Slow Twitch - Реинхардт Лиз (бесплатные серии книг .txt) 📗

Before anything else happened to make me want to take a swing at Saxon, Aunt Helene bustled out of the kitchen to tell us the food was ready.

Brenna ran into the kitchen and away from Saxon and gathered the setting stuff, with Aunt Helene thanking her and pinching her sides lovingly. Saxon and I got the hot stuff on the table. We sat, Aunt Helene beaming.

“It’s so wonderful to have you all.” She had a strange accent, sort of Polish or Russian or something.

“It’s so nice of you to have us.” Brenna always knew how to talk easily with new people. “This food smells delicious.”

Aunt Helene dismissed Brenna’s comment with a wave and a happy look, we dished food out, and it was incredible. When I was with my step-dad all the time, we lived on pretty processed stuff; TV dinners, cold cuts, macaroni-and-cheese out of the box. At Mama D’s the food was high class, but the company was so fantastically shitty, I never really enjoyed it. But this was like the perfect meal.

Aunt Helene’s spread was the best I’d ever tasted.

It was a feast. Saxon looked happy. He laughed and was really attentive to Aunt Helene. It was a little weird seeing him like that. He was usually pretty disrespectful or really phony. But not now: now he seemed genuine and relaxed.

“Jake, I have such pictures to show you after dinner. And Brenna,” she said and brushed Brenna’s hair back with her hand as she leaned over to put more butter on the table, “you will like to see these! These two big, handsome boys were little tiny things once.”

“I’d love to see them,” Brenna breathed. Under the table, I squeezed her leg. “Did Jake and Saxon spend a lot of time here?”

“Oh, yes.” Aunt Helene scooped all three of us extra helpings without asking if we wanted any more, and we all dug in. “When their mothers went out dancing and having fun, they would drop the boys here with me. I loved watching them. Then Jake’s poor mama--” Aunt Helene stopped and pressed a hand up by her eyes.

My mother.

Aunt Helene was crying over my mother.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” She looked straight at me, wiping her cheeks off roughly with her gold-ringed fingers. “Your mother was so sweet. I miss her very much.”

And then I felt a little weirdly choked up. “Thanks,” I managed. Aunt Helene reached her little paw of a hand across the table and patted my hand.

“Poor baby.” She pressed her other hand hard against her mouth

She was referring to me.

Poor baby.

I didn’t know if anyone had ever said anything like that to me.

Once my mom died, life had been pretty adult. No more poor baby. It felt kind of good to be treated a little like a kid here.

We helped Aunt Helene clean up. Brenna put me in charge of drying and putting away, and Aunt Helene clucked that she could do it perfectly well, but we all just ganged up on her and made her go sit with the photo albums while we finished up in the kitchen.

Brenna’s laugh echoed off the shiny new tiles.

“What’s so funny, Blix?” Saxon called from behind the four feet of tinfoil he was using to cover one plate.

“It’s just funny to see you two in the kitchen, all domestic.” She scrubbed at a pot, the hot water from the sink turning her cheeks pink. “And your Aunt Helene is so adorable. You two are going to get giant heads if you hang out with her too long. It’s like she sees you both as adorable little angels and handsome strapping men all at the same time.”

Saxon shrugged. “She’s like a damn genius. She knows a good thing when she sees it, you know?”

Brenna snorted, and Saxon wound a dishrag up and whipped her with it. Brenna yelped and glared, backing up with her hands out in front of her. He stalked her, his smile ear to ear and badass hungry, his eyes locked on hers. His wrist snapped, and he landed another swipe on her ass. She laughed and darted away from him and behind me while I tried to finish putting the dishes away as best I could. I stopped for a second and gave her a quick smile, and could tell from her half-frown that she was uncomfortable, not sure if this was all fucking fun or if I was pissed.

It was his face that made me want to punch something, preferably him.

He looked…in love.

He looked at Bren like he wanted to get himself wrapped around her and never let go.

“We done?” My voice whipped out sharper than I meant it to.

I realized my tone was probably borderline murderous. The kitchen got quiet, Saxon stepped away from Bren, and she pressed closer to me.

“Done,” she said softly.

I put the dishtowel on the edge of the sink. “Cool,” I said. Though it was all about as far from cool as I could imagine.

We filed into the living room, and Aunt Helene patted the couch so we could come and sit. She opened a big photo album.

And then it felt like the whole room closed in and got really quiet.

I didn’t have many things from my childhood.

But here were tons of pictures.

Me, as a baby, wrinkled and pink like any baby. A younger Aunt Helene held me as proudly as if I were her own. Me and Saxon as fat little toddlers, playing with Matchboxes on the floor of Aunt Helene’s living room. There were pictures of me and Saxon splashing in a baby pool, taking a bath together, running around in the snow in too big boots, sitting under a little Christmas tree. The same deja vu feeling that blanketed me before came back full force as she flipped the pages of the albums.

It was like someone was showing me evidence of a childhood I had no idea ever existed. I had no memories of this stuff, or if I did, they were dim and really far away.

And there was my mother. Pretty, with long brown hair and light eyes, lots of makeup and small, tight outfits. But really beautiful.

And the red high heels. The long hair draped partially over me. I traced a finger over the picture. I hadn’t imagined it. That was a real memory, a solid picture in my mind of the mother who loved me.

She was holding me in most of the pictures, and the look on her face was the same look I saw on Brenna’s when she looked at me.

It was love. She loved me.

Because I always wanted to know she had, but sometimes I doubted it, much as that hurt. I just didn’t get her for long enough to make memories that were undisputable. And growing up, Lylee was the closest mother figure I came in regular contact with, and she didn’t exactly help paint a mental picture of maternal goodness.

I was glad there was no reason to talk, because my throat felt tight, and I didn’t know what to say anyway. Aunt Helene watched me closely.

“I have so many.” She traced her fingers over the stiff, shiny pictures. “I’m going to make you an album. You would like that?”

I took out a stiff, brittle picture of my mother and held it in my big, clumsy hand, half afraid I’d break it somehow. “I would really like that.” My voice was embarrassingly croaky.

Brenna had my hand, and she squeezed it tight. I was surprised by how much it meant to me that there was actual evidence my mom loved me. It was important to me that she was around and loved me, even if she was a little wild and rowdy and made some really dumb mistakes. At least I knew where my wild came from.

Aunt Helene put the books away, and she and Brenna were chatting, and then they were wandering away to look at something, and it was just me and Saxon sitting in the room.

I felt a deep, cold well of hatred for him, and just as much hot, fierce love.

“What the fuck, man?” I said harshly.

“What are you talking about?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“You feel pretty fucking free to talk shit about my mom, and you better cut it the fuck out. She made a lot of mistakes, but she’s my fucking mom. Talk about yours all you want. If you ever talk about mine again, I’ll knock the rest of your teeth out.” My fists were already balled up.