“Well, we’re glad to have you,” Mr.Riley said, then squeezed April’s shoulder meaningfully. He knew almost as well as Ramona that April’s relationship with her mom and dad was a bit tense. But he was a parent too, and probably abided by some sort of code April didn’t understand.
“Congratulations, you two,” Preston said. He handed Ramona a bottle of wine, no doubt something French and expensive. April’s parents were wine snobs.
“Thank you so much,” Ramona said, taking the bottle and then hugging them both.
Everyone was on their feet now. Mr.Riley introduced April’s parents to Jack and Carrie, and then Ramona introduced Daphne while April stood frozen next to the firepit as though watching a play unfold onstage.
She felt suddenly young and useless.
“Sweetheart,” her mother said, walking up to her with her mouth pinched.
“Mother,” April said politely.
Jacqueline proceeded to take in April’s clothes—her usual black jeans, boots, and dark purple racerback tank—even going so far as to reach out and pluck at the material of her top, rubbing it between two fingers.
April rolled her shoulders back, just to remove her mother’s claw, and Jacqueline cleared her throat.
“You didn’t tell us you were teaching art at Cloverwild this summer,” she said.
April sighed. She’d always known it was impossible to keep secrets in this damn town, but she was hoping for a little more time before she had to talk to her parents about her poor life choices.
“I am,” she said simply.
“And your shop?” her mother asked as Preston joined them, handing Jacqueline a glass of white wine.
“We passed by there the other weekend,” he said before taking a pompous sip—pursing his mouth, making a slurping sound as he rolled the wine on his tongue, which was sort of disgusting, if you asked April. After he swallowed, he tsked. “Closed at two in the afternoon on a Saturday. Not a great business model.”
April inhaled deeply through her nose. Slowly, letting her lungs fill completely, while she decided how to play this. She didn’t want to ruin Ramona’s engagement dinner. Nor did she want to deal with her parents’ potential horror at her aimlessness.
But she was also tired. Tired of caring, of not owning what she was doing—or not doing—with her life. She was fucking tired of keeping every thought and feeling inside and hidden until the right time, until the people around her were able to digest them.
“Closed it,” she said calmly. Factually. She folded her hands in front of her and forced her chin north a few centimeters. “A few weeks ago.”
At first her parents simply blinked at her. Her mother’s mouthopened, just a fraction, and her father looked at her as though she were bacteria under a microscope he was trying to identify. Next, they glanced at each other.
April braced herself for their disappointment, for the lecture from her father on how she’d mishandled their investment in her business, the way her mother would somehow work in April’s lack of professional demeanor as a reason for failure.
Translation: her tattoos, dyed hair, and overt queerness.
While her parents had never really expressed an opinion one way or another about the fact that April was pansexual—they’d adored Elena, after all—their long-suffering sighs seemed to stem mostly from who April was as a whole person. Queer, straight, dyed hair or mouse brown, April herself inspired baffled expressions and furrowed brows, which only intensified as she got older. Thirty-three and still gallivanting through life like a twenty-year-old without any ambition, passion, or plans.
April held her breath, readying herself for the same fight they’d been having April’s entire life.
“Well,” Jacqueline said finally before taking a demure sip of her own wine. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“Shame,” Preston said, his frown etching deep lines into the sides of his mouth, then glanced around as though desperate for someone else to talk to. He looked back at his daughter, his expression impassive. “Let us know where you land.”
Then he put his arm around Jacqueline’s shoulder and led her off to join a raucous discussion going on with Mr.Riley, Jack, and Carrie.
April stood there for a second, feeling as though she was watching her own life unfold on a movie screen, powerless to influence it, completely uninvolved in any choice. Her mother looked back at her once, but then quickly focused again on the adults in her new conversation.
April wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Her parents had always hovered between disappointment and disinterest when it came to April, but as it turned out, the way they made her feel never dulled. The pain was still quick and razor-sharp, drawing blood before she even realized the blade had touched her skin.
And dammit, April would not cry.
Not here.
She would fucking not.
