I figured. I opted for the front door rather than attempting to sneakthrough the window last night and triggered the alarm, waking up the whole house. My parents aren’t overly strict, but they’re not the type to ignore what sounded like a screeching cat competing with a siren. Or that their teenage daughter wasn’t fast asleep in bed at two a.m.
I reach for an empty mug, filling it to the brim with coffee as I slump into a chair across from Mom.
“Where were you last night?”
I exhale, then admit, “A party.”
Mom sighs too. “Whose party?”
“I’m … not … actually … sure.” I swallow a large sip of coffee right after, avoiding her gaze.
Mom and Dad are masters of thewe’re not mad, just disappointedshtick. It works on Rory.
“Wren, that is unacceptable. I understand wanting to have fun and spend time with your friends, but we need to know where you are and who you are with. It’s not?—”
“Safe?” I supply bitterly.
Mom moves her tea aside and leans closer. “I’m always here to talk, sweetheart. And so is Dr. Hurts. I can call, set up an appointment?—”
I shake my head immediately. I didn’t dislike Dr. Hurts, but I didn’t find our sessions helpful past a certain point. I mostly spent them pondering the irony of a therapist having the last nameHurts.
“I’m fine. If anything, going to a party with strangers shows how well I’m doing.”
Mom frowns. “Honey, you don’t have to prove anything.”
“I know. I’m good, Mom. Promise.”
I reach for the plate piled high with croissants, grabbing one and then helping myself to jam and butter.
“Did you drink at this party?”
I swallow a bite. “No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Am I going to be a grandmother in nine months?”
“Mom!No.” I grab my coffee and down half of it.
She reclines back in her seat, flipping a glossy page of her magazine, seeming mollified I wasn’t too irresponsible. “You’re still grounded.”
I nod, spreading more butter on my croissant.
The front door opens and closes, followed by the sound of my dad’s deep voice as he converses with one of the staff. He appears in the doorway a minute later, wearing running clothes and a wide smile as he approaches the table.
“It’s so peaceful, entering a house during normal waking hours,” he comments, snagging a cup of coffee for himself.
Mom nods. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Dad glances at me. “How is my favorite burglar this morning?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not considered breaking and entering if you have permission to be on the premises, Dad. If Rory were here, she’d back me up.”
For as long as I can remember, my sister has known she wanted to be an attorney. It’s what I admire most about her, more than her propensity to always say or do the right thing. I’ve never been that certain—about anything. I keep waiting for some assuredness to kick in as I get older, but so far … nothing.
“I’m sure she’d also agree courts take second offenses far more seriously.No car keys or trip to Marseillesseriously. Understood?”
