If the Broom Fits by Sarah Sutton

Author:Sarah Sutton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Golden Crown Publishing, LLC

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“Of course you can go out tonight,” Gram assured when I asked, tucking a hanger of something into the racks of costumes. It was black, that much I could see, but I couldn’t remember if we had any black costumes. She’d been messing with a scrap of black fabric the other day, the more I thought about it. Probably something she was working on for a new party. “You don’t have to ask me for permission, Blaire. I trust you.”

I slumped into the chair in the corner of the room, sighing. Yeah, stupid of me to hold out hope that she’d have a different answer, but that was the last card I could play. “You shouldn’t trust me. I make dumb decisions.”

“All teenagers make dumb decisions,” Aunt Aimee said with a high laugh, bent over the sewing machine with her fingers pressed against a strip of fabric. She’d greeted me with a smile when I came into the room, her interest piqued now. “It’s allowed when you’re young.”

I’d always thought Aunt Aimee looked more like Mom than Dad, who was her biological brother. Aimee’s hair was practically the same color as Mom’s—a nearly brown blonde—and they even used to have it cut the same. Both tall, slender. Seeing Aunt Aimee used to open up a rift in my stomach, especially when everything had been fresh. She’d reminded me too much of Mom.

Now, looking at her only made my heart pinch a little.

“Don’t listen to her,” Gram sighed, waving a hand. “Name one dumb decision you’ve made in your life, Blaire.”

“I pour the milk in before the cereal. People think that’s weird.”

“Blaire.” Gram turned to face me fully, and the long skirt she wore belled out with the movement. She placed her hands on her hips, giving me her best parental stare. “You’ve never given me a reason not to trust you. Lucas and Donnie haven’t, either.”

Aunt Aimee stepped on the pedal of the sewing machine, bringing it to life. “I’d trust those two with my life.”

I narrowed my eyes at her because she so wasn’t helping. “I don’t even know what we’re doing. Surely you can’t let me out of the house not knowing where I’m going to be.”

Gram frowned a little. “Do you want to tell me what this is about?”

What a loaded question. I wished she could read my mind so I wouldn’t have to say anything aloud. I wouldn’t have to tell her about my breakup. I wouldn’t have to tell her how much Dad’s letter upset me. I wouldn’t have to tell her how I was so full of negativity lately that I couldn’t recognize who I was turning into.

My eyes glanced past her to Aunt Aimee, who tried to pretend like she wasn’t listening. “This isn’t about anything.”

With only two years of reading my cues, Gram was left at a disadvantage. We’d visited her house often when Mom had been alive and Dad around, but not well enough for her to read and recognize each of my idiosyncrasies.

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