Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Dazed, I stand up and allow her to kiss both cheeks. She’s behaving like she’s missed me all these years. Like we don’t both know she never tried to contact me once.
Anger flares in my gut. I lean back from her sickly strong perfume.
“You made it,” I say neutrally.
“Of course, we made it, honey. And how is he? How are you?” She talks like she cares, her eyes searching mine. “We heard about poor Arlo and we came as soon as we could.”
“I canceled a business trip for this,” Dad adds weakly.
My eye twitches. Probably because I know he’s expecting me to be grateful, like the good accessory daughter they always wanted me to be.
Yeah, I don’t have words to express how much they disgust me.
“I didn’t ask you to come here,” I say. “When he had to go in, I panicked a little, I’ll admit. If I’d slowed down, I never would’ve called.”
Mom’s brows pull together, her smile vanishing. “You didn’t need to ask us. We’re your parents, even if—”
“If you abandoned me after Arlo was born.”
Yep. This is off to a fantabulous start.
“Salem, we assured you our door was always open. We sent you a card with the same note every year for Christmas.”
“Without Arlo, you mean. You never addressed him by name. Not once. Believe me, I kept track.” I’m lucky the bakery is mostly deserted right now. My voice is too loud and shrill.
Juniper glances up from behind the counter, checking in as she wipes down some counters.
I’m sure she has enough money to never work again with Dex, but she’s still here, practically every day from what I can tell. She loves this job and making people happy.
I shake my head quickly, quietly assuring her I’m okay.
“You didn’t show a speck of interest in Arlo’s life or mine. Not after I had him,” I say through gritted teeth, dialing my volume back.
The corners of Mom’s eyes tighten, fighting the false plumpness that holds her skin in place.
“I wonder, what’s changed?” I ask pointedly. “Why did you really come?”
“You think we want to live like this? Separated from our only daughter, our grandson?” She throws herself into a chair miserably. Her nails are fake and long, painted a pale pink coral that matches her jacket perfectly. “Frankly, we want you to come back to California with us. Both of you. We’d like to start over and be a family again.”
They want, they want.
They want me to do their bidding without so much as an apology.
Patton flashes in my mind. Before I went and scared him away, I found my family. Something real and loving with him and the Rorys, with Delly and Juniper and Archer and Dexter.
I had a future I hope I can still salvage with a man who stood like a rock when he found out he had a surprise son.
“Lemmy, please. Don’t tell me that means nothing?” Mom’s eyes are big, pleading.
It’s almost worse if she’s done some real soul-searching, all these years apart.
I wasn’t expecting that.
But my voice is granite when I answer. “My home’s here now, Mom. You know that. I have a job and a life. I’m not interested in giving it up to live by the ocean in some overpriced neighborhood where people will judge you if you go for a jog without a designer jacket.”
Certainly not at your mercy, I almost add, but I hold it in.
“But what do you do? I’m sure you can transfer your job to LA.” Dad, like always, tries to fix our problems like it’s as easy as moving the millions in his retirement accounts. “If you’re worried about being stuck under our roof, we can find a place for you and the boy. Do you still pay rent?” He waves a hand dismissively. “Never mind. I’ll speak to your landlord and get you out of your lease.”
“Dad, no. I’m not moving.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “Salem, we—”
Mom places a hand over his. “Careful, Byron. It’s been a hectic week for them. Let’s all just think about this. Calmly,” she stresses.
A tall boy with a shock of sandy hair comes over and sets down coffee and a few small bites for us. I asked Junie to give us whatever she recommended, and she’s totally outdone herself. It’s a small tower of tiny cakes, bite-sized so we can have as many as we choose.
For a second, my parents shut their mouths and start stuffing them instead.
Good timing.
The only thing I agree on is that we need breathing space, before anyone says something they can’t take back.
My participation in this talk is hanging by a thread.
Mom looks at me, the force of her gaze pinning me down.
She always gave me that look when I was a kid and stepped out of line. Right now, it’s more like an invitation for me to fall back in line.