Doll Parts (The Game 4)

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and settled for a pizza place nearby. They always delivered fast. “Yeah, well. You respect her privacy too much and probably don’t check her email because you don’t happen to know her log-in, but I do, and I saw she’s gotten heaps of online casino vouchers.”

That made him frown.

He was incredibly gorgeous even then. Hair nearly black, a bit messy after he’d spent the day running a hand through it. Sharp features, pale skin, a sexy five-o’clock shadow… Swimmer’s body to die for. And he was tall—by normal standards. I’d pissed someone off in a past life, so I was only 5’2” and everyone was tall next to me, but he was like…probably…okay, I didn’t know, but more than a head taller.

He said he was gonna talk to Mom later tonight, not that it mattered; I was staying, regardless. Here, I had a pizza fund on the hallway table. Besides, I wanted to ask him some fun questions.

After calling and ordering two pies, I grabbed a soda from the fridge and tried to find the smoothest opening for a certain topic. KC was chatting absently about a client, only to switch gears and note that he didn’t particularly like the new drapes Mom had bought. And that was the thing recently. He spoke more randomly, the subjects coming from outta nowhere. He appeared to live in his head.

I didn’t know how he was gonna react to what I wanted to ask him. I didn’t experience nervousness or fear the same way others did. My concern stemmed from others’ concern. I didn’t like being called too straightforward or crude or blunt. I didn’t enjoy catching people off guard, especially not when it was something they clearly didn’t wanna discuss.

I supposed I could use the marriage approach and ask if he was going to leave my mom.

KC was a good guy. I loved him a whole lot; I mean, I’d jumped at the opportunity to change my last name to his after he’d married Mom. I’d never even understood why Mom had given me my biological father’s last name in the first place. But either way, KC and Mom had never really made sense to me. He was selfless and worked hard. He paid for pretty much everything and had given us a nice life in DC suburbia. She was… Gah, I hated thinking in these terms, but my mom was selfish. She could even be mean. Whenever something bad happened to her, it was someone else’s fault.

The few times I felt really awful, like worried and embarrassed and nervous, were when she was drunk in public. Like she’d been at my high school graduation.

KC changed the topic once more as he was going through the mail, mentioning that he’d be in court all next week, and he was wondering when I had my next gig so he could make plans around his hectic work hours to come watch.

That never failed to leave me all warm and fuzzy. He loved coming to watch my band, and he often brought his childhood friend Lucian. They’d have a couple beers, enjoy the music, and then I had a ride home if I didn’t have other plans.

“I think T is announcing our next few gigs on our Facebook page today,” I said. “There’s one in Falls Church at the end of the month, if I’m not mistaken.” And I wasn’t gonna get the opening I needed; I just knew it. I was gonna have to blurt it out and hope for the best. “And, uh, speaking of not that…” I cleared my throat. “Are you and Mom splitting up?”

He looked at me sharply, shock flashing in his eyes, and fumbled with a couple envelopes in his hand. “Noa, where did that come from? Has she said anything? I’ve fucking told her not to use you as her therapist anymore.”

It was really the only time he got angry, when he felt Mom had “burdened” me with her personal shit, which she had…well, a lot. All the time. There has to be a limit, he always told me—and her.

“She may have mentioned something,” I answered, then pressed forward. “So, are you?”

He sighed and stacked the mail in a neat pile. “This is between your mother and me, freckles.”

I stiffened. “That’s a yes. You’re gonna ask for a divorce. Is it because you’re gay?”

Oh, look at that. I’d stunned him twice in five minutes.

He went further this time. His already pale complexion took a turn in the ghostlier direction, and he could not avert his gaze any faster. He was looking for the exit. His choice—the doorway to the living room was behind him, and the quickest route to the hallway and the rest of the house was to his right.