The ride to Lindsey's was suffocating.
Not the motion—the anticipation. Whatever Lindsey had to say, I knew it would be gut-churning. In a bad way.
I sat in the passenger seat, palms dragging down the thighs of my jeans over and over like I could wipe away the anxiety clinging to my skin. Alistair drove in silence, following the GPS instructions I'd punched in earlier. Calm. Unbothered. One hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
I would never admit it, but I felt somehow relieved that I was being accompanied to Lindsey. It's been two years since I last saw her and not a lot of talking had been done in those years.
She was like a second mother to me. Whenever things got rough, she would help smooth it over. It was like two adults playing good cop bad cop with a child they both couldn't raise properly.
"My mother and I looked nothing alike," I said, breaking the silence.
I watched the pristine snow piling outside as we drove by.
