“These covers are gorgeous,” Rosie says. “And there are so many of them!”
Let’s play a game. It’s called How Many Pieces Of Broccoli Can Sarelia Fit In Her Mouth At One Time.
Dad clears his throat. “How many are there?”
“Fifty-three,” Archie replies, laying his hand on my thigh. “Over the course of eight-and-a-half years.”
“My goodness,” mom murmurs. “That’s a lot of books…”
I press my lips into a smile. “This food is delicious, Rosie.”
“Is that how you were able to afford to retire?” Dad asks. “Because you have so many books?”
“She also makes investments,” Archie says when I cram another piece of broccoli into my mouth. “She runs ads on her books, then invests her income in stocks or in more ads. Her economic literacy is marvelous.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Mom asks, brown eyes clashing with mine. “Why would you let us worry like that?”
Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m a full-grown adult and as such you should trust me to make full-grown adult decisions?
I pick up the chicken leg on my plate and take a nice, big bite from it.
Basil meets my gaze, frowning as his eyes flick to my parents and then back.You okay?he seems to ask.
I grimace.
His frown deepens.
Dad sighs. “You’re always doing stuff like this,” he says. “It’s no wonder we worry.”
Basil blinks, then his head turns oh-so-slowly to face Dad. “She’s always doing… what?” he rumbles.
Dad sighs again, a man exhausted after decades of dealing with his wayward daughter. “Whatever she wants with no thought to how it’s affecting her mother and I. She worries us, and oftentimes it’s like this.” He throws a hand out toward me. “Letting us steep in our worry needlessly when she could have just explained.”
I freeze, and so does the rest of the table, except for Fred, who wrinkles his nose. “Or you could just trust her,” he mutters. “Since it’softentimescompletely fine and she knows what she’s doing. You didn’t raise a moron.”
“Fred,” I admonish. I’m grateful for his support and for a little bit of evidence that noteveryonein my family thinks so poorly of me, but he doesn’t need to risk punishment by sticking up for me. I’m a big girl. I can do it myself… probably.
Fred’s jaw hardens. “I’m just saying,” he insists, defiance in his hazel eyes. “I think you’ve proved yourself trustworthy enough. It’s only them who haven’t gotten the memo.”
“We trust her,” Mom interrupts. “But that trust only goes so far when she’s keeping secrets or doing things like running off and getting married on a whim.”
Archie’s hand squeezes my thigh as my stomach twists and a sense of helplessness nearly overwhelms me. “I don’t mean to keep secrets,” I say. “It’s just… I pay my bills. When I lived with you, I paid my rent and my share of the utilities every month on time. I was never late. I was never short. I never asked to borrow money or to get a grace period on a payment. I thought it was clear that I knew what I was doing and was managing my money well. You guys are the ones who taught me how to budget and invest. I thought… well, I thought that you knew that I was doing okay.”
“How could we know that if you didn’t tell us?” Dad asks, throwing his hands up.
“I’d like to revisit my ‘she’s not a moron’ point,” Fred says.
“I think,” Rosie interrupts, laying kind eyes on me. “That sometimes a parent finds it difficult to let go of their anxieties when it comes to their child. We spend so many years of their lives with them wholly dependent on us. We know everything they do. Wecontroleverything they do. Then, one day, completely out of nowhere, they’re suddenly this big, independent creature with their own interests and lives outside of us. It’s hard to move on from the protector mode we spend so long in.” Her gaze strays to my parents. “But wemustmove on from it,” she says gently. “Our children are not solely our children, but people in their own right—people who make choices that may confuse and confound us, but that aretheirchoices to make. Part of loving them is allowing them the freedom to live in the way that they desire. We must trust that they’ll come to us when they need us.” She pauses, glancing at Baz. “We must trust in our parenting and the values and lessons we’ve passed to them. Then, we can truly enjoy the adults they become.”
My focus shifts to Basil as my eyes well with tears, and I’m elated to see that he is not unaffected by his mother’s words. His gaze rests on her, soft and sweet to the point that he is very nearly smiling. He reaches across his wife to clasp Rosie’s hand and squishes it one, two, three times before letting it drop.
Heidi sniffles between them.
My eyes slide down the table to Millie, who blinks really,reallyhard as Stryker kisses her on the temple.
When my attention moves back to my parents, I can’t say I’m surprised to see that they don’t look nearly as moved by Rosie’s words as the rest of us. Dad’s jaw clenches, and Mom bites her lip, brows drawn together.
“We do trust her,” Mom repeats.
