𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 is far from perfect. Before starting her senior year of college, she's already guaranteed her position as the black sheep of her once prestigious family. To make matters worse, she took up bedding the rival family's eldest...
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𝑨𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘 of dull yellow greeted Evelyn as she pushed into the living room of her house, quickly making her aware that one of her parents was home. Uneasiness forced her to freeze with the door still agape and also a straightness to her spine. She held her breath then relaxed with the remembrance that Yonas's car wasn't parked out front. Anxiety receding, she still made sure to be quiet as she stepped all the way inside and locked the door behind her. Paper grocery bags were piled on the dining table, and her mother, grimacing, stood at the sink, washing something beneath the faucet.
Evelyn's initial plan had been to do just as her father commanded; she intended to grab an armful of clothing and essentials for the rest of the week then make her escape, not to return until their week-ending coffee ceremony. But she found her feet planted right at the front door and her stare fixed on her mother, both parts rendered immovable by her mother's odd silence.
Amari's death brought about many strange household habits. Her return home after being out doing normal college-goer things would be an event met with praises of relief and questions. Now, there was nothing but the light to have greeted her. Not even a smile of acknowledgement. Only tension.
"You're not gonna ask where I was?" Evelyn asked cautiously, slowly peeling off LaToya's loaner jacket as she approached the kitchen.
She watched her mother scoop up two handfuls of bright green coffee beans from the sink without so much as glancing up, waited for the water to drip from them, then slammed them onto the awaiting towel on the countertop. "Am I supposed to care, hmm?" There was nil curiosity in the poor veneer for the snideness in her voice. "Since you make your own rules, why don't you tell me why I should bother asking?"
Evelyn paused at the dining table, narrowing her eyes as she looked up from the groceries. "'Cause you always do, but whatever your issue is with me, you can just say it or ground me or whatever. I don't need the attitude."
"You don't need the attitude," the woman laughed, apparently out of hysteria. Pauleen Wright was a frail woman, her slender build unchanging since her modeling days, so when she was angry, her entire body seemed to tremble with each movement. "Did I not explicitly tell you to wrap everything with those Jackson boys up before your father came home?"
"I did," she defended. "It's not my fault someone showed him the school paper and he flipped out on me like he always does."
"Oh, that's right." Another demoralizing, falsely bright laugh erupted into the tense atmosphere. The sink knob screeched at the force of her mother turning it off before she tossed up her hands. "How could I forget? You aren't in control of your own choices. It's always someone else's fault for what happens—"
Evelyn made fists into her vest. "It's not my fault, Inati¹. I'm telling you. I didn't know I was gonna be in the paper." ¹ ᴬᵐʰᵃʳᶦᶜ ᶠᵒʳ "ᵐᵒᵗʰᵉʳ"
