Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
What is wrong with me?
“I just want answers about Jake,” I tell myself.
I know, I know . . . I’m lying.
Unfurling the crinkled paper, I try to focus on other problems. The clip joint job in Seattle ends today, and since our parents know we’re in Victoria, they could show up tomorrow, two days from now, a week, a month—we have no idea.
Hailey and I have been trying to prepare a list of what we’ll say to them.
I uncap my pen with my teeth, and resting the paper on my dresser, I scribble a second point beneath my first.
I’m twenty-four. I can choose what I want to do with my life.
If you ever need my help, I can only do it through honest means. I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not.
Yeah, this is a recipe for disaster. My mom might think she failed me somehow and even blame herself.
I already hear her response and see her saddened eyes. Someone you’re not? Bug, you’ve never been anyone other than who you are. This is you.
“This is me,” I mutter to myself, not disagreeing since I literally went to the movie theater to establish my fake relationship, but I haven’t been miserable in Victoria. I’ve liked knowing we’re not packing our bags and fleeing. I like trying to make one life work instead of reinventing myself every time I arrive somewhere new.
I never knew I’d enjoy being rooted to a place, but I haven’t wanted to abandon this town.
I’ve just wanted Rocky to come back to me.
Folding up my paper, I go to the kitchen barstools where Hailey is working on her list. Trevor is camping out on the couch, scrolling through Netflix like he owns the place. He tinkers with a wooden box on his lap.
His presence here is a ticking bomb, counting down the seconds until our parents arrive. He’s also made that couch his bed for two weeks. And no—Jake has no idea we’ve sufficiently lit his favorite no extended guests rule on fire.
“How’s it coming?” I ask, sliding onto the barstool beside her.
“I have a few things.”
She has more than twenty bullet points, but over half are scratched out. I watch Hailey chew on her thumbnail. Concern balls in my ribs.
I should tell my mom that this is about the life I’m supporting for Hailey. The future my best friend wants, and the one I’ve started growing to like, too.
My mom would do anything for Addison, and Addison would do anything for my mom. They should understand they raised two girls who are unfailingly loyal to each other—who’d go to great lengths to see the other happy.
I recap my pen. “We’re burning these later?” I ask Hails since we don’t like keeping things documented on paper.
“Yeah, but not yet.” She crosses out another line, deep in concentration.
“We’ll figure it out,” I encourage. “I know we will.” Except these are only words, and I’m not a better planner. If I could magically transform into a logistics mastermind right now, I would. For her, I would. This is falling on her shoulders, and I wish I could power-lift all the weight.
It hurts knowing I can’t.
Hailey nods repeatedly and forces a smile for me. Her confidence is fading. “We’ve got this. Don’t worry.”
We’re both extremely worried.
I nod and swivel on the barstool. Facing the living room, I see Trevor picking an HBO show, and he continues to tinker with his box.
Every time I ask him how long he’ll be here, he says, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”
I check my phone. No missed calls. No new texts. Last night, I received one message from most likely a burner phone.
401-555-2013: be back tomorrow. All good there?
I knew it was Rocky. When he was eighteen, I’d told him he needed to choose a better emoji as an identifier.
“What should I be, then?” he’d contested.
“You have tons of options. A wolf, a snake, a fox—a venomous scorpion. Doesn’t that sound more like you?” Everyone in our family could be considered a spider. I just figured he’d want to stand out.
He tapped his phone and sent me another spider. And then another one. And another. Until spiders flooded our text message thread. He stood up from my bed, and I still remember how he dipped his head to me. How little pieces of his hair brushed his lashes. How his gray eyes pulsed with fervor.
And very quietly, he said, “It’s the reign of spiders. This is exactly what I’m supposed to be.”
He never wanted to be different than the rest of us. He’s made it clear that he’ll always be loyal to our families, even if he’d like to carve out our parents and chuck them into another galaxy.
Last night, I texted him back: we’re fine here
I’m staring at my dumb strawberry emoji on my phone. Wondering if I can manifest a new text with my eyes.