out to her, taking her hand in mine, needing to comfort her as well as myself.
Her eyes, so similar to my own, are a bit brighter looking at me. She squeezes my hand in hers lightly. “All we can do is live our lives and hope we’re not screwing it up more than it already is.” She laughs quietly, and I do my best to smile back at her. My features feel strained and desperate to remain unhappy. But I can’t. I won’t.
She hugs me gently, her head resting against my shoulder for a short amount of time. Her arms wrap around me as if shielding me from any further pain the world might ever threaten me with.
“I love you, Fallon.”
“I love you too, mom.” My voice is weak, barely a rasp.
She gives me another half-smile before slowly closing the door behind her. It takes me a minute to walk away, my feet heavy against the tiled floor of the kitchen.
My heart sinks for my mother, my strong mother. She’ll find her strength again but when, I don’t know. I help Shae clear the table, trying to keep my mind on the busy work at hand.
“You look like her,” Shae says simply, her back turned toward me as she runs water in the sink.
Her words surprise me, and my body stops moving for a moment as they sink in. It’s not something people ever tell me. Yes, I resemble my mother, a very vague resemblance, but it’s there. I look more like her niece than her daughter.
“You act like her, too.”
My spine straightens at her remark. It’s something I have absolutely never heard in my life, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
“I don’t really know what you mean,” I say, setting plates and forks in the sink full of soapy water.
Shae smiles over at me, a warm smile that only a grandma can give. “You’re silent, a listener, therefore a learner. You’re not as outspoken as she is, but the self-assured confidence is there when you remember it.”
We wash and dry the dishes for a while, a comfortable quietness filling the air between us. But the silence makes my mind drift to places I have no intentions of ever revisiting.
“How long have you known my mother?”
Shae never stops working, the small sponge relentless in its task, demanding a shine from each dish.
“Asher’s mother, Kylie, gave him all his good looks.” She grins over her shoulder at me. “Your mother was her best friend. Kylie ran away when she was a teenager and lived in a camp close by here.” Shae’s usual bubbly demeanor falls away. Her kind eyes are shadowed in memory. “The two girls were best friends, but our daughter was sheltered and trusting. Charlotte looked after her like a sister, but Kylie always found danger in the world.” Shae swallows hard. She turns to me, forcing a smile. “Charlotte delivered our grandbabies, did you know that?” Her happiness is right there again. Shining through the darkness.
I shake my head, waiting to hear a happy end, but an eerie feeling buzzes through me knowing there won’t be one.
“Yes, your mother has been connected to this family for decades. She delivered Micah and Asher in secrecy at two AM in this very house. It was her first delivery. She watched her best friend die that night. Kylie didn’t stand a chance of surviving the pregnancy.” Her voice waves with the sad memory.
My mother’s first delivery was a twin hybrid delivery? My heart pounds, remembering what Asher had told me. What if it hadn’t been a hybrid delivery and it had been … a veil birth? Did she know? She had to have known.
And now I know. That’s why she saved Asher from the compound, and why she trusts a hybrid with her only daughter. Because he’s closer to human than most men. She’d rather I have the chance to live quietly with him than harshly alone.
I take a deep breath, processing the thoughts that swarm my mind.
“What did you do with two babies to keep you busy?” I ask the only normal question I can think of.
A small smile touches her sad eyes. I lean my back against the counter, folding my hands over my chilly arms.
“Well, it had been a long time since we had little ones running around the house. And Asher, he was more than we had ever anticipated. His little hands used to break everything they touched. He snapped our old coffee table