Chapter Four: Damned Chocolate Croissants

Ava POV

I held my keys between my teeth—one hand clutching a London Fog in a coffee cup, the other gripping a stack of paperwork I still needed to organize. My duffel bag dangled from my arm.

I was just in front of my apartment door when I noticed it was slightly ajar.

Yep.

I know I locked it. As sure as fuck.

I froze, then carefully set everything down beside the door without a sound. I opened the coat closet and grabbed my bat.

See, I don't mind being haunted.

But being robbed?

Yeah, I take offense to that.

I moved slowly. Deliberately.

Until I saw the assailant standing in my apartment—holding a bag I could smell from a thousand miles away.

From my favorite pastry shop.

Chocolate croissants.

Fucking Frankie.

"Whoa there. Put down the weapon. I come in peace," she said, holding up a peace sign like she was a cartoon character.

I lowered the bat, but didn't set it down. A warning.

"Why are you here?" I asked coldly.

She shook the bag in front of her, a big, silly smile lighting up her face in a way that reminded me of a time when things were simple.

"I bring a simple peace offering."

I glared at her.

"You forgot Lilia and Elias at school again, didn't you? Went on a binge."

Her smile faltered. Eyes dropped. Shame crept in.

But she couldn't lie to me.

Not with those red-rimmed eyes. Not with the stench of liquor clinging to her clothes. Not with the croissants in her hand like a bribe.

It had happened. Too. Many. Times.

She didn't speak. So I did it for her.

"I want you to leave, Frankie."

"Oh, so it's not Mom anymore."

I tried to steady my breathing, tried to hold the anger back, but I didn't have that kind of peace in me. That River Calm.

"Leave. Now."

"Avy, it was a mistake. I was out with a colleague and—"

I raised my hand, cutting her off.

Now she's calling me Avy?

Really?

"There's no excuse you can give me that I'll believe. This has happened too many times. I'm done. It's not fair—to me, to Lilia, or to Elias. They need someone present, and you never are, Frankie."

Mom.

Why are you like this, Mom?

Her face crumpled with hurt. Then she turned and walked out—like always.

But this time, she paused at the door.

"You can push everyone away, Avy, but don't do it to River. You know he loves you."

I froze.

"River and I are fine where we are."

"You were never the same after that lunch with Rachel," she said quietly. "I just hope you don't lose something precious by being too careful with it."

"Stop psychoanalyzing me. Just leave the damn croissants and go."

She held my eyes for a second.

Then she set the bag down on the table by the door—

and left.

I crumbled.

Like a cookie pulled from the oven too early.

Mushy.

Chocolate dripping.

Unredeemable.

Frankie never played fair.

And dragging River into this?

Jesus.

I was supposed to be moving on from him. That's what Sam had been.

A clean slate. A reset button.

He was kind.

Gentle.

Funny, even.

But he wasn't River.

I had let him go.

And now he was "happy."

With her.

And I was just—here

—

Three croissants later, I was curled in my red-orange chair by the window, watching stars flicker above the blur of passing cars.

And I thought of my mother again.

She hadn't always been like this.

She used to braid my hair.

Sing with the windows down.

Tell me I was the best thing she'd ever done.

Before she forgot how to love me.

Before she was drunk during every moment that counted.

Once, she was a successful psychiatrist. A woman married for thirteen years. Bright, cheerful, witty, kind.

Everything you'd want in a mom.

And then—

"MOM! Can I have the purple streamers for my birthday?" I asked, pressing my face to the store window, practically vibrating with excitement.

Thirteen.

Old enough to choose.

But she didn't answer.

"Mom?"

I turned to her and saw her standing stiffly, eyes locked on something behind me.

I followed her gaze.

My stomach dropped.

Was that my dad? Kissing someone else?

That was the day everything cracked.

She found out about his affair.

He was a college professor. He'd gotten one of his students pregnant.

How classy.

He left us for her. She rewarded him with an abortion and then disappeared from his life entirely.

Guess sneaking around was more fun than dealing with his bullshit.

My mom was never the same after that. Her whole life, undone. And it only got worse.

I remember standing outside the bathroom, hearing her cry in the shower. Muffled sobs behind a hand trying to quiet the grief.

She stayed in the house, but not really. She was there—but not there.

And then came the final straw.

Turns out the student wasn't the only one. He'd cheated multiple times. Fathered two more children—Lilia and Elias.

We only found out because his new girlfriend sent a birthday invitation for Elias to our house, thinking we already knew.

Surprise.

At least he finally got a vasectomy.

If he hadn't, I would've done it for him. With my foot. Twenty-seven times.

I love my half-siblings. They're innocent in all this. We had them half the time, while my dad did god-knows-what with god-knows-who.

But my mom kept drinking.

Then Grandma—her lifeline—died.

And she imploded.

She wasn't Mom anymore.

She started disappearing, not physically at first, just emotionally. Checked out. Absent for days even when she was sitting in the room.

So I stepped in.

I was seventeen the weekend she didn't come home.

I made Elias a quesadilla and told Lilia a bedtime story about what a "good" prince looks like.

I was the adult. And I was furious.

Furious at both of them.

My parents weren't there for so much of my life. And now, at twenty-seven, I was still picking up the pieces they left behind.

I thought when my dad met Georgia, maybe things would change.

They didn't. That lasted all of two years.

But at least Georgia didn't abandon the kids when he did.

If Georgia was warm cookies on Christmas morning, Frankie was the carrots we left out for the reindeer on Christmas Eve.

Except—at least the carrots were reliable.

Frankie, on the other hand...

My mother was turning into everything she hated about my father.

Unreliable. Unresponsive. Unaccountable.

And the croissants? Really?

She knew they were my sweet spot. And she used them against me.

God.

I need a fucking drink.

And a fight.

I grabbed my keys and my purse and headed toward Alex's.

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