Maybe he really was the same as Mac but with a hotter face. I had learned to look out for myself first and foremost and alarm bells were going off in my head to retreat.
Robert looked slightly bewildered. “Oh, okay, I mean I kind of thought…” his words drifted off. He didn’t need to tell me what he expected. He thought I’d ask him to stay. And up until twenty minutes ago, that had been my play. Now I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as he got himself dressed.
“Is everything okay?” he asked as he zipped up his pants.
“Everything’s just peachy. Why wouldn’t it be?” Robert was a smart guy, and I knew he heard the ice in my tone.
“Did I do something? Did we move too fast? I don’t want you to think I expect anything.” He reached out for me, but I only let him take my hand, which he held awkwardly.
“I’m tired,” I repeated. I knew I should be a mature adult and tell him what was bothering me. That I was slightly humiliated now that he knew all this deep, dark stuff about me, and he gave me fuck all. But I couldn’t. Because I had developed a habit of shutting down when stuff got to me.
Robert picked up his keys from the table, watching me closely, trying to read the situation. “I’ll call you tomorrow?” He posed it as a question.
I didn’t respond. I walked him to the door and with a wave, I closed it behind him.
And that was the last time we spoke for months.
**
I traced the lines of the stained glass, appreciating the detail and trying to ignore the way my heart expanded to fill the empty spaces. Because it meant a lot to me that he wasn’t giving up even when I ignored him and was hateful and nasty.
And he bought me the most exquisite piece of art because he wanted me to have something beautiful.
Maybe a little mystery wasn’t the worst thing.
**
I stood on the doorstep of my parents’ house trying to think of a hundred excuses not to ring the bell.
I was abducted by aliens.
I decided to run off with the circus.
I left for a last-minute trip to Australia.
If only one of them would work. I would give just about anything not to have to go inside and spend the next hour of my life with the two people that lived there.
Which was an awful thing to think about your parents. Meg, Adam, and Kyle had tried to understand when we were younger. They listened to me bitch and cry about how bad things were for me at home. But the reality was they each grew up in stable, functional households. I had felt like the odd man out. None of them had a clue what it was like to be raised by narcissists.
I had always been an afterthought. They were too busy hurting each other to see how they were hurting their only child. Not that they’d care—or stop—if they had paid attention. They brought out the worst in each other. It wasn’t surprising that I escaped as fast as my legs could carry me.
And it wasn’t surprising that I struggled to find relationships with men that weren’t toxic.
I was a classic case of “live what you know.”
But I knew that if I didn’t commit to dinner once a month, my mother would make things so much worse. I had learned to manage our relationship mostly on my terms, but that meant succumbing to a meal on Nightmare Street to make up for the rest of the time when I could actively avoid them both.
I could hear my parents shouting from the porch. They were at it already and I hadn’t even arrived yet. Usually, they saved the show for when they had an audience. I knocked on the door and waited. The yelling stopped and I could hear footsteps stomping down the hallway.
The door opened to reveal my dad looking decidedly frazzled. He hadn’t aged well. Living with my mother had taken years off his life. I had asked him once why he kept taking her back and he had shrugged. “It’s not like I can do any better.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why personal relationships were hard for me.
“Sky, there you are. You’re a bit late.” He looked at his watch. “You were supposed to be here at six. Your mom burned the lasagna.”
I stepped inside, not bothering to hug my dad. We weren’t a touchy-feely kind of family. “It’s 6:02, Dad. It took me a couple of minutes to find a place to park on the street.”
“You should always give yourself time to get to where you’re going. People that are late leave a bad impression,” he lectured, and I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide it. I had to remind myself it was only an hour. I never allowed myself to stay longer than that. I could stomach their fighting and their nitpicking about my clothes, my job, my lack of significant others, knowing it was only for sixty minutes. I got the feeling that was all my parents could deal with too.
But my mom had this weird ‘keeping up with the Jones’ thing to her, where she felt these monthly dinners gave the impression of a close-knit family that didn’t actually exist. Because what would the neighbors think if her daughter never came to visit? Perhaps she thought about how she looked to the neighbors when she was screaming at my dad about him eating the last of potato chips.
Dad gave me a slight push toward the dining room. The smell of burnt cheese filled the air and I could hear the sound of crashing and banging coming from the kitchen.
Well, here goes nothin’.
“Hi, Mom,” I called out, keeping a distance as she moved around like a whirling dervish. The kitchen was a mess. My mother liked to play like she was a good cook. It was another way she lied to herself that she was a decent person.
“You’re late. Go sit down. The food is barely edible, thanks to you.” Mom scowled at me and shooed me into the dining room.
I joined my dad, who was already seated, drinking a large whisky. He lifted the bottle. “Want some? You’ll probably need it.”
“Absolutely.” I held out my glass. My dad poured the whiskey to the brim. “She’s in fine form tonight.”
Dad took a long drink, downing half the contents of his glass. “When isn’t she in fine form? She’s been pissing and moaning about one thing after another today. I’m too old to listen to that crap.” And here we go. The script was always the same. Dad would bitch about my mom. Mom would bitch about my dad. Then they’d bitch at each other. Then they’d bitch at me. Then I’d go home.
Wash, rinse, and repeat.
Mom came out carrying a smoking glass dish. She plopped it in the center of the table, the charred remains of our dinner giving off a nauseating smell.
“I don’t want to hear either of you complaining about dinner. It wouldn’t have burned if someone would have shown up on time.” Mom looked pointed at me as she sat down, snatching the whisky bottle from Dad’s hands and moving it out of his reach. “You shouldn’t be drinking this stuff, Tom. You have a bad liver.”
“I’m hoping it will off me sooner rather than later,” he muttered, drinking the rest of the whisky in his glass before Mom could take it from him.
I swallowed my sigh and scooped burnt pasta on my plate. When I was a kid I usually had to make my own dinner. Mom would either be out or had taken off in one of her predictable huffs. So, this whole cooking for the family thing was new.
Mom folded her hands in front of her and glared at me. “We need to say grace before we eat.”
“Since when?” I asked with a disbelieving snort.
“Since your mom decided to find Jesus,” Dad mocked, taking the spoon from my hand, and scooping his own lump of what Mom was passing for food.
“God damn it, Tom. Why can’t you be supportive just once? The church is important to me. I just want to share something that means a lot to me with the people I love. So put that spoon down and fold your hands and pray with me!” she shrieked.
Dad and I shared a look but ultimately did as we were asked. It was easier that way.
I realized I had spent most of my life going the easy route. Avoiding messy complications to not risk my heart. Holding my tongue when Mac would make an insensitive comment. Not telling Robert that he hurt me by no
t opening up.
My friends thought I was a no-nonsense woman who spoke her mind. They had no idea how much I kept to myself to not put myself out there for people to see the real me. It was hard for me to really open up. To expose the sensitive underbelly that I kept hidden from the world.
I had the two people sitting across from me to thank for that.
Dinner passed as expected with traded barbs and hurled insults. And when they exhausted their verbal jousting match, Mom and Dad turned their attention to me.
“You’ve lost weight. Are you sick?” Mom asked, making a face as she attempted to swallow the lasagna.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I quipped.
“How’s the house? Have you fixed the stairs yet? You’ll break your neck if you don’t keep that place fixed up,” Dad warned.
“It’s been fixed for three months now, Dad.” I put my fork down. I couldn’t force myself to eat another bite.
“That’s good. I was worried about that,” he grumbled. If he was so worried, why didn’t he offer to fix it himself? Oh, that’s right, he just liked to complain about what I wasn’t doing instead.
Mom steepled her hands beneath her chin. “I was thinking the other day, that you and Mac were due to get married this month.”
Ouch. Okay, that hurt. Mom was going straight for the jugular tonight.
“And your point?” I asked sharply.
“Skylar, don’t backtalk to your mother,” Dad snapped. He’d bash my mother all day long, but the second I stood up for myself, he liked to run to her rescue.
Mom reached out and covered his hand with hers in a mimic of solidarity. This was the part where they’d team up to tear me down.
“I think it’s a shame the two of you couldn’t work it out, is all I’m saying,” she went on.
“He was an ass—”
“Language, Skylar,” Dad warned.
“Fine, he was a jerk. He took all my money and spent it on porn. And not just any porn, but teenage girls taking their clothes off. Is that the kind of guy you wanted to welcome into the family?” I threw back at her.
Mom pressed her lips into a thin line. “You’re so judgmental, Skylar. You’ll end up alone at this rate, particularly if you don’t learn how to forgive.”
My mouth gaped open. I looked from her to my dad.
“Did you hear anything I said? Are you for real?”
Dad frowned. “Your mom has forgiven me for a lot of things over the years and look how happy we are. We’ve been married for thirty years this winter.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Had they been smoking crack before I showed up? What kind of world were they inhabiting that they thought they were the poster children for healthy relationships?
“What’s funny?” he demanded.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Skylar. Not every woman can afford to be picky.” She gave me a pointed look.
That was my cue to get the hell out of there.
I got to my feet and pulled out my phone, making a show of looking at the time. “I’ve really got to get going. I have work to do this evening.”
“You just got here. I made banana cream pie,” Mom complained.
“I told you I couldn’t stay long. And I hate banana cream pie,” I reminded her.
“No, you don’t. You love it,” she argued.
“It’s your favorite, Mom. I’ve never liked the stuff.” I picked up my purse and pulled out my keys. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
And without another word I left, ignoring the argument that started as soon as I walked out of the room.
Chapter Eight
Robert
I was edgy. I couldn’t relax. I was finishing up my last session of the night for one of my repeat customers. The woman who insisted on paying me far more than I usually charged. I was moving my body to the music, but I couldn’t focus. My dancing was robotic and without feeling. I was off my game; I could feel it.
It had been five days since Tiffany came into my office and I was waiting for her to pop up again. I knew she would, but it was not knowing when that was driving me crazy. I looked out for her when I went to get my coffee in the morning. I grit my teeth in anticipation every time my phone rang. I curled my hands into fists when I’d hear someone come into the office during the day.
She had me in a tangled ball of nerves, which is exactly what she wanted.
I ran my hands down my body, gyrating my hips in beat to the thumping base. I moved closer to the camera, careful to keep the lens focused below the neck. When the music stopped, I sent a quick message—thank you, Darling, xoxo— and shut down my operation.
I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t settle. I needed to get out of the house. I needed something to get my mind off the fact that my life was once again out of my control. Because the truth was, Tiffany could blow my worldwide open at any moment.
What the hell was I going to do?
My phone rang and my heart started pounding in my chest. I was almost scared to look at the screen, but when I did, I smiled, relaxing.
I quickly answered it. “Hey, buddy. How are you?”
“Hi, Rob! You didn’t call me yesterday like you were supposed to,” my brother said on the other end.
I winced. “Oh man, I’m sorry Sam. I’ve been so busy lately. But that’s no excuse. I guess I’ll have to make it up to you with the tickets I bought last week to see a Lakers game next month.”
“Are you serious? That will be so much fun!” Sam was enthused and I couldn’t stop grinning. No matter how crappy things were for me, my brother always made me feel better.
“I thought we could go to The Cheesecake Factory for dinner afterward. How does that sound?” I asked him.
“That sounds amazing, Rob! When are we going?” I could hear his excitement. Knowing I was making him happy, made me happy.
“Three weeks from Saturday.”
“Aww, that’s so far away.” I could picture him pouting and I laughed.
“How about I come up to see you on Sunday and we can watch the game on TV? I’ll bring all your favorite snacks,” I promised him.
“Yeah! That would be great. I miss you, Rob,” he said.
“I miss you too, buddy,” I replied. “Has Mom been up to see you this week?”
“She came up yesterday. She brought me some new video games and we ordered pizza. She said she hasn’t talked to you in a while.”
“Don’t worry Sam, I’ll call her tomorrow,” I assured him. Then I listened as he told me all about a new video game he had been playing. Sam was really into Nintendo games. He was really good at them too. I didn’t understand half of what he was talking about when he started on a gaming tangent, but I enjoyed hearing about something that brought him so much joy.
After a few minutes, I could hear someone speaking to Sam in the background. “I’d better go, Rob.”
“Is that Jill?” I asked in a teasing voice, referring to another resident at the facility that my brother spent a lot of time with. Jill was the same age as Sam, and it was clear that they liked each other.
“Yeah, we’re going to the canteen for dinner. Jill says hi,” Sam said.
“So, is Jill your girlfriend yet?”
“Noooo….” he said, drawing out the word.
“Sam, I told you how to ask her out. She likes you, you should go for it,” I encouraged. I realized absently that perhaps I should be taking my own advice.
“I’m embarrassed, Rob. I don’t know if I can do it.” He sounded so young, even though he was older than me. He’d always sound and talk like he was much younger than he was.
“You can do it, buddy. I talked you through it already. Just bite the bullet and ask Jill out. She’ll say yes, I promise.” I wanted Sam to live as full a life as he could. I had sold my soul to ensure it.
“Okay, maybe I will tonight. I’ll tell you about it on Sunday,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Bye, Sam.”
“Bye, Rob. I love you.”<
br />
After he hung up, I felt a little better. But then I thought of all the ways Tiffany could ruin Sam’s life too and that good feeling talking to my brother had given me disappeared like a popped soap bubble.
I turned off the light in my filming room and closed the door behind me, heading to my room to get dressed. Not sure what to do with myself and feeling incredibly antsy, I grabbed my old sketchbook and drawing pencils and decided a change of scenery was exactly what I needed.
I was only a fifteen-minute walk from the large park in the center of town. The air was brisk and there was a chill in the air. The sun was setting earlier and earlier now that it was fall but there was enough light for me to do some drawing. Once at the park, I headed straight for the massive oak tree that sat by itself in the middle of the green field. There were still families around. Kids climbing all over the playground equipment. There was a group of guys playing parks and rec soccer. It felt good to be surrounded by people.
I sat down on the ground, not caring that the grass was slightly damp, and leaned back against the thick tree trunk. I propped the sketch pad on my knees and looked around, searching for inspiration. It had been a long time since I had drawn anything. When I was in high school, I spent most of my time with my head down, my fingers covered in pencil and ink. At one time I had even considered a career in the arts, but when my dad passed away in my first year of college, I needed more lucrative plans. I had always been a good student, the top of my year, so I found myself drawn to law. And I was glad I went down that road, though part of me missed the freedom of art.
Homing in on the mountains in the distance, I started to sketch them, the autumnal leaves falling from trees. It sort of looked like a pencil drawing of a Bob Ross painting. It was rough, but not half bad. I let myself get lost in it, forgetting about the things I should be worried about.
“You took my spot.”
I looked up, the sun behind the person standing in front of me, making me squint. I lifted my hand to shield my eyes.
Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4) Page 12
