I roll my eyes. “Stop trying to make him angry.”
I head over to Dad and sit beside him, pulling my legs up on the chair and wrapping my arms around them.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, rubbing my head.
“Like death. I want to go back to bed.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Then send the witch home and go to bed. You aren’t leaving me alone with her.”
“I’ll have this coffee, and then I’ll send her home.”
Mom returns a couple of minutes later with two coffees, sets them down in front of us, then takes a seat opposite. Almost like she’s head of the table, and we’ve been summoned to a meeting.
“So you’re heading back to Ohio today?” I ask, trying to make conversation through the silence.
Her eyes darken, just for a second, before it flashes away, replaced with a smile. “Yes. I’ve had ten calls for work. So, that will keep me busy.”
My dad leans back, his eyes fixed on her. “What do you do for work now, Maria?” he asks.
“Cleaning. I run my own company.”
He nods.
“How long have you been in Ohio?”
She blinks. “What is this, twenty questions?”
My dad chuckles. “It’s called making small talk with your bitch of an ex-wife,” he says bluntly.
“Bitch? Coming from the man who cared more about killing people than his own family.”
I flinch at her harsh words. It’s as if she’s trying to paint my dad as the villain. Like she has always tried to do. Similar to how she forgot to mention that because she couldn’t keep her legs shut, I was dragged away from my father.
I rub at the back of my neck, trying to calm myself. It’s not fear this time. It’s anger. At her. For how she continues to treat me and my father.
She thinks she can just walk in here and try to play the perfect mother card.
“You knew who you were marrying, Maria. I did what I had to do to keep you both alive,” he growls.
I place my hand on his arm, trying to calm him down.
“Don’t raise your blood pressure too much, Lev. You might have a heart attack at your age,” she spits back.
Dad mutters under his breath. I think it translates roughly to fuck off.
“Can we just play nice? I have a headache, and this isn’t helping,” I chime in.
I just want her gone.
“Of course,” Dad whispers immediately, softening for me. Always for me. “Sorry, Lily.”
Then he looks back at her, and the softness drains out of him like it never existed.
“Let me guess. Your cleaning company is called Sparkles?” Dad jokes.
My mom huffs, “No. It’s called Sanctuary Cleaning Services.”
Dad doesn’t react at first. Not properly.
