Four Of A Kind - Chapter 155: [3.57] Mother of the Year

Chapter 155: [3.57] Mother of the Year

4:47 AM. Friday. The ungodly hour when normal people were still unconscious and dreaming about things that made sense.

I wasn’t normal. I was standing in my kitchen making coffee while going through a mental checklist that would’ve made Vivienne proud. Or maybe horrified. Probably both.

Today’s agenda looked like someone had weaponized a calendar app.

Two tests. AP English and Calculus. Easy enough under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Not when I’d spent half the night blocking my mother’s number and the other half thinking about purple eyes, wine-red hair, and the fact that somewhere in the chaos of the past three weeks, my life had stopped making sense.

Then there was Iris. She needed an Uber to the manor because Vivienne had invited her for the weekend. Four days. Which meant packing, coordinating with Mrs. Tanaka, and making sure Harlow didn’t kidnap my sister for a forty-eight-hour anime marathon.

Vivienne’s launch party was Saturday night. The event she’d been planning for weeks. The reason I’d spent three hours getting measured for a suit that cost more than my first car. If anything went wrong, she’d probably fire me on principle.

Cassidy had her math test today. The one we’d been preparing for. The one that would either prove she wasn’t broken or send her into an emotional spiral I’d have to catch her from.

And then there was the haunted maid cafe setup after school. I’d somehow volunteered to help Felix, Harlow and the festival committee assemble backdrop panels and test the fog machine.

Multiple mes would’ve been helpful. Unfortunately, cloning technology was beyond my pay grade.

I poured my coffee and checked the time again. 4:51.

Iris shuffled into the kitchen wearing my Queen shirt, the one that hung to her knees. Her hair looked like a bird had nested there overnight.

“You’re up early,” she mumbled, squinting at the overhead light like a vampire facing sunrise.

“Got a busy day.”

“You always have a busy day.” She opened the fridge and stared at its contents without taking anything out. “Mrs. Delgado asked me yesterday if you’re eating enough. She thinks you look skinnier.”

“Mrs. Delgado thinks everyone looks skinnier.” I handed her a glass of orange juice anyway. “Drink this.”

“Yes, mom.”

The word hung in the air between us.

I froze mid-sip.

Iris didn’t notice at first. She was too busy scrolling through her phone, probably checking the manga update schedule. Then she looked up and caught my expression.

“Wait, why’d you…”

“Nothing.” I turned back to my coffee. “Just tired.”

Her eyes narrowed the way they always did when she knew I was lying. “Zay.”

“Drop it.”

“Seriously, what—”

“I said drop it, Iris.”

The sharpness in my tone made her flinch. I immediately regretted it, but damage was done. She set her juice down with careful slowness and crossed her arms.

“Fine. Whatever. I was just joking.”

The kitchen went quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of someone’s car alarm going off three floors down.

I should’ve told her. Diana Angelo, mother of the year, had reached out with her collection of excuses and half-apologies. But telling Iris meant opening a door I’d spent twenty months keeping shut. It meant watching my sister’s face when she realized Mom had been in California for almost two years without calling once to check if we’d survived.

If Diana actually cared, she’d get on a plane. She’d show up at our door. She’d do literally anything except send text messages to the son she abandoned.

“You need to pack,” I said instead.

Iris blinked. “Huh?”

“Four days at the manor. Pack for four days. Toothbrush, toothpaste, actual pajamas that aren’t my shirts.”

“Oh. Right.” She brightened slightly, the earlier tension dissolving into excitement. “Harlow’s gonna show me her cosplay workshop! And Sabrina said I could read in the library whenever. And Cassidy promised she’d teach me how to absolutely destroy someone at Mario Kart.”

“Great. All my employers are corrupting you.”

“They’re nice!” Iris protested. “Way nicer than you described.”

Because I’d described them like they were clients at Velvet Room. Professional distance. Compartmentalization. The smart thing to do when you were poor and they paid your rent.

Except somewhere along the way, I’d stopped compartmentalizing.

Troublesome didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Pack warm stuff too,” I added. “The manor gets cold at night.”

“Do you know this from experience, or…?”

I gave her a look.

She grinned. “Just checking if you’re sleeping in anyone’s bed.”

“Iris.”

“Because Harlow mentioned the guest suite has that really soft—”

“IRIS.”

She laughed and disappeared into her room. I heard drawers opening, clothes being thrown around, and what sounded like her entire collection of manga hitting the floor.

My phone buzzed.

Felix: bro you alive? you look like death had a baby with insomnia

Me: Thanks. Really needed that this morning.

Felix: just checking. you were WEIRD yesterday. like weirder than usual weird

Me: Busy day. Two tests.

Felix: oh shit right. the calculus one. you study?

I hadn’t. Between blocking my mother’s number, playing UNO with two of the four sisters I couldn’t stop thinking about, and lying awake at 2 AM wondering which one had kissed me, studying had fallen off the priority list.

Me: I’ll be fine.

Felix: thats what people say before they fail. see you at school. dont die

I pocketed my phone and finished my coffee. Iris emerged ten minutes later dragging an overnight bag that looked suspiciously heavy.

“Did you pack your entire room?”

“Just the essentials.” She hefted it onto the kitchen table with a grunt. “Toothbrush, toothpaste like you said, clothes, my sketchbook, manga volumes four through seven because I’m in the middle of that arc, my tablet, chargers, hair clips Harlow gave me last time, the sweater Vivienne said I could borrow—”

“You’re visiting for four days. Not moving in.”

“You’re one to talk. You basically live there now.”

She wasn’t wrong. Three weekends a month, plus afternoons, plus evenings. My apartment was becoming the place I slept between shifts at the Valentine circus.

“The Uber’s coming at 3:30 after school to pick you up,” I said, checking the app.

“Cool. Are you eating breakfast or just coffee?”

“Coffee is breakfast.”

She gave me the look. The one that said you’re being stupid and we both know it. “That’s not food, Zay. That’s brown anxiety juice.”

“Brown anxiety juice keeps me functional.”

“It keeps you upright. Not the same thing.” She opened the fridge again and pulled out eggs. “I’m making you something. Sit.”

“I don’t have time—”

“SIT.”

I sat.

She scrambled eggs with the same focus she applied to her artwork. Methodical. Careful. Adding garlic powder because she knew I liked it that way. She plated them with toast and slid the food across the table without comment.

We ate in comfortable silence.

“You know,” Iris said eventually, “you’ve been really weird since Sunday.”

“Define weird.”

“Distracted. You keep checking your phone and then not responding to anyone. You’re doing that thing where you clench your jaw when something’s bothering you but you won’t say what.”

I unclenched my jaw.

“See? You’re doing it right now.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Is it the Valentine thing? The kiss thing?”

“Among other things.”

She studied my face for a long moment.

“Is it mom?”