A/N: The gif above is how I envision Carla, Evangeline's maternal grandmother. She's blunt, sassy, and a little screwed up in the head. 🥴

Rem and I pull up to the grimy South Side apartment complex. As we walk to the door, which is wide open and swinging back and forth in the wind, I get the strangest feeling of deja vu.

"Is this the right place?" Rem asks, visibly uncomfortable.

"This is the address Carla gave me when she moved last year," I reply, "so I hope so."

We enter the rundown building. Rem takes my hand as we walk the hall in search of apartment 10D.

We reach the fourth floor and finally locate Carla's studio. I raise my fist to knock, but my nerves stop me from making contact with the door. It's been years since I've seen my grandmother, and I'm not even one-hundred percent sure what I'm doing here.

"Want me to do it?" Rem whispers, eyeing my elevated hand.

I nod my head. "Yes please."

He knocks on the door. No response.

"She's probably not home. We should just leave," I say, already turning the corner to go back the way we came.

"Wait! I hear something." He presses his ear to the oak door. Seconds later, it swings open, causing my poor boyfriend to stumble.

"Who the hell are you?" a gruff voice asks. "Look, I ain't interested in your Thin Mints or whatever the hell else you're selling, so if you could just—"

"Hold on!" I shout, rushing forward before Carla can slam the door in our faces. "You remember me, right?"

"Evangeline?" Her blue eyes turn into saucers as she looks me up and down. "Fuck, you look more and more like your mom every day."

"Um, I'm sorry we just dropped by." I shuffle my feet nervously, unsure of what to say to her.

"Come on in." She ushers us inside her tiny apartment. "You want something to drink? I have"—she opens the refrigerator— "orange juice, milk, and... tap water."

"No thank you," I reply, scooting closer to Rem. "Um, I do have a few questions, though. If this is a bad time, I can come back late—"

"Nonsense. Sit down," she instructs, gesturing to the second-hand sofa that looks like it's seen better days.

Rem and I obey. Carla pours herself a glass of juice before claiming the beat-up recliner across from us.

"Do your grandparents know you're here?" she inquires, tucking a strand of crimson hair behind her ear. For a woman in her sixties, her vibrant red mane looks incredible. The rest of her, however, does not.

I guess that's what decades of drug abuse does to a person.

"Your other grandparents, I mean," she adds with a shake of her head, as if forgetting what she is to me.

"No," I answer, "they don't know where I am."

"How are they, anyway?"

"My grandparents? They're doing well."

"And the others? That daughter and son of theirs?"

"Gemma and Bowie are fine. I didn't come here to talk about them, though," I snap.

Her cracked lips curl into a frown. "Jeez, I'm just making small talk. I haven't seen you in, like, three years."

"And whose fault is that?" Rem rushes to my defense, startling both myself and Carla. "You could have reached out, too."

"I sent you my new address," the old woman grumbles.

"That's not the same thing as in invitation," he tosses back.

"Whatever." Shivering, she wraps her frail arms around herself. I can't help but notice the beads of sweat creeping down her face, despite the chill in the air. "Well, you're here now. You said you had questions?"

"I do," I declare, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. "I was... I was wondering if you could tell me about my mother."

She raises her eyebrows. "You wanna talk about Raelyn?"

I nod my head. "Yes, if that's alright."

"Okay, let's talk," she agrees, placing her glass on the coffee table. Gram would never do that without a coaster. "What do you wanna know?"

"I just... I don't understand why she...." I trail off, wracking my brain for the right choice of words. Is there a delicate way to ask someone why their daughter committed suicide?

"Why she offed herself?" she finishes.

"Well, y-yeah," I stutter. If the right words exist, I don't think Carla just used them.

"Haven't you asked Calista and Geoffrey about this?"

"I've tried, but they never give me a straight answer."

"Figures," Carla mutters. "Look, they're your guardians. I don't know if it's my place to tell you all of this."

"You were her mother. Of course it's your place!" I exclaim, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

Why is it so hard for my family to be honest with me?

"It's a long story, and I don't know if you're ready to hear it." Carla's cerulean eyes glisten with unspoken grief. "Trust me, I get that you have questions, but I'm not the person you ought to be asking."

"Why is everyone so afraid to talk about her?" I demand. "I get that my mom's death is this huge tragedy, but I don't remember it. Hell, I barely remember her! Do you know how much it sucks to lose not only the most important person in your life, but all of your memories of her, too?"

"Ya know, I don't remember Rae very well, either. The girl was taken away from me when she was just a kid, and we never got a chance to reconnect before she died," Carla tells me, still shaking like a tree branch in the wind.

"And that's what kills me. You had twenty-three years with her, and you wasted every single one of them," I say through clenched teeth.

My grandmother's eyes turn to slits as she rises to her feet. She takes her now empty glass and throws it across the room, causing it to shatter on the tile floor.

"We're leaving now," Rem announces. He pulls me to a stand and drags me out of the apartment.

"Don't come back unless it's to apologize!" I hear Carla shout as we walk down the hall and away from my crazed grandmother.

I can't control the sobs that wrack my body as we drive back to Rem's house. I don't know what I was expecting from Carla, but it wasn't that. I wanted answers. I wanted honesty.

Instead, I was met with more vaguity and half-truths. I learned that Carla didn't care about my mother, and she sure as hell doesn't care about me.

When the Mustang finally stops, Rem helps me out of the car and guides me up the stairs to his bedroom. He takes off my shoes and coat and lays me down on the bed before putting a fuzzy blanket over my trembling body.

"Get some rest. You'll feel better after a nap," he murmurs, kissing my hairline.

"Will you stay with me?" I lift the blanket so he can get underneath it. "Please?"

"Of course." He snuggles next to me and places another kiss on my forehead. "Just sleep, though. No funny business."

Giggling, I allow my eyes to close. The combination of Rem's comforting embrace and the sound of his heartbeat in my ear lulls me right to sleep.

<>*<>*<>*<>*<>

A knock at the door startles me. I look up from the computer screen and see a woman with bright red hair and shiny leather boots storming into the house.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you are just barging into our home like this?" a tall, blonde-haired man questions the intruder.

The woman crosses her arms over her chest and flashes a maniacal grin. "My name is Carla Porter," she answers, "and I'm here for my granddaughter."

"We're her foster parents," another voice says. Her tone is confident and unwavering.

"Yeah, and I'm her grandparent. She's my blood. She belongs with me."

Fear courses through my bloodstream. "I don't know her," I whisper, my eyes wet with tears. "I don't want to go with her."

"You don't have to," the girl next to me says. She has copper skin, brown eyes, and a kind smile. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Ah, you must be the infamous Gemma," the redhead sneers. "Rae told me a lot about you."

"How is that possible? You lost custody of her when she was eight because you chose drugs over your daughter," Brown-eyed Girl retorts.

Redhead shakes her head. "We reconnected a few years ago. She used to send me video updates on her life. It was actually pretty adorable."

"Even if that is so," the confident-voiced woman interjects, "you have no authority to storm into my house and demand we give you Evangeline. I suggest you leave before we call the police."

I awaken suddenly, cold sweat clinging to my skin like spandex. The sky outside is pitch black, and the boy who fell asleep beside me is gone.

I throw the blanket off my body and reach for my phone, which is charging on the nightstand. I have three missed calls from Kira and a couple texts from Gram, but the first number I dial is Rem's.

I hear a ringing in the distance. Rem materializes in the doorway, his chirping cell phone in one hand and a box of pizza in the other.

"You left," I whisper, still hazy from my extended nap.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl." He places the pizza on his desk and joins me on the bed. "You were sleeping so soundly. I figured I'd surprise you and wake you up with dinner."

"Thank you." I bury my head in his chest, trying my best to hold it together.

"Vange, did something happen while I was gone?" He lifts my chin with his thumb and forces me to look at him.

"Bad dream," I mumble.

"God damn it, I knew I should have stayed," he curses himself. "What was the dream about?"

"Carla, actually," I reply, thinking back to the all too vivid nightmare. "Rem, I'm pretty sure she wanted custody of me when I was younger."

Thoughts? Feelings? 😉 If you remember Carla from Book One, no spoilers please. 🤫

As always, thank you for reading! Don't forget about that little star⭐️⭐️