"Who?"
"Jarett."
"Tell you what, honey?" Mom gives me a perplexed look. "What's this about?"
"Nothing. Just … curious. You know."
She's still staring at me.
"Look." I move the spatula around on the plate, making patterns with the icing. "We used to be friends, but we lost contact when we moved, and I met him recently, and I've always wondered about him." Bracing breath. "I know he was adopted, okay? I just wanted to know about his family before that, and … well, anything else about him."
Her face softens. "You were friends, weren't you? I remember now, you used to walk home from school with him. Such a nice boy."