Page 17 of Desperate Games

It’s terrifying.

And fucking exhausting.

And it’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.

It might not be trendy or ambitious or worthy of a TED Talk, but it’s mine.

I want that kind of purpose.

That kind of legacy.

I gave up on the idea of finding real love a long time ago.

But I’m not ready to give up on this dream yet. I’ll just have to make it happen another way.

No, damn it, I’m not giving up.

Not yet.

Clementine and Connor are hosting some kind of dinner party tonight.

Supposedly casual.

Supposedly not for any particular reason.

But come on.

If Clemmie’s wearing heels and Connor shaved, someone’s either knocked up or about to be knighted.

My money’s on the former.

Age gaps have got nothing on this family when it comes to procreation.

Like if you’ve got a pulse and a wedding band, you’re probably fertile or in your second trimester.

I exhale and reach for the door handle.

“I know, Mom. But I might kill Julia if I have to share the bathroom with her another night.”

“She’s your sister?—”

“She’s a hair-shedding, morning-yoga-at-volume-eleven menace.”

Mom hums in amusement, and I add the final lie with as much conviction as I can fake.

“It’s fine. I talked to the superintendent. He said the exterminator is ninety-nine percent sure the rat issue is under control.”

Lie, lie, filthy lie.

Those rats are thriving.

Probably formed a jazz band.

Maybe even a small government.

Meanwhile, I’ve got a backpack with a weekend’s worth of clean clothes, two burner hoodies, and a hope that one of my cousins will let me crash in one of their guest rooms before I give in and book a Marriott or Hilton or Joe’s Motel for all I care.

“Oh, don’t forget your camera, sweetheart. The girls want you taking pictures of the kids today,” Mom calls from the kitchen, her voice warm and clipped as always, already halfway into her third cup of coffee.