Today has made me come to terms with why my father let me go. I can’t imagine being a kid and living through terrifying things like this.
Hallie is in lockdown with Steph, Charlotte, and Bella. I almost debate calling her, but she’s going to be a nervous wreck. And she has a baby to look after.
I hear the front door shut, then footsteps follow. There’s no shouting, so that's a start.
Shoving a new sweater on, I head to the stairs, but pause when I hear talking.
“Says the man who only just decided to want to be a father,” my mom says.
I hold my breath.
“Maria.” He snaps. “You know that wasn’t how it went. I let you both go to keep you safe, and you couldn’t even do that. Could you?”
I hear her gasp. Reluctantly, I head down the stairs to play peacemaker. As soon as I round the corner, they both smile at me, like they weren't about to start screaming at each other, just as I remember growing up.
“Hi, Lily. Oh, look at you,” my mom says as she rushes towards me.
She’s dressed to impress today in a smart black dress, deep red lips, and even curls in her blonde hair.
I stiffen as she cuddles me. It’s very over the top, probably to get a reaction out of my dad. When she pulls away, I fake a smile, glancing at Dad, who is just chewing on his lip.
“Your dad looks handsome,” Mom leans in and whispers.
I turn my nose up. “Ew. Don’t.”
She spins to face him. “Are you staying?” she asks him.
“Yes,” he grunts.
“He’s not a very good host,” Mom mutters.
“It’s not his house to host,” I say.
My mom frowns. “Well, whose is it?”
I open my mouth and snap it shut. I look at Dad for help, but he doesn’t give me any. He’s just glaring at her like he’s picturing fifty different ways to kill her and trying to decide which one would be quickest.
“My boyfriend’s.”
Her eyes light up. I can imagine the dollar sign flashing in her brain.
“Wow. He’s doing well for himself.”
I nod, keeping my lips tight.
“Now, who has a woman got to sleep with to get a coffee round here?” Mom jokes.
My eyes go wide, and a fresh wave of nausea comes over me. “I might be sick,” I whisper.
Dad waves a hand like he’s dismissing a mosquito and heads toward the dining table. “I can’t fucking deal with this,” he mutters in Russian as he passes me.
I hold back my laughter. “I can make you one,” I offer my mom.
She shakes her head. “No. No. I said I was coming here to take care of you, let me make one.”
I smile. “Okay, well, the kitchen is there,” I point behind her. “Everything is there.”
“You go sit with your miserable father.”
