by Taryn Quinn
“We’ll be in and out in a minute.” I grabbed her hand and towed her into the shop with me.
The purple-haired woman behind the counter gave me a wide smile and chatted about the many selections in between slanting looks at the surly, silent Ryan. She answered her friend almost coolly, though it was clear the other woman was used to joking around with her.
When the woman—Dre—turned to box up my order, Ryan drew away from me and crossed the shop to look at her phone. She was texting frantically, her thumbs blurring.
Tension throbbed in my shoulders. She was probably telling Luna I’d forced her to get donuts against her will.
We didn’t spend long in the shop. The scent of the donuts filled my head, but the prospect of them wasn’t nearly as enticing when Ryan was acting so strangely. She couldn’t be that annoyed that I’d wanted her to come in with me.
Then again, she was stubborn as hell. And how well did I know her really?
Dre called after Ryan as I opened the door to usher her out. “You better call me. I need that reading asap.”
Ryan didn’t even wave, just marched over to where I’d double-parked the car and slipped inside without a word.
I circled around to my side and noticed she was back on her phone. Lovely. I was about to get in when I noticed a telltale slip on the windshield.
My incredible morning was devolving into utter bullshit.
She didn’t even ask about the ticket when I got in and set the bakery box on the floor on her side. Whatever held her attention on her phone was far more important than dealing with me.
“I’m taking you home?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She never glanced up.
A couple moments later, I pulled into her lot. She thanked me absently once more before climbing out and hurrying around the side of the building.
I drummed my thumbs on the steering wheel. Okay, then.
At a loss, I turned on the phone I’d silenced last night and had no fewer than thirty-seven voicemails and texts waiting.
The last from my father.
Dad: Where the hell are you? What are you doing?
Twenty-Three
That couldn’t be right.
I frowned as I scrolled through my Instagram. It couldn’t be right.
No way, no how.
My DMs were bulging. The red number in the corner of the app was in the triple digits. What the hell had happened?
I scrolled and saw the expired story in every single one of the replies.
More?
What’s this? What are their names? I need more!
So cute!
Is that a fox? *insert pterodactyl screech* I NEED MORE!
A screenshot of my work was reshared by Penn Masterson, the famous graphic artist. The Penn Masterson who could write his ticket at DC Entertainment or Dark Horse. I wasn’t a huge comic girl, but I followed his stuff. It was epic shit and his was one of the first indie comics to really blow up.
And he’d shared my Roz and Sylvia to his seventeen million followers.
My heart raced and my stomach pitched. I bent at the waist near the side of my building as the gravel went sparkly. Panic and shock layered one on top of the other.
I’d only posted the story with the sketch so the universe would show me that it was nothing.
And okay, maybe a little tiny part of me thought it would get a few nice replies from people who followed my tarot posts. Tarot Tramps, my podcast with Luna, also had a decent following. But not like this.
My phone kept buzzing in my hand as more notifications rolled in.
I gulped in huge lungfuls of oxygen, trying to calm the panic threatening to drop me on my ass.
You can do this.
You will not pass out right outside your apartment building like a chick with the vapors.
I forced slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth until the world stopped tilting.
Finally, my chest eased enough for me to stand up straight—and then I noticed a silver Airstream parked on the side of my building.
I glanced up at the sky. “Are you kidding me?”
Maybe it was another Airstream. Retro was trendy these days, right?
The tail end of the rust-pocked vehicle was partially obscured by trees, but an airbrushed rainbow-colored peace sign with the initials RM drawn in bubble letters was like a neon arrow.
Of all the days for my mother to come into town.
Would she notice me sneaking inside? Maybe I could pretend I wasn’t home.
I crept up the stairs, only to find the door unlocked and my hide-a-key missing. I sighed as I slipped inside. My shower was running, and my mother’s off-key singing floated out into my apartment.
A massive sack of laundry sat in the middle of my kitchen, half of the contents spilling out in front of my oven. A plethora of tie-dye shirts and yoga pants could not be contained.
Rainbow Moon had arrived.
She’d had me when she was barely eighteen. Her music of choice was the hair metal channel with a side of nineties grunge to make her a little more well-rounded. She also loved traveling around to music festivals.
My mother, the perpetual groupie. At least when she was between boyfriends.
I was actually shocked she hadn’t leaned into the rockstar thing, but she always said opposites attracted her the most.
Maybe I was more like her than I thought.
I touched the burn on my lip. I’d literally been burned for thinking PMS and I were a good idea. Was that the universe having another laugh at my expense?
Or was it a warning?
I collapsed into my chair at my kitchen table. The residual energy from having PMS in my space made everything feel…different. The room divider that closed off my bedroom area was see-through enough that I could just glimpse the twisted sheets of my bed.
My whole body was still humming from yesterday. I had a healthy relationship with sex. I liked it, embraced it even. I’d had a few lovers over the years, and while it was rare for me to let them in my personal space, it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.
Preston Shaw was not ordinary.
He was pushy and overwhelming and rigid, but at the same time, he was the most giving lover I’d ever been with. He didn’t make sense.
We didn’t make sense.
It was better if I just cut things off now before either of us got too invested.
And if I’d wanted to believe otherwise, even for a second, here came Rainbow Moon to remind me that opening up meant I’d better prepare for a crash landing.
I was just about to call the office to tell him I wouldn’t be in when my mother came out of the bathroom.
She jumped, slapping her hand over her chest. “Ryan Genevieve Moon, you scared me half to death.”
I winced at the middle name usage. “A little breaking and entering to start your visit, Rainbow?”
She waved me off. “That hiding spot for your key is ridiculous. Anyone could find it.”
I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to find a better hiding place. I thought I’d been pretty clever by using one of the carvings in the door frame. Guess not.
She bustled into the kitchen, dripping water on the floor. She was short where I was fairly tall, light to my dark in all ways from hair to skin. Biology had not given us much in common. Personality wise we were legions apart as well. In fact, when I had managed to go to school, the teachers hadn’t believed she was my mother.
Me either, to be truthful.
“Do you have a washer?”
“A small stackable unit in my closet.”
“Perfect.” She toed over her bag to me. “Be a love.”
I pressed my lips together against a pithy reply about her taking it down to the laundromat. It was just easier to do a load for her.
Shoving the clothes back into the bag, I hefted it and headed over to my bedroom area. “How long are you in town?”
“Actually, I was heading to the Adirondacks and wondered i
f you might want to come with me. It’s been a long time since we’ve hung out.”
“Need money again?” I called.
“No—well, okay, maybe a little.”
Of course she did. The only time she came to see me was when her bank account was low. Not that she ever had much to add to it. I had just made her get one, so I didn’t have to worry about her being stranded somewhere.
And I added to the balance monthly because I was an idiot.
She followed me and tugged a black dress out of my closet. “Oh, Ryan. Don’t you have anything with color?”
“My style is all black. You know this.”
She dropped her towel. “I don’t look good in black.”
I focused on stuffing her clothes in my washer and not on the fact that my mother just flashed all of her wares at me. “Well, it is my closet.”
She sighed and fussed with the sleeves then tugged at the front of the dress that hung low on her. “How is it that I got less boobs than you? I made you.”
“Boobs are a pain in the ass.”
“You only say that because you have them.”
Nudging her aside, I reached for the top shelf of my closet where I kept some of the things she’d left behind the last time she blew in. I handed her the hot pink tank dress and one of her flowy button down shirts. “Here.”
She flipped my dress off and left it on the floor. “That’s where this went.” She shimmied into the dress and tied the shirt around her hips. “Much better.”
I sighed and bent to pick up my tone-on-tone sunflower dress. “I just put five-hundred dollars in your account last month.”
“I know, sweetie. I appreciate that. I bought some primo undyed wool. Wait until you see the hanks I made up with madder root. They’re this rich raspberry color.” She made a chef’s kiss noise. “I figured out some new colors with a cotton I got from some mill ends for real cheap.” She rushed over to her hemp bag. “I used some of it to knit a summer coverup.”
She came back and held it up in front of me. “Look at that juicy red color. It would look amazing with your hair.” She curled the netting around my hair and tilted her head. “Oh, I could make hair wraps.”
Off and running with something feeding that crazy brain of hers, she muttered to herself about stitches. Naturally, she left the summer weight wool around my neck. It was still too hot, especially since I’d been loading the washer with her frigging clothes. I set the machine to wash.
“Did you use a natural soap?”
“Yes.” Lies. Kind of. I’d used my usual detergents from a subscription service I’d been buying from for ages.
“Whew.”
As I tugged off the half-knitted garment, the long circular needles tangled in my hair. “Ow.” I shook my head as I followed her back into the kitchen.
I dropped the coverup on the table where she was scribbling madly in a notebook with one of my Blackwing pencils. I didn’t even bother taking the pricey sketch pencil back when she shoved it in her bag.
She smiled up at me. “I can’t wait to work on this idea. It’s perfect for the end of summer.” She picked up her knitting, noticing my sketchbook. “Oh, are you drawing again?”
I reached for the notebook, but she was too quick.
“Oh. Oh…” She held it against her chest. “It’s so good.” She went back to flipping pages. Then giggled, turning back a few. “Is she a fox or a cat?”
I took the notebook from her. “Fox.”
She frowned, but then her face cleared. The one nice thing about my mother was that you couldn’t out-rude her. She was fairly oblivious. “Well, I’m glad to see you doodling again. It always made you so happy when you were a kid.”
My eyebrow winged up. “You noticed me drawing?”
“Of course. I kept track of all your hobbies.”
Not my homework though. She couldn’t have cared less about that.
“What do you need the money for, Rainbow?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” She huffed out a breath. “I want to spend some time with you. But I also have a booth at the Bear Mountain craft fair. Can’t you get away?”
“I have a life here.”
“I know, but it’s just four days. We can make it a girl trip and camp out like the old days. Make some s’mores. You can help me eat some of the peach jam I made. It didn’t sell like I thought it would.”
“I…”
“Is there something keeping you here?”
Was there?
My phone display glowed bright, PMS’s name flashing with a text.
PMS: Where are you? Do you need help in the shower?
I grabbed my phone and held it on my lap under the table. “No. There’s nothing keeping me here. I mean, I have work but I—”
“Then that’s settled. We’ll pack up and have a road trip!” She came around the table and gave me a hug. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be so fun.”
I patted her arm, then glanced down at my phone under the table. “Yeah. Fun.”
“Okay.” She clapped excitedly. “I’ll get some gas.” She twisted the fabric of her skirt. “You know, if I could borrow some money first? I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I sell some of my yarn.”
I reached for my purse and handed over my credit card—the one with the lowest limit. I wasn’t stupid. “Pick up whatever else you need, and I’ll finish up with work stuff here.”
“And my laundry?”
“Yes, and your laundry.”
“You’re the best.” She rushed forward and kissed me again. “I’ll be back.”
As with most things involved with Hurricane Rainbow, there was a flutter of insanity in her wake. I pulled my laptop in front of me and cracked my knuckles.
To whom it may concern:
I quit.
Officially.
Not that there’s much left to the day, but something came up with my mother and I have to leave town for a little while. She’s not sick or anything, she just needs my help.
And to be honest, I think this is probably for the best.
We’ve been really hot and heavy for the last few days and we need—okay, I need—a minute to think. I can’t do that around you.
I finished up the bulk of the records room project anyway. April can work on the last of it, I’m sure. She’s super smart.
I really did like working with you. Never doubt that.
Ryan
I edited it and rewrote the end part about three times. I couldn’t even figure out a way to sign off the note. Everything was so mixed up in my head.
I pressed send and then checked my messages on Instagram. I found a direct message from Penn Masterson buried in the non-follower section.
Ms. Moon,
I really was impressed with your drawings. I’ve been looking into signing some indie comics under my imprint. I’d really like to talk to you.
I know DMs are totally unprofessional and can sound scammy, but here is my phone number and my personal email. We can talk on Zoom or FaceTime so you know I’m not just talking out of my ass. Hope to hear from you.
Penn Masterson
My hands shook and I read it three times before I put my phone face down on my table.
No friggin’ way.
I pushed away from my chaotic table full of Rainbow shrapnel and my own scattered things from the day before to pace around the room.
“Alexa, call Luna.”
“Calling Luna.”
“Hello?” I heard a voice, but it sounded far away and out of breath.
I turned around and stared at my Alexa speaker. “Lu?”
“Yeah. Just a second.” I heard a muffled curse and then Luna’s voice came closer to the unit. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Did I interrupt something?”
“What? No. Nothing. I was just dancing.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’d call back, but it’s kind of important.”
“Yeah. Totally no problem.” Something was muffled, and then I heard
a door close. “Okay, you have my undivided attention.”
“Was someone there? Oh, man, were you…”
“Nope. All good. Nothing to see here. Was just my neighbor.”
“I thought you were dancing.” I curled into the drafting chair right beside my speaker.
“I was. Anyway, it’s not important. You sound stressed, girl. What’s up?”
I frowned, but my brain was still buzzing from…everything. “Hurricane Rainbow showed up.”
“Oh, shit. Are you okay?” I heard the fridge open and her pour something. “How much did she want this time?”
I put my head down on my drafting table. “Oh, if it was only just money. So much other stuff is going on.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No. I’m heading out with Rainbow.”
“Wait, what?” A glug came through the speaker. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“She wants to do this road trip thing, and I kinda need to get out of here.”
“What the heck is going on? I knew something was up, but I figured you’d come talk to me when you were ready.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not ready. For any of it.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I know.” I blew out a breath. “I did something.”
Luna was silent. “Like bank robbery? Murder?” She lowered her voice. “Do I need to bring my shovel? Go buy supplies in cash three counties over?”
I laughed and sat up. “No, there’s no body.”
Yet. I reserved the right to revisit that idea after I spent half a week with my mother.
Quickly, I recapped that I’d shared my comic and it had sort of gone haywire. Luna knew I’d been working on the comic for a while, and she was the only person who had ever seen it. And even then, she’d only seen a sketch of my little fox character.
I’d been guarding the comic for over a year. I didn’t know how to let go of it.
How to let anyone see what was inside me.
Roz and Sylvia had been mine for so long it felt like laying myself bare even saying their names.
“So that dude you made me read—Penn Masterson—he contacted you? The famous dude?”