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Chapter 13

Pippin looks nothing like her; he must take after his dad.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Her hand flies to her throat and she flutters her eyelashes. I want to laugh at her and tell her she’s barking up the wrong tree, but she already knows about my preferences. Maybe she can’t turn it off.

“Crystal?” I can’t seem to form a coherent thought. During all the years I’ve lived in Ma’s house, she’s visited once, ages ago.

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?” More eyelash-fluttering.

“Uh, sure.” I step to the side and open the door so she can enter.

She saunters into my house, hips swinging from side to side with one hand on her waist as though she wants to accentuate her curves. “Are you fixing up the place?” she asks, standing in the middle of the living room—that’s now empty, except for the couch covered in a tarp—looking at the stripped walls.