She shrugs. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
My shoulders stiffen, scrunching up toward my neck as I turn to face the door, where my parents make their way into the bar. Mom tosses her purse on an empty bar table, charging straight toward me, while Dad halts just inside the door to look around and frown.
I brace myself for Mom, the most imminent threat. Dad’ll hear me out before he tears me a new one, but Mom’s always been a discipline first, ask questions later kind of parent. Now is no exception.
My mother, sweetest woman on earth to everyone but her children, approaches at top speed, grabs me by my ear, and drags me to one of the booths running along the far wall.
“Ouch!” I complain, moving my feet to keep up with her. She may be half a foot shorter than me, but the woman canmove. She credits her morning power walking group. They meet three times a week to hustle their way through the streets, gossipping until they hit town square. Town square being where the local bakery is located, ready with freshly-iced cinnamon rolls made special for them every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
“Oh, do shut up,” Mom snaps, and Poem giggles behind us. Cool. She’s decided to find a close-up viewing location for this whopping heap of embarrassment. That’s just… great. So great.
“What were youthinking?” Mom asks once she’s got me well and cornered in a booth, standing over me with arms crossed.
Well, that’s good news, at least. Arms crossed is a lot better than hands on her hips. Maybe this won’t be so embarrassing after all.
My hope is short-lived when, in the face of my silence, her hands land on her hips.
“Well?” she asks. “I’d like an answer for why my oldest son has lost his mind today. I thought you left all of that ridiculous fighting and whatever else behind when you moved back. That’s what you told us. Made a promise right in this bar. You breaking that promise now?”
I cringe as Poem slides into the opposite side of the booth, glee dancing across her princess features to settle maniacally in her pale gray eyes. Dad slides in next to her.
Mom’s hip juts out. “Fox Hawthorne Blackwood!” she snaps.
Oof.
Okay.
No.
No, I’m not going back to myridiculous fighting and whatever else. And, honestly, it kind of hurts that she’d think that. I’ve spent years upholding my promise to them. Avoiding fights, women, and even drinking, despite me living above the bar that I also own and work at, surrounded by alcohol nearly 24/7.
I’ve changed, and I thought they knew that. Thought they’d forgiven and forgotten. I thought that’s what selling me the bar was—acknowledging my growth and rewarding me for it. Showing me they believed in me now in a way that they weren’t able to before, when I was breaking guys’ noses and girls’ hearts every other weekend.
I thought… I thought we’d all moved on. That maybeIwould be able to move on. Not soon, but… sometime on the horizon.
I glance at Poem, whose gaze darts between me and Mom as she offers her popcorn to my dad, and my heart pangs. I guess that horizon is further than I thought.
“Fox,” Mom hisses, and I drag my attention back to her.
Sky blue eyes, identical to my own, glare at me, irritation and disappointment swimming in their depths.
Ouch.
“No, ma’am. I’m not breaking my promise,” I answer, making sure to look her straight in the eye. A single twitch and she’ll think I’m lying, then I’ll really be back to square one. And I’m already too close to that square to bear it.
She studies my face, sharp eyes looking for any dishonesty. I remain open, letting her see a truth I don’t entirely believe myself. I’m reliable. I’m responsible. You didn’t make a mistake entrusting me with the bar you worked so hard to build. And it kind of sucks a lot that you think that you did.
After several tense moments, her hands drop and her eyes soften. “Okay,” she mutters. “Okay.Then what happened?”
My jaw clenches, and I glance at Poem again. “Could we maybe discuss this alone?”
“What for?” Dad asks. “We’re all family here.”
Uh…
This time, I don’t glance at Poem. I stare at her. “I don’t think so,” I say slowly.
Poem isn’t family. Poemcan’tbe family, because I most certainly don’t have the kinds of thoughts I have about Poem about family. I’d be arrested or something if I did.
