His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter One
My sixteenth birthday, and I have a ball of dread in my stomach, as it means I have to talk to my mother, which I don’t want to do. She calls some time past noon, voice sleepy like she’s only woken. How nice it must be to sleep in until the afternoon and not be shouted awake at six to begin morning prayers that are never listened to. But that’s my momma—a teenager more than I am these days.
“Happy sweet sixteen! How’re you?” Notgreat, I want to tell her but can never get the words out of my mouth. With Gran listening to everything, I trudge through this painful charade every time she calls to make life easier for myself. Though, as I glance over my shoulder, Gran’s asleep, her hands no longer working the knitting needles for a blanket she’s making. Deciding against disturbing her, I go out into the hall and sit on the stairs.
“Are you there, Ava?” Momma asks, and I reluctantly press the phone back against my ear.
“Yes, sorry—” A male groan in the background cuts me off. As Momma hushes whoever it is to be quiet, my cheeks tingle. She didn’t tell me she was seeing anybody. I clear my throat. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” She’s pushing because I wasn’t meant to hear she has a man in her bed. “You sound depressed?”
“I’m sure.” Blinking back tears, sudden emotion swells in my throat, and I grit my teeth in anger at myself.
Not now, go away.
Depression is a word that doesn’t describe what’s going on inside of me. Words are useless to define a life that fades in and out. A shadow you only exist in. With Gran asleep, I could tell her the truth about how miserable I am and beg her to take me away. Be a mother for once. Anything has to be better than this. Even living in the city with Momma, who will undoubtedly call me her sister and not her daughter to anyone curious to know.
“Doing anything nice? I sent gifts, though they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“That’s okay.” I won’t receive whatever she’s sent, as they’re usually something forbidden for me to have. Gran stows my presents away to inspect before burning whatever she deems inappropriate in the fire. And everything Momma sends is inappropriate. “Gran baked me a cake.”
She did—a pink one with fondant flowers and my name piped on the icing. It surprised me because she wasn’t in a pleasant mood when she woke this morning. Maybe it was an attempt at reconciling with me. Starting fresh, since I was older now and didn’t have to be punished so severely. But when she shouted at me to do chores and cook her breakfast like every morning, I knew it was wishful thinking. “What about your friends?”
“Oh, Melissa and a few others are coming over later,” I lie, good at it now. “We’re going to watch a movie. That new romance one—”
“I went to see that with my girlfriends. You’ll love it.” I’m sure I would if I knew what it was called. I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot in a theater. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there today, baby. I’m so tied down with work. The gallery’s busy since this new artist came in. He’s incredibly talented.”
With the admiring note in her tone, it wouldn’t surprise me if the man in her bed was him, since Momma’s known to get friendly with the male artists. Often saying she’s too weak to resist the charms of raw talent.
Swallowing a sour lump in my throat, my shoulders sag, and the ball keeps expanding in my stomach. There’s always some excuse for Momma to stay away. She just doesn’t realize I’ve been keeping count of how many times she’s been busy.
“I know—it’s okay,” I always say. Because that’s me. Never confronting or demanding. Trying to make everyone’s lives easier while mine is anything but.
An all too familiar shiver rushes down my spine, followed by a knowing sense that I’m being watched. Turning to peek through the gap in the railing, my body freezes when I see Gran staring right at me.
“Have you heard from your father?”
“No, not yet.” He won’t call tonight, maybe not this week. He always forgets about me too. I don’t tell Momma, as she will take any ammunition to fire against him. Even when she’s as bad as him. “I have to go, Momma. I have to get ready.”
“Tell your grandmother I said hello and will talk to her next time.” She says it every time and never does.
“I will. Bye.”
“Bye, hone—” I quickly hang up, flinching when the harsh croak of my name is uttered. Taking a deep breath, I go back into the living room, hoping Gran isn’t grouchy after her nap.
Spreading her palm, she waits for me to return the cell she hides, forgetting I have no one to call. “Momma said she will talk to you another time. She was busy.”
Tucking the phone into her pocket, Gran grumbles something about Momma I miss. But I already know what Gran thinks. Since the divorce, Gran often says things she shouldn’t, like Momma being the “red devil”.
My parents split when I was ten years old—everything messy from beginning to end. Dad had an affair with a nurse at the hospital he worked at, and Momma with his best friend out of spite. The fights lasted weeks, unfiltered and passionate with hate, neither one backing down until Grandpa came to put an end to it all for my sake. The details are blurry, and I don’t remember much. I did ask why they were fighting so much, and Grandpa struggled to tell me how they no longer loved each other. People like my parents were better off alone—too spoiled and careless to know how to work a real marriage.
He took me with him when he left the next day, explaining it was best I lived with him and Gran while my parents figured it out. Sitting beside him on the train, I was excited and happy leaving the city. The place I was ignored. And yet, I’m ignored more now than ever.
Even after the divorce was finalized and they both moved into separate places, I never returned. They didn’t ask to have me back. With their busy schedules, they created new lives I didn’t fit into. Dad is a surgeon who works long, tedious hours at a hospital. And Momma owns an independent art gallery that’s becoming quite reputable. They work themselves to death, adoring their jobs and lives more than me. I knew it the day they gave my grandparents full custody of me, forcing me to be stuck here until I turn eighteen.
“Is she visiting?” Gran asks, picking up the needles again.
“No, she’s busy with the gallery.”
“Good—I’m too tired to entertain anyone, and your momma only reminds me of when Peter first introduced her to us.” She covers her hand over her heart, feigning chest pains. As if meeting my eighteen-year-old mother madly in love with my father is a haunting memory. “She stole our son with her cheap charms. Even your grandpa, God rest his soul, said Peter could’ve done better. And when you let that boy kiss you, Ava, you were on the path to hell. The very place your mother will end up. You’re lucky I saved you when I beat the demon out of you. Without me, you’d still be disgraced in the eyes of our Lord.”
Pressing my lips together, I stop myself from yelling at her, the words I want to scream turning acidic as I swallow them down. If Grandpa heard the way she was speaking, he’d roll over in his grave!
Needing something to distract me, I busy myself with chores, clearing biscuit crumbs from the table and picking up her empty cup to make more tea. Hoping a hot drink will simmer her down before she gets worse and takes it out on me.
It’s been more than a year since the kiss, and I haven’t looked at a boy since. Though, the older Gran gets, the more paranoid she becomes. Losing Grandpa to cancer two years ago traumatized her so much it did damage. She never imagined a world without him, having been with him since she was young. She mumbles to herself at night, and I believe something else is at work. Not that she will allow a doctor anywhere near her after suggesting it. She scoffs in contempt and tells me to mind my own business.
Sighing, I fill her cup with tea and drop in a lump of sugar, stirring until it’s fully dissolved. After adding milk, I bring it to her. She doesn’t thank me as I set it down on the table or turn the handle in the specific way she likes to relieve her achy wrists. I should give up and accept I’m nothing but a slave in her eyes. But here I am, doing everything to make her happy when she doesn’t even consider my happiness.
“I’m going to my room to do homework,” I tell her, and she waves her hand in a silent dismissal.
Heading upstairs to my bedroom, I flinch when I spot a wrinkle in my comforter and rush over to smooth it out. Messiness is unacceptable in Gran’s house. My bedroom is a simple room. There’s a twin bed with floral sheets, a vanity, and a chest of drawers. The only decoration on the plain yellow walls is a wooden crucifix Gran says is a reminder God watches everything. Although, I’ve long since figured I’m too boring to entertain the mighty man in the clouds.
Sitting on my bed, I open the lid of my ancient laptop Gran reluctantly got me for homework purposes and go on Facebook instead. Before doing my usual scroll through misery, a notification at the top catches my eye. It’s a friend request. Clicking on the icon, I see who it is, and my heart skips a beat, taking me back to school yesterday.
I’d just sat down at my desk when my name crackled from the intercom. It was the principal, and he wanted to see me. Having never gotten called to the office before, I was worried I was in trouble. By the time I got there, my heart was racing. Though the principal only laughed, revealing I had to show a new pupil around for the day. And then a boy my age stepped out of his office. Handsome in a movie-star kind of way, his skin was lightly tanned, and his eyes a deep brown shade that matched his curly hair. He was taller than me, nearing six feet, and was beaming at me with a white smile.
“Hey, I’m Adam.” He held out his hand.
“A-Ava.” We shook hands, and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glass door behind him, embarrassed by the blush staining my cheeks. I hoped he hadn’t noticed.
I gave him a tour around the school grounds that morning, trying to keep distance between us. I’m sure to him I was some weirdo as he talked and all I managed were one-worded answers back. I’m not sure why he’s adding me on Facebook. Surely, he met more interesting people throughout the day when I ditched him at lunchtime to hide in the library.
Glancing at my bedroom door, I worry Gran will burst into my room and demand to know what I’m doing. Even knowing I’d hear her footsteps on the stairs, and not to mention her lack of knowledge surrounding technology. My virtual window to a world she closed off to me. Still, worrying she’ll find out I spent most of the day with a boy makes my stomach churn.
Chewing on my nail, I hit accept. With a gasp, I slam my laptop closed. What did I do?
Guilt unravels inside of me, and I have no idea why I accepted Adam’s request. My chest painfully squeezes as I glance at the cross on my wall. If God’s watching like Gran says he is, I pray he’ll keep this secret, or I will surely pay the price.