Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,5
a book. I’m not that girl any more; part of me wants to climb on the table and announce that Blake’s death is, in fact, my fault. I just left him there to burn. I was so preoccupied with my own life that I didn’t even know he was home. Maybe that would make the chatter stop.
These people are relatives, and Mom and Dad’s friends, and they’ve always admired me—a young woman with her head on straight, striving for a big career at a young age. It felt like I’d had the word “success” tattooed on my forehead from the time I received a culinary scholarship during my senior year of high school. I won a bunch of young chef awards, which secured me a spot at the Culinary Institute of America in New York. After spending most of my formative years as a hermit, I’ve silently enjoyed every second of the attention. I was my parents’ pride and joy.
It’s amazing how quickly things change.
God. I need to get out of here. I’ve spent the last hour planning my escape. The thought of finding a quiet place to sneak a cigarette weighs on my mind, something Blake would chastise me for if he were alive, especially after having been hospitalized for smoke inhalation just last week. But he’s not here now, which means no one is going to give me a dirty look or lecture me on how my one cigarette a day habit will kill me. Blake is dead. Gone. And I’m pretty much dead inside.
Screw this.
I push through the screen door and stalk down the front three steps as I suck in the sweet April air. I used to love the after-rain scent, but now it just reminds me of tears.
“So sorry I’m late, Felicity.” Aspen, my sous chef from Sur Le Feu and my closest friend, steps out of her polished black Explorer, hopping on one foot as she slides her sling-back on the other. “Honey.” She reaches out for me, tears in her eyes, waiting for a hug.
Another hug will make me cry again. I wrap my arms around my body and nod. She ignores my rejection and loops her arms around me anyway. She smells like lemon and cooking oil, another scent that used to bring me happiness.
“Did you think about what I said last night?” Her hands close around my arms as she leans back to look me in the eyes. “You can’t sleep on your parents’ couch forever. And we both know you shouldn’t live alone right now. Come stay with me.” A thin smile stretches across her peach-tinted lips. “You need a friend. And I’m here for you.”
She wouldn’t be calling me her friend right now if she knew what I had to tell her. What I should have told her last week. She’d probably hate me so much she wouldn’t be at my brother’s wake right now.
I’ve been thinking about moving since she brought it up last night. She’s right; I can’t sleep on my parents’ love seat any longer. It’s been so hard listening to Mom cry herself to sleep every night.
“Okay, but I should tell you something first.” Something that will likely make you retract your offer.
“I know; you snore. It’s fine. We can worry about that later.” She pulls me in again for a tight hug before releasing me. “What’s important is you said ‘okay,’ which means we’re roomies now. Which also means we will get through this together.”
Now is obviously not the time to tell her.
“Thanks.” God, I hate the thought of losing more control over my life. I’ve always been the one to help a friend. I don’t like to take. It’s not me. But until I hear back from the insurance company, I can’t afford to make any decisions.
“So…what’s this ensemble you’ve put together today?” she asks, her lips pinched to one side. “I think we’re going to need to go shopping later. I know you lost everything.” Her eyes scan over my face, examining me like I’m an exhibit in a museum. “You need cosmetics, too.” Only Aspen could get away with saying this to me right now. She knows I’m not one to leave the house with a hair out of place or without the right amount of make-up—just enough to appear as if I’m not wearing any at all. I iron my jeans. Sometimes, I even iron my underwear. I have to have things a certain way, or else I feel out