comfort Hael Harbin in the dark.
“Maman, je suis rentré!” Hael calls out when he opens the door and the spicy scent of cayenne pepper and oil drifts over to me. He tucks his keys into his jeans pocket as we pause in the living room so he can re-lock the door. There are seven locks in total on it which isn’t surprising over here in the Four Corners neighborhood. Everyone in South Prescott who gets gentrified off the block escapes over here, so it’s nearly as bad. Nearly. But not quite.
“Bienvenue!” she calls back. “Je suis en train de cuisiner dans la cuisine.”
“She’s making dinner,” he tells me, translating with a sly smile on his face. When he leans in toward me, I take a step back so he can put his palms on the wall on either side of me. Our bodies are far too close right now. Just the smell of him is making me sweat. “Do me a favor and hide your bag in my room. Mom doesn’t approve of sleepovers—especially with girls.” He winks, and I gape at him.
“Your mom doesn’t approve of premarital sex?” I whisper, trying to hold back a laugh. All things considered, I mean, come on, this is Hael Harbin. He laughs, putting his head down, forehead against mine. It feels nice, to stand like this, even if his mom could walk in at any moment. We’re sort of past parental scandal here in Havoc.
“She was raised Catholic,” he says in explanation, shrugging his shoulders and standing back up. “I don’t agree with it, but I play along.” Hael smiles at me, and I can tell why he does it. Because it’s not about rules, it’s about respect. He respects his mother, so he does his best to please her.
I look down at the floor for a moment, at the toes of the boots I’m wearing, and then back up at Hael.
“I brought heels,” I tell him, and it takes a moment, but he grins at me like a wild thing.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says with a laugh, slapping my ass and sending me down the hall to his room. I store my bag on the floor on the far side of his bed, sweep my hands down the front of my hoodie dress to straighten it out, and take a deep breath.
When I walk into the kitchen, there’s a brass band on the radio and Hael is spinning Marie in a circle and then dipping her while she laughs. Her red hair falls back in a wave, the lines around her mouth brightening. When he pulls her back to her feet, she murmurs at him in French and then turns to look at me.
“Bernadette’s having dinner with us,” Hael says, and his mom smiles at me like she’s never seen me before. Maybe she doesn’t remember me from the last time I was here? I sure as fuck remember her, weeping and shaking and mumbling about people coming to get her.
“This is your new girlfriend?” she asks Hael in accented English. She sounds like faraway places and Louisiana secrets. I smile and nod.
“Yeah, I’m Bernadette Blackbird … Hael’s girlfriend.” Our eyes meet as I shake his mom’s hand and end up pulled into a hug instead. She squeezes me tight and then invites me to dance with her for a moment. I’m no good at it, but it makes me laugh anyway.
Hael hauls himself up to sit on the countertop, looking years younger than I’ve ever seen him.
“Qu'est ce que tu prépares?” he asks, his voice teasing. She slaps at him when he reaches over to snatch a package of cookies that’s sitting on the counter. The atmosphere in here is so disturbingly normal that I’m not quite sure what to do with it. I lean my shoulder against the cabinets, a genuine smile resting on skeptical lips.
“Après le dîner, Hael,” Marie chastises, and even if I can’t understand French, I can guess what she’s saying, and I laugh. No cookies until after dinner, Hael. As if her son doesn’t fuck like a porn star and kill people in the dead of night.
“Wow, Hael Harbin being told no dessert before dinner,” I tease, and our eyes meet from across the room. There’s a tension there that makes him curl his fingers around the edge of the countertop.
“I always save my dessert for after dinner,” he tells me, voice dropping in invitation. His mom slaps at him again and