As for me, I just fucking pretend that my parents aren’t obnoxiously in love with each other.
“I missed you so much,” Mom speaks in a hushed tone.
“I missed you too, Mia Cara. More than anything,” Dad replies in a soft tone.
It’s so quiet in the house that it’s impossible to not hear them.
“Come sit with us. I made your favourite.” Taking him by the hand, she drags him into the kitchen and makes him sit in the seat next to me.
He pauses by the stool and our eye connect. Like always, he’s wearing an expensive, pristine suit, this time a dark charcoal one that fits him like it was tailored just for him, complemented by a shiny watch on his wrist. “Heath,” he says in the same tone that he just used with Mom.
I nod in greeting and go back to eating my food.
“Hope.”
The second he says her name my body stiffens. Tension wraps around my tendons and my spine straightens as I set down my fork to see what he’ll do.
“Good evening, Mr. Travon,” Hope’s voice quivers as she addresses him.
I glare at Dad, warning him to not be rude with her or else I’d cross the line and say something worse to him.
Much to my surprise, he stares at her with a twinge of softness. “You can call me Xavier.”
Hope nods and goes back to playing around with food on her plate.
Dad sits next to me and watches my Mom as she prepares him a plate. He thanks her and kisses the back of her hand when she gives it to him. She grins big and sits down next to him.
The four of us eat on the kitchen island that is smaller than the dining table in the other room. I’ve always resented that table because of how ridiculously long it is and how it is perfect for a meeting rather than a family table. Having spend a lot of time with Sebastian and Marie, I like to eat at a small coffee table. There is less room for distance and more conversations.
“So, I heard you came in third at the bake sale,” Dad says nonchalantly.
I freeze, completely taken aback by his statement. I wasn’t expecting him to know about it.
“I made him my blueberry muffins. They sold out.”
“Of course they did. They’re perfect,” he praises her ease as if he’s done it a million times before.
His compliment brings colors to her face and she looks so lively now that he’s here. The one week he was gone my mother didn’t smile or talk the way she’s doing right now.
“It was a group effort. We didn’t win because of me alone. I had my girlfriend and friends who helped me,” I tell him.
Dad looks at me with deep understanding. “I’m surprised to see that you realize it wasn’t you alone. That’s the quality of a good leader.”
I narrow my eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying, I’m impressed with what you did at the bake sale.” He pauses and gulps slowly. “I’m proud of you.”
The room suddenly resembles an ice chamber, the cold so sharp and intense it freezes every cell in my body.
My heart stops beating for a second, not believing what I just heard coming out of his mouth.
I’m proud of you.
I’ve never heard those words in my life before. Especially from him.
Since I became a teenager and figured out how he’s abandoned me, I’ve only ever hated him. And when Emery got sick, I found another reason to hate him more. I didn’t want anything to do with him — I still don’t. But for some stupid reason, him saying those words to me, knocks the air out of me and I feel like I can hardly breathe.
“And you made good profit. Well done,” he speaks in an even quieter voice, as if saying those words is new to him.
