Page 107 of Regretting Youu

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“A ball game,” Clara says.

“It’s not a game night.”

Clara tilts her head. “You sure about that, Mom? I mean, you weren’t even sure it was my birthday this morning.”

“I knew it was your birthday. I was just momentarily shaken by the fact that your boyfriend slept in your bed last night.”

Clara smirks. “Oh, we didn’t sleep.”

Miller mutters, “Yes we did,” from behind her.

I look at Miller. “You can go now. Tell Clara good night.”

Clara looks at Miller. “Don’t leave yet. I’m coming with you.”

Miller looks from me to Clara, like he’s torn. I’d feel bad for him if I wasn’t so angry at him.

“Miller, it’s probably best if you just go,” Jonah says.

Clara rolls her head, stopping it when her eyes land on Jonah. “If he’s leaving, you should go too. You don’t live here.”

Jonah seems over her attitude just as much as I am. “Clara, stop.”

“Don’t tell me to stop. You aren’t my dad.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

I’m standing now. This is going way too far.

Miller turns and heads for the door, as if he senses the bomb is about to explode, and he doesn’t want to be injured by the shrapnel.

Clara backs her way to the front door. “It’s my birthday. I’m protesting my punishment on the grounds that it was your example that forced me to break the rules last night.” She opens the door. “I’ll be home by curfew.”

I start to walk around the table in a rush to the door, but Jonah grabs my wrist. “Let her go.”

I look down at his hand clamped around my wrist. “You can’t be serious.”

Jonah stands up, forcing my eyes upward because he looms over me. “You need to tell her the truth, Morgan.”

“No.”

“You’re losing control of her. She hates you. She blames you for everything.”

“She’s sixteen. She’ll get over it.”

“She’s seventeen. And what if she doesn’t?”

I can’t have this conversation with him right now. “She’s right. You should go too.”

Jonah doesn’t protest. He grabs Elijah’s things, and they leave. Jonah doesn’t even say goodbye.

I stare back at the kitchen table—at all the uneaten food and the near-perfect cake.

I slump into a chair, grab a fork, and take a bite of it.