The tears I’d been holding finally slipped free, silent, hot, impossible to blink back.
My father reached for my hand under the table, thumb stroking my knuckles. “Sweetheart?—”
“I don’t know why she gets emotional every time I speak. I’m simply stating facts. Facts she needs to hear if she ever plans to improve.” she dropped her knife onto the plate.
“She’s crying,” my father said sharply.
“She’s overreacting. As usual.”
I wiped my cheeks quickly. The effort felt pointless. My face still burned.
“Honestly, Madeline, pull yourself together. A woman who can’t regulate her emotions will never survive marriage.”
The knife went exactly where she wanted it.
My fingers clenched around the napkin in my lap. The room blurred subtly around the edges.
I stared at the tablecloth so I didn’t have to see my own reflection in the silverware.
“Massie,” my father warned, “enough.”
She pushed her plate away with a scoff. “I try to guide her. I try to help her. And what do I receive? Tears. Accusations. Criticism from you. Nothing is ever her fault. I’m always the villain. No one ever appreciates what I do.”
He let out a slow breath. “That’s not what anyone said.”
“It’s implied,” she snapped. “Every time she looks at me like that, I’m made to feel like I’ve failed as a mother.”
“I didn’t—” I started.
“You did,” she said firmly. “Your tone, your posture, the sighing—it’s all designed to make me look cruel. You twist everything into an attack.”
My fork scraped the plate as I pushed food around without really seeing it.
“You’re too old to be this fragile, darling,” she went on. “Crying at the table? Really? Imagine doing that at a merger dinner. Imagine crying in front of your future in-laws. You’d humiliate all of us.”
The tears kept coming. Hours after Vince had gutted me.
Why had I believed him when he said he loved me? Why had I let him touch me like I was wanted, not tolerated?
My mother sighed loudly. “Pass me the wine, Marco. Clearly I need the bottle if she’s going to act like this.”
My father hesitated. “Maybe we should slow down?—”
“Don’t start lecturing me,” she snapped back. “It’s been a long day, and I will drink what I want in my own home.”
Her hand reached across the table.
I went for my own glass. Their voices blurred for a moment, his low, hers sharp, background noise to the roar in my ears.
I stared at my plate and waited for the evening to end. I’d learned young that dinners here weren’t to be enjoyed. They were to be endured.
“Oh honestly, look at her. She’s zoning out again. Every time we sit down, she drifts off like she’s the tragic heroine of a dynasty opera.” My mother swirled her wine.
My father leaned forward, brow furrowing. “Maddy, can you hear us?”
I managed a nod. My throat refused to cooperate.
Why did he not want me all of a sudden? I replied last night over in my head. Had he even been summoned to the island or did he just want to escape me. The message had come only an hour after me had sex.
