Absinthe Read online

  Insert flirtatious laugh and hair twirling.

  She’s wearing yoga pants and a gray t-shirt that says, “Mommin’ Aint Easy,” and her hair is piled in a perfectly messy topknot she probably copied off her teenage babysitter.

  I’ve never seen such a hypocrite in all my life. In the last six months since I’ve lived here, I’ve witnessed a whole bevy of men coming in and out of her house at all hours of the night.

  The men come …

  And then they go.

  Growing bored with the Melissa spectacle, I head inside, where the scent of my aunt’s pot roast mingles with chilled AC air. From the foyer, I can see into the dining room, where my cousin Bree has her nose buried in a textbook and her pen pressed against a notepad.

  Studying away some of the best years of her life, that one.

  Sometimes I wonder which of us has it worse … the one with the parents who care too much or the one with the parents who didn’t care at all?

  “Halston, is that you?” My aunt calls.

  “Nope. It’s the Culligan Man,” I call back, kicking off my dirty white Chucks. She doesn’t respond, but that’s probably because the Stepford Robot manufacturer forgot to install her sense of humor chip when they delivered her to Uncle Vic.

  “Dinner’s almost ready.” Her voice trails from the kitchen.

  “Be there in a sec.”

  I trample up the grand staircase toward the guestroom, which I guess is my room even though I’ve been told “not to put any holes in the wall or rearrange any furniture.” The room looks like a Pottery Barn catalog threw up in it and then hung my clothes in the closet. Needless to say, it doesn’t feel like it’s mine, but the bed is soft and it sure as hell beats switching foster homes every three months. Or sleeping in a cardboard box, which was my only option once I aged out of the system last year.

  I peel out of my clothes and stuff them in a hamper before changing into something that smells more like Tide detergent than strawberries and herbs, and then I dock my phone on the charger. Uncle Vic has a strict “no electronics at the dinner table” policy, and while I normally have no qualms about challenging authority, I don’t dare challenge Victor Abbott.

  For starters, he doesn’t mess around. He means what he says. He’s alpha as shit, smart as fuck, and rules his home—and the dozens of schools in his district—with an iron fist.

  Secondly, he took me in when he didn’t have to.

  He’s my mom’s brother. The only good apple in a family of ones that are rotten to the core. He didn’t have to take me in, put a roof over my head, and enroll me in one of the best high schools in the area, but he did…

  Much to Bree and Tab’s dismay.

  I’m a blemish to their country club lifestyle with my bold lipstick, short shorts, and wild green eyes. I’m the reason they lock their jewelry in safes—despite the fact that I have never and will never steal. I’m the jarring piano note ruining their beautiful symphony.

  They’re counting down the days until I leave for college, I’m sure of it. And Vic, bless his heart, has offered to put me through four years at a local state university about three hours from here.

  I arrive at the dining room table and take my place across from Bree. We were born a month and a year apart, she and I, but we have nothing in common. She’s flat-chested, thin-lipped, and a spoiled only child who’s never known what it feels like to go to bed with an empty stomach or to have to scrape mold off bread or pour expired milk onto stale cereal.

  “How was your afternoon, girls?” Aunt Tab directs her question to both of us, but her attention is focused on her daughter. She places a tureen of brown gravy between us then moves to the china cabinet to grab place settings.

  Every dinner is a production.

  I’ve lived here six months now and I’ve yet to see them order pizza.

  “I’m almost done studying for English comp,” Bree says, her gaze flicking to me like I should feel like a failure for not taking college prep courses in the summer. Forgive me for not being an overachiever. “First test is tonight.”

  “I have no doubt you’ll pass with flying colors.” Tabitha smiles, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she passes and heads toward the kitchen. She returns with the roast, placing it between us before taking a seat and checking her watch. “Hopefully Vic’s on his way. It’s not like him to be late.”

  That’s my aunt. Always worrying over nothing because she literally has nothing better to do. I’ve realized that rich people like to manufacture problems, but I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. They have all this good shit going for them, but they’re not happy unless they’re miserable.

  “I should call him.” The moment Aunt Tabitha rises, the door to the garage opens and the security system beeps twice. She smiles, placing her hand over her heart, and then takes her seat. “There he is.”

  Uncle Vic places his briefcase on the kitchen counter before emptying his pockets, and then sits in his usual chair at the head of the table. Without saying a word, he folds his hands and bows his head, saying grace. The three Abbotts make the sign of the cross and Vic dishes his food first.

  Watching the three of them is like watching one of those old black and white TV shows from the fifties. From the outside, they’re sickeningly perfect. My aunt wears dresses, even on the days she stays home, and Bree is a cheerleader, straight A student, and class president.

  The tinkle of flatware on china fills the silence, and after a few moments my uncle clears his throat and glances in my direction.

  “Halston, how’s summer treating you so far?” he asks.

  I shrug. “All right, I guess.”

  “I was thinking,” he says. “I’d like to teach you how to drive.”

  He has my full attention.

  My parents were always too strung out to teach me how to drive, and most of my foster parents didn’t trust me behind the wheel of their cars because they didn’t know me well enough.

  “That would be amazing, Uncle Vic,” I say. “Just say when.”

  He dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin, his forehead lined in wrinkles like he’s deep in thought. “This weekend. I’ll take you out this weekend. We can practice in Bree’s car.”

  Bree shoots me a dirty look.

  “Perfect,” I say.

  “In the meantime, I’d like you to start looking for a part-time job,” he says, chewing his meat. “At the end of the summer, I’ll match what you’ve saved dollar for dollar, and then we’ll go out and look at cars.”

  For once I have something to look forward to. No more rolling into school riding shotgun in Bree’s Prius. No more waiting outside her locker after school for a ride home, looking like some stranded loser.

  For the first time in my life, I’ll have freedom.

  Freedom to go where I want, when I want, for whatever reason I want.

  Freedom to do anything, see anyone.

  Freedom.

  About fucking time.

  I finish my dinner and ask to be excused, taking my plate to the dishwasher before going upstairs. When I crack open my laptop—a gift from Victor which is supposed to be strictly for homework—I pull up a job search website and see what I can find.

  A little red flashing ad on the side bar advertises some dating app called Karma. I try to click on the x in the corner to make it go away, but I miss, and another webpage opens up.

  The headline reads, “Tired of swiping? Tired of being ghosted and cat-fished? Try Karma for FREE today!”

  Intrigued, I click on “learn more.”

  Karma is an innovative dating app that forces users to earn “karma points” before certain information is revealed. For example, ten karma points allows you to see each other’s photo. Twenty karma points allows you to exchange email addresses. Thirty karma points allows you to exchange phone numbers.

  How do you earn karma points? By chatting anonymously via our app! Each user is allowed to chat with only one other user at a time, ensur
ing the person you’re talking to is genuinely interested in forming a deep and meaningful relationship with you—should that be what they’re seeking! Our users can select a myriad of options displaying their intentions. Some are seeking a long-term commitment while others are seeking a fun and flirtatious, no-strings-attached experience!

  We welcome you to try Karma today! We’re a free app—no catch! Download the desktop version to get started, and be sure to add the mobile app to take Karma with you wherever you go!

  Biting my bottom lip, I lift an eyebrow. Staring down the barrel of a long, hot summer, I could use a little something to fill my time besides binge watching Full House on Netflix with Emily Miller.

  Pressing the download button, the icon is installed on my desktop in a matter of seconds, and I double click to begin.

  A small gray box flashes across my screen, asking me to agree to their terms and conditions and check a box saying I’m eighteen.

  Done.

  Next, the app asks me for a pseudonym.

  That’s easy.

  Green Fairy—a childhood nickname I earned because of the intense color of my eyes.

  Wait, no. That’s dumb. They’re going to think I’m into fairies and elves and dragons and shit, and fantasies have never been my thing. I’m a realist.

  Deleting Green Fairy, I type in Absinthe.

  Much better, and it still fits.

  Next, it asks for a small bio. But I’m not going to be able to spill my life story in a thousand characters or less, nor would I want to. Sitting back on my bed, I stare at the ceiling. Despite what one might assume about me and the fact that my education history is a hot mess, I’ve never met a book I couldn’t devour. I’m guessing my love affair with books stems from all those years our heat got shut off mid-winter and I’d find myself staying at the library until close just to stay warm. On days when it was exceptionally cold, the librarian would let me stay a little past close while she finished up her work for the day.

  Pulling a notebook from beneath my mattress of quotes and things I’ve loved and saved throughout the years, I flip to a page in the middle and drag my fingertip along the faded ink words, stopping on a quote from The Great Gatsby. “You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.”

  I think about using that one before determining it’s too depressing.

  Flipping to the next page, my eyes land on another one from my beloved F. Scott Fitzgerald, taken from This Side of Paradise: “They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”

  Boom. Perfect. It’s short and sweet and the sexiness is implied, not cheap.

  Next, the app asks for my sex and then my age.

  With lips pressed to the side, I debate this one. If I say I’m eighteen, I’m going to attract the perverts and weirdos with teenage girl fetishes. Not to mention, I may be eighteen in calendar years, but my life experience has given me a perspective of someone who’s lived beyond that.

  Typing in 100, I decide to come back to that later, and I click on the “next” button.

  Karma asks me what kind of relationship I’m looking for, listing a handful of options and telling me to choose only one.

  Marriage? Nope.

  Long-term commitment? Nope.

  Casual dating? Hm, maybe.

  Open relationship? Nah.

  Friendship? No.

  No-strings attached fun? Yeah, okay.

  I check the last box before moving on. Karma is now requesting a photo of me, reminding me that the person I’m chatting with won’t see it until they reach a certain number of karma points, and at that time, I’d be able to see their photo too.

  Sliding off my bed, I slick a coat of red lipstick over my mouth and fluff my blonde waves before returning to my laptop and snapping a smirking selfie with the camera. A second later, it’s uploaded.

  When Karma tells me I’m all finished and I can start looking for potential matches by typing in my zip code, I check the clock.

  I need to look for a job, not a man.

  Mama needs some wheels.

  Closing out of the app, I’m prompted with a reminder to download it on my phone, but I return to my search. I’ll worry about that later.

  With no job history or work experience, I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I’m not above washing dishes or cleaning grease traps.

  Settling on a part-time waitress position offering “on the job training,” I click apply and fill out the form.

  Thank you for your interest! Someone from The Farmhouse Café will contact you shortly!

  I find a few more server jobs and submit my information, refusing to hold my breath. And when I’m done, I grab my phone, install Karma, and start shopping for a little summer fun.

  Chapter 2

  Ford

  “I should get inside.” I point toward the movers the second I’m able to get a word in with this woman.

  My new neighbor, Melissa, frowns, but I don’t feel bad. She’s been talking my ear off for the past half hour, inviting me to singles night at her church and telling me all about her kid. She hasn’t asked a single question about me, nor has she stopped to take a breath.

  “Thanks for the brownies.” I hold up the warm tray that’s been singeing my palms this entire time. “I’ll be sure to return the pan.”

  She knew what she was doing.

  Melissa smiles, coiling a strand of hair around her fingers. “Take your time. Like I said, I’m in the yellow house across the street if you need me.”

  If I need her …

  I stifle a chuckle before turning back to the house. The movers have made a good dent in the load already, and I walk into a living room stacked high with cardboard boxes. How one single man can accumulate so much shit by his late twenties is beyond me, though in my defense, most of my belongings are books—mostly college texts and literature classics—and I refuse to throw them out.

  Good words never expire.

  Moving to the kitchen, I grab a box cutter from the counter and get to work. My new job as principal of Rosefield High doesn’t officially start for another couple of months, and I’ve got all the time in the world, but the clutter and boxes are going to drive me insane. The sooner everything gets to its place, the better.

  I can’t live with chaos. It’s nails on a chalkboard.

  A couple of hours later, my kitchen is done and the movers are bringing the last of the furniture pieces in. I tip them each a hundred bucks and walk them to the door. The second they leave, I spread across my sofa, kick my feet up, and rest my eyes for a minute.

  My stomach growls, a reminder that the purchase of this house didn’t include a stocked pantry, so I slide my phone from my pocket and see if there are any places around here that deliver something other than lightning-fast submarine sandwiches or soggy pizza.

  Within five minutes, I settle on Thai food, place my order, and pull up my Karma app to kill time.

  Starting a job like this in a town where I don’t know a soul means hook ups can be risky. I need to establish my reputation first, and the concerned residents of Rosefield, Illinois would be aghast if they found out their children’s principal is a commitment-phobic man whore.

  Karma is safer.

  I can actually get to know someone before deciding if they’re worth hooking up with, though at this point in time, I’ve opted to use a stock photo and stick to phone sex. It’s less risky, and my career isn’t worth an hour of electric sex with a stranger.

  Tapping the app, it asks if I want to “search singles in the area searching for no-strings attached experiences.” I press “okay,” and the screen displays a list of options in alphabetical order.

  Woman number one is named Absinthe, and her bio is an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote, which tells me she’s introspected and a fan of the literary arts. Sticking in a pin on her profile, I move on to the next options and make my assessments.

  BlaireWS1989. Her bio
is a list of her college degrees and various professional certifications.

  Pass.

  DaringBoldly_SoulfulAries. Addicted to self-help books. Probably consults psychics on a regular basis.

  Nope.

  FoxyMamaIL. Her bio says she’s a mom to three and fur-mom to four. I can’t do the single mom thing. They always want more, even if they say they don’t.

  Moving on.

  HeavenlyHannah. Is that … is that a Nickelback song she’s quoting?

  Seriously, people.

  I check out another dozen before going back to Absinthe, making absolutely certain I want to send her a message. Once I do, I won’t be able to communicate with anyone else … though the last five minutes of my life have shown me that I’m probably not missing out on much anyway.

  Tapping the “initiate contact” button, I type a message and press send.

  Chapter 3

  Halston

  I barely hear the ding of my computer over the music piping through my earbuds, but sure enough, there’s a push notification coming through from Karma.

  Kerouac would like to introduce himself! Do you accept?

  Kerouac? Ugh. Jack Kerouac is one of the most overrated writers I’ve ever had the disservice of subjecting myself to. On the Road was boring and self-indulgent.

  I check out his message next.

  “Pretty tech savvy for being 100,” he writes.

  Laughing out loud, my head tilts to the side. He’s got a sense of humor. I can work with that. And I can maybe forgive him for the screen name if he’ll allow me to broaden his horizons with some hand-selected book recommendations.

  Clicking on the “reply” icon, Karma tells me that by responding to this conversation, I won’t be able to communicate with any other users. And if I decide to cease conversation with this person, I need to click on the black “x” in their profile, which will prevent them from being able to contact me again and vice versa.

  Forever.