Now That I've Found You - Kristina Forest Page 0,24
13
It’s quiet when I wake up, almost too quiet. Gigi is an early riser. Well, at least she used to be. She’s clearly made some changes since the last time I saw her, and sleeping late might be one of them. Or maybe she’s still angry and staying in her room to avoid me.
I sit up and take in my surroundings. My bed at Gigi’s is a huge canopy fit for a princess. I loved it as a little girl, and I still love it now, even if it does make me feel a little childish. The bedroom walls are pastel blue, the only room in the house where the walls aren’t painted some shade of cream. Pastel blue used to be my favorite color, and when Gigi moved here eight years ago, we painted the walls together. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table, and my stomach sinks as I glance at messages from Kerri and my mom.
Kerri: Morning! Checking in to make sure everything is going smoothly. How are you? How did the conversation go with your grandmother?
Groaning, I put my phone facedown on my lap and pick it up again. I’m okay. Working on talking to Gigi, I text back.
All right. Good luck! Let me know if you need anything. I hope you’re getting some much needed rest.
And there are two texts from my mom.
Mom: Call us sometime today.
Mom: Better yet, FaceTime us. We want to see Gigi too.
I text back, Okay, will do.
But that’s going to have to wait until I get my chance to talk to Gigi.
I ease out of bed and retie my silk scarf around my head. I open my door and peek my head into the hallway. It’s still eerily quiet, and Gigi’s bedroom door is closed. Taking a deep breath, I walk down the hall and knock lightly on Gigi’s door.
“Good morning, Gigi,” I say. “Can I come in?”
There’s no answer. Not even a shuffling sound on the other side of the door.
“Gigi?” I say, knocking a second time.
Again, not a peep.
She’s still upset with me. Okay. I expected as much. Gigi is known for holding long grudges, but I’m not James Jenkins. I’m her granddaughter. There has to be a way I can fix this.
I think about ways to lure her out. I could cook breakfast. The best way to say you love someone is to say it with food, right? The only issue is that I can’t cook to save my life. But how hard is it to make eggs and bacon? I’m not saying that presenting her with breakfast will suddenly smooth things over between us, but at least it’s a start.
I rush down to the kitchen and almost trip over her cats, Mark Antony and Cleo, who yelp and dash out of my way. God forbid I fall and break my neck three days before the FCCs because Gigi’s cats were willing to kill me for food. They follow me into the kitchen and circle my feet as I open the cabinets.
“You don’t even like me,” I say to Cleo, glancing down as she rubs her whiskers against my shin. For years I’ve been trying to get on her and Mark Antony’s good side. What’s suddenly changed?
Wait … why are Mark Antony and Cleo even down here? They usually follow Gigi wherever she goes. They should be lounging on her queen-size bed right now.
Mark Antony meows loudly and walks to his bowl. There are still remnants of food at the bottom. Gigi must have been up to feed them this morning, but why shut the door and keep them out of her room? A prickling sensation grows at the back of my neck.
Cleo is doing figure eights around my ankles as I puzzle over this. I step to the side and turn toward the kitchen table so that she’ll skitter away, and that’s when I see it. A note placed in the center of the table. I grab it, and the prickling sensation spreads from my neck to my arms and stomach, continuing down to my feet.
Right away, I recognize Gigi’s pink stationery, the elegant slope of her handwriting. Then I see my name written at the top of the page.
Evie,
I need to clear my head. I promise I won’t be too far away.
All my love,
Gigi
PS: Don’t worry about feeding Mark Antony and Cleo. I’ve got that taken care of.