Red Hair, Black Soul (Red & Black #1)

07 | Ginger cookie

Jed

When I come back home, the sky is almost completely black. I push the key into the lock only to find the door already open. I push the handle and step inside, toeing off my shoes on my way. I head straight to the kitchen and find Mom sitting at the table, with a mug of coffee in her hands. She turns her head towards me when I enter and smiles.

"Hi, honey." She says. "How was work?"

"Great." I smooth my hand down my already dry shirt, feeling the spot where it's been stained by coffee.

"Daylen has stopped by." Mom informs me as I make my way over to the kettle to boil water for some tea. "He helped me get downstairs and cooked the dinner. It's still in the microwave if you want some."

I raise my brows. It's unusual for my brother to come and leave so early. Usually, he's still here when I come back home from my shift at Caffair.

"Did he give you your medicine?"

"Yes. He had to get going some time before you came home. He said it was business, but I don't believe him. I think he's got someone." She says with a smile.

I smirk. The thought of my brother with some girl is amusing.

I pour water into two mugs and take a seat opposite Mom. She accepts the tea I pass over to her and sets the empty mug from before aside. Her eyes move over me as usual when I come home after the whole day. It's like she tries to deduce every single thing that has happened to me during my absence just from looking at me. And as usual, she finds something. I see her eyes narrow slightly on the darker spot on my chest. I've tried covering it with a button up, but the top of the stain peeks out from under the collar.

"What happened to your shirt?" She asks.

I give her a half-grin. "I was attacked today."

Mom's eyes widen slightly. "Again?"

She remembers last Monday all too well. The thought of me being attacked itself has her on edge.

"Yes." I nod, sending the longer strands of my hair falling into my eyes. "And by the same person."

"This girl again?" Mom's lips form an o. "What was she doing in your workplace?"

"Makena brought her. She tries to become friends with her and drags her along everywhere."

"Are you trying to?" Mom asks.

"Am I trying to what?"

"Become friends with her." She explains. "If Makena likes her, then so will you, I think."

I cock a brow. "Are you asking me to become friends with a girl who pushed me down the stairs and spilled hot coffee all over me?"

"At least you will never get bored with her." Mom smiles.

Oh yeah. That's for certain.

"We'll see." I simply say as I lean back in my chair, cradling my mug in two hands. After spending the entire day making coffee for different people, I have no intentions of making one for myself. But a tea is something I love to drink at the end of my day.

I glance down at my shirt and think about the coffee I've made for Fiona. She said she didn't like it, so I should have made her tea. But for some reason, I wanted to make her like coffee. And I wanted to be the one to make her like it

I should have known it was a bad idea.

"You have a new tutor." Mom informs me, interrupting my thoughts.

My head snaps up as my eyes widen slightly.

"I do?"

She nods with a smile. She likes knowing she surprised me. "The school called today. Some teacher was looking for a job in your high school. Turns out, she's spent the past year homeschooling some girl. She moved to Ann Arbor nearly a year ago, and before that, she used to work as a teacher. She's got a big experience and can arrange her schedule to suit yours. The fate must love us." Mom's smile widens, lighting up her whole face.

Her happiness calls to me and before I know it, I'm smiling back at her with as much joy as she just showed me.

"That's great." I tell her. "Really. I'll finally be able to catch up with everything I missed during the last month of the previous year."

Mom's smile fades at my words. I mentally curse myself for those words. I know better than anyone that she doesn't like when someone mentions my condemned school schedule. It makes her feel guilty for all the lessons I've missed.

"I'm sure it won't take long. It's just a month. I'll be able to catch up to what we're doing now by the end of this month." I say, wanting to cheer her up somehow.

Mom nods, but I see it in her eyes that the guilt hasn't gone away. It's still there, eating at her and making her things she shouldn't be thinking.

Because I would never blame her for the situation, now matter how bad it is. It wasn't her fault. I'd give up the world to make her understand it.

"I brought you something." I stand up, desperately searching for a distraction.

I move over to my bag and take out a small package. Taking a plate out of one of the cupboards, I place the cookie on it and set it in front of Mom.

"Ginger. Your favourite." I force a smile onto my face.

She forces her own. "Thank you."

"Do you want some milk?"

Mom shakes her head, so I sit back down. She assets the cookie for a few moments before cracking it in two and sliding the plate closer to me. My heart clenches at the gesture. It's so very her. She won't ever take anything for herself without making sure everyone else's happy.

I take my half of the cookie, knowing she'll be happier when I eat it without protest. We touch our halves to each other in some sort of a toast. After spending the whole day in front of a plate filled with them, I hardly want to eat it right now, but I do. For Mom.

We eat in silence. The tension's not so thick anymore, but it can still be felt. The demon of reality is still looming over us, spreading its dark wings around Mom and me. We both know how our life works and how it's going to go on and there's no denying it. The cookie might have helped a little, but we're still far from being okay. Mom's still far from being okay.

I squeeze my cookie a little bit too hard and little crumbles fall onto the table. I loosen my hold and take a deep breath. At least I have a tutor. Now I can manage to bring together my school, job, and homeschooling. Everything's going to get better from now on.

I promise myself that.

But still, there's this tiny, little voice that whispers to me that it's not really my decision to make. That everything can change in a matter of weeks. That everything will change some time from now. Multiple sclerosis is a huge thing to deal with, after all.

And no amount of sugar is going to change it.