Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

laughter pour out of the banquet room. “I remember being unable to stand the
anticipation when I was your age.”
Mimi is still my age. She just hides it well.
“So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” she asks.
I shrug. “Standard scavenger hunt, maybe some burgers…”
I used to love spending time with my mother’s mother more than I did my
actual mother, but I started to enjoy it less the older I got. Mimi’s the reason
my mom is the way she is.
I guard my words, because even though I may admire her ruthlessness, I
also know I’m not safe from it. My grandmother is the most dangerous
person I know.
“You be home at a decent hour.” She caresses my hair. “It’s not right for
your mother to be home alone so much.”
“She’s never home,” I tell her.
Mimi takes my chin and tips my eyes up at her. “A great deal has been
asked of you in your young life, but you need to see the strength it’s building,
too.” Her gentle eyes don’t do enough to disguise the stern gaze underneath.
“It’s not enough to not be a burden, Clay. You need to be a comfort, and if
you don’t like that, that’s too bad. You get in line. Your family needs you.”
I almost nod, as always. It’s better to just agree with my elders, because
arguing wastes time, and I’m just going to do what I want to anyway, but
something slips out of me that I don’t feel like curtailing tonight. “A family
doesn’t live in that house anymore.”
She thins her eyes, holding me closer. “Don’t let them see,” she says in a
low tone.
“Who?”
“Everyone who is waiting with bated breath to see you unhappy.” She
releases me and tips her chin up, straightening her back. “Don’t give that to
them.”
I’ve never given that to them. I never let my friends know how I hate
being home. How my parents barely know each other anymore.
How they barely know me.
But I’m tired of the façade, and for a few stolen moments this week, I got
a glimpse of what life was like without it. I was too high to reach.
I spot a cardboard tube on the table, Biscayne Bay written on the label
featuring my father’s letterhead. Biscayne Bay? He’s working on a
development called Palm Biscayne, somewhere on our coast, but I’ve never