so if you’re cool with it, why don’t we watch the rest of this in my room?”
While she brushes her teeth, I change into the pair of sweatpants I’d worn last night, and then we swap.
She’s already tucked in when I return.
“Should I close the door?”
“Yeah. Normally I lock it when Rose has guests because one time this guy … never mind.”
Adrenaline spikes through me and my shoulders rise. I’m like a goddamn teenager who’s just been shoved, ready to beat on my chest and prove how strong I am by taking someone down. “Some guy did what?”
“He said he got mixed up and came into my room.”
“What happened?”
“It was nothing. It was actually kind of embarrassing and awkward because I screamed, and Dominic started knocking on the front door and was holding a baseball bat.” Her tone is sing-songy like she’s embarrassed to share this with me, but still finds it’s amusing. “Rose made sure to not leave guests unattended in the kitchen after that.”
My shoulders relax, but my energy is still spiked as I walk toward the bed and pull the blanket and sheet down.
“What do your tattoos mean?” she asks, lying down with her hands tucked under her face. I lie on my side, facing her.
“It started as kind of a joke,” I admit. “When I was sixteen, my friend claimed he knew how to give tattoos, so I told him to prove it to me, and he did this.” I twist to find the faded ink and point to the scratched words that read ‘wolf.’
She reads it aloud. “You let your friend give you a prison tattoo?”
I laugh, running my hand over the surface. “It hurt like hell,” I admit. “And it looked fucking terrible.”
“I’m sure it did. You should be grateful it didn’t get infected.”
“Oh, it did. My mom was pissed.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“Why wolf?”
“That was my nickname. I was known as the lone wolf.”
“Lone wolf? You’re always surrounded by people.”
“I just always did my own thing. Shit like peer pressure never meant anything to me. I never understood it. If I didn’t like something, I was out. If I wanted to do something or try something and no one wanted to go along, I’d do it myself.”
She traces a line beneath the word with her finger, her touch light and gentle. “I can see that about you.” She pulls down the covers and sits up, pulling her sock off. “This is my only tattoo.” Below her ankle, along the outside of her foot, is a small flower.
“What is it?”
“It’s called bluebonnet, though they’re more purple than blue. It’s the state flower for Texas, and it was my mom’s favorite. Every spring, they pop-up all over Texas, and people stop mowing their lawns so they can bloom.” She shrugs as she slides her sock back on.
“You remember Ellen.” It’s not a question. I realized she recognized her as soon as she’d seen the pictures.
“It was so weird. Tonight, hearing her voice and seeing her, I instantly remembered that she chews her ice when drinking and that she’s allergic to grass, and she used to wear a gold necklace with a small pennant, though I can’t remember what it said. I didn’t even realize I remembered these things, but it’s like these memories keep coming back—memories I didn’t know I had or that I’d forgotten.” She lies back down, moving a bit closer to me.
“That’s a lot to deal with.”
“I’m just mad at myself for caring. Why do I want to know? Why does it matter? I’ve had a good life. I’ve had parents who cared for me and loved me, so why am I investing time and energy into this?”
“Because your world just got hit by a meteor. You can’t beat yourself up and try to rationalize this, Liv. Nothing good is going to come out of that. It’s normal to want to know things about our past, especially something as big as this.”
“I haven’t seen her in years,” her admission is shared quietly. “She not only gave me up, but she also stopped coming around. This is guaranteed to end badly.”
“If you think about it, everything in life has the potential to end badly. Our lives are constantly moving, and sometimes, that means in opposing directions, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad thing. Maybe she knew she couldn’t be the kind of parent you deserved.”
“But none of this makes any sense. My mom and dad never got married, and