I could go.
I veer around the house and slip through the back door, something strong wafting through my nostrils before I even close it.
Vinegar. I inhale, also noticing a hint of baking soda and dish soap. Goosebumps spread up my arms as I recognize the scent. Bianca cleaned.
We could never waste money on store-bought kitchen and bathroom cleaners, so we always made our own. The bulb over the stove lights the kitchen just enough to see, but the house is quiet, and I immediately relax my shoulders at the shine on the counters and squeak of the clean floor under my shoes. Too many times I’ve come home or woken up to chaos. The stench of cigarettes and weed. Puke on the stairs. Strangers crashing on our couch after a party. Holes in the walls from a fight.
When I smell vinegar, I know everything’s okay.
I dig in my pocket and pull out the few small bills I’d found buried in my back pocket, counting them.
I scoff and roll my eyes at myself, throwing the money on the counter. That won’t help buy what they need, but I’ll figure it out. I always do.
I open the fridge to see where they stand on the necessities, but as soon as I pull the door open, individually packaged Jell-O cups and cheese sticks spill onto the floor.
I dive down, narrowing my eyes as I try to pick up the mess, but I see all the food on the shelves and hesitate. What the hell?
The packed fridge overflows with milk, juice boxes, lunch meat, snacks… I drop the stuff in my hands and pull open the drawers, seeing it filled with fresh produce. I stuff the contents that spilled out back onto the shelves and rise, pulling open the freezer. Treats and meat and pre-packaged pasta and stir-fry meals…
I straighten, realization hitting. My mom rarely stocks the fridge, but sometimes she’ll get a big spender at the club, and she can afford to buy some fun stuff. I pull open cabinets, seeing cereal and Pop-Tarts and canned soup.
But she would never buy this much. And never the high-end brands. Whoever did this isn’t in this family. We don’t shop this way.
Bianca enters the kitchen and stops when she sees me. She has a trash bag full of garbage she’s probably carting outside.
“Where did all this food come from?” I ask her, but I think I already know the answer.
She smiles, setting down the bag. “Instacart. Someone had it delivered this morning.”
Someone, my ass. I slam the freezer door and pull off my hood and hat, running my hand through my hair. He let me panic when he told me he had my stepdad arrested, and he’d already sent a month’s worth of food. He didn’t want any pushback, so he didn’t tell me that I had one less thing to worry about.
And I would’ve pushed back. I don’t need him showing them a life they’ll never have and getting their hopes up.
Filling up a glass of water, I drink until it’s empty.
“Aro, what were you thinking?” Bianca asks behind me.
I stay quiet, not because I’m avoiding her, but I’m not sure which stupid thing that I did she’s referring to.
Probably the gunshot.
Instead, I change the subject. “Are you okay?” I turn around. “And Matty?”
She nods, a wistful smile crossing her lips. “We’re fine. I don’t know who sent the food, but it helps. He’s in heaven.” She laughs, turns, and I follow her, both of us peering around the corner and watching his feet bouncing over the side of the couch as he hugs a bag of pretzels and Flynn Rider sings on the TV. “Been watching Disney all day and snacking,” she tells me. “I should cut him off—”
“No,” I say quickly, loving this view the most. Him, belly full, and lost in the fun he’s having. “Let him eat what he wants.”
She nods and we slip back into the kitchen.
“They’ve been looking for you,” she says. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
“I just wanted to make sure you all were safe. Where’s Mom?”
“Working.” She opens the back door, tossing the trash into the can right outside. “Asshole got arrested for some outstanding warrant, so they picked him up from the hospital. She’s trying to scrounge money together to bail him out.”
“Of course, she is.” But I fight to hold back a smile. They don’t seem to know the warrant is fake. Hawke’s trick is working, and no one is onto him. Yet.
I dial her on my phone and then hang up. “That’s my new number,” I tell her. “Don’t give it to anyone.”
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I almost laugh, not sure how to answer that. She’s a little clueless sometimes, but she’s kind.
“I won’t be if you get pregnant,” I snap, shooting her a teasing look but not really. “You’re taking your pills?”