The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,27

It really felt like forever. I’d turned into one of those scary wilderness guys who lived alone in a small, woodsy cabin. I fit the part, except I didn’t have a bushy, tangled beard. And the space-age compound I’d been confined in was hardly a cabin.

She announced, “I’m picking you up anyway. We’re going out.”

I exhaled hard out of my nose. “I don’t feel like going out.”

“You never feel like going out,” she said in a sassy, ever-so-slightly threatening tone. “We haven’t hung out in so long. How long has it been? Like, a few months now?”

More than that. Raina was actually at my house the week Dad had returned from the International Robotics Expo and Mom came down with pneumonia, a virus she caught from him. The night he told her that he didn’t believe her crackly, wheezing, and wet cough was anything worse than the flu he had during his trip. He still met with investors, wined and dined clients, and raised money while sick. She needed to toughen up, he said that night.

Your dad loves you very much, even if it may not always seem like it. How many times did I hear that at Mom’s funeral, from neighbors, family friends, and Dad’s coworkers? It was like people knew we weren’t compatible on our own and were trying to comfort me. Or worse, warn me.

The last few months I hadn’t felt like myself. Didn’t want to go out. Or hang out. I simply existed. That was it, the best I could do. Because my childhood died when Mom did.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” I added pathetically, “But I see you at school, though, sometimes?”

“Uh, that doesn’t count. But whatever, I’ll be at your house in twenty minutes. Make sure you’re dressed in layers. It might get cold. I heard the party’s…uh…movie premiere’s gonna be good, and a lot of kids from other schools might be going.”

“I’m not really feeling up for a big night out,” I complained.

“Shut up and go change. I bet you were just going to watch the Sundance TV channel all night. And you’re probably wearing your pajamas already.”

Well, okay, to be fair, they were my nice flannel ones. It wasn’t like I ate ham sandwich dinners by myself in a dress and chandelier earrings. I wiped mustard from the corner of my mouth with a paper napkin. “Okay, fine. I’ll change. See you in twenty.”

Click.

Clean clothes needed, stat.

I padded down the hallway to the laundry room and opened the dryer, yanking out wrinkled school uniforms, underwear, pajama tops, and pants, piece by piece. It appeared I hadn’t worn any go-outside-the-house clothes, other than quickly-check-the-mail-and-wave-to-a-neighbor attire, in the last week. My zombie wardrobe didn’t exactly count as wearable.

My walk-in closet contents were nearly as bad. I swiped through a sea of oversize plaid shirts. Any one of them would’ve been right for a logging excursion, but none were for “going out.” In some of my drawers I found nicer summery tops and pants, hidden away, leftover reminders of my shopping trips with Mom. Back when I went for a cuter, non-lumberjack look. Outlet shopping was our favorite thing to do together. Now, clothing was just utility to me. Something to cover my naked, cold parts. All my clothes purchases these days were made simply out of necessity, to replace worn-out clothes with ripped hems, torn fabric, or noticeable discoloration from screwing up the wash with bleach. I just didn’t care anymore.

There wasn’t much of a choice for me. A red-and-black-checkered shirt, frayed boyfriend jeans, and UGGs was the best I could offer. To add a little flair, I rummaged through my jewelry box to find a necklace or bracelet to soften my unisex logger look, but its entire contents were a tangled mess of thin chains, tightly knotted and interwoven in ways that defied basic physics, with various rings and earrings secured in the snarled metallic web. In a separate box, a small pair of unworn gemstone earrings lay in solitude on a square cotton cushion, their matching necklace nowhere to be found. The earrings and missing pendant were from Mom and Dad, given to me on my sixteenth birthday. They were so modest that