Chapter 21
Charlie
“Idon’t think I’m gonna go.”
Kayla freezes with her black jacket half on, head turning slowly to pin an intimidating glare on me. “We’ve been over this, Charlie. Pull up your big girl panties, and let’s get this done.”
“Wow.” I blink, mouth twitching. “You should be a life coach. Or a motivational speaker.”
She finishes putting on her jacket and taps her chin like she’s seriously considering it. “You know what? I definitely could. Now let’s go.”
With minimal grumbling, which Kayla ignores, I do as she says, following her down to her sporty red coupe in the parking lot. It’s flashy and fast—something her parents bought for her when she graduated from college. My present was aHealthy Eating with Five Ingredients or Lessrecipe book.
I don’t care about the disparity of the gifts, but it’s another symptom of the toxicity that I keep letting seep into my life. Even now, it feels like giving in is easier than fighting back against Kayla, even knowing the mental headspace it’ll put me into later. And yet, there’s always this tiny kernel of hope that this visit will be the one that everything changes, and my parentsseeme.
As Kayla pulls out onto the street, she flicks me a curious look. “So, now that we’restuck in a confined space…how did the date with Dillon go? It’s been a week, and you haven’t said a word.”
I purse my lips, carefully keeping my eyes forward. “It wasn’t a date. Why?”
“No reason,” she says. There’s an edge to her tone that has me looking at her. Her brow is furrowed, hands clenching around the steering wheel, and something ominous burrows under my skin. “I heard some things, though.”
“Heard some things,” I repeat dumbly. “What things? What’re you talking about?” Kayla buttons her lips, not saying another word about it until we’re pulling up outside my parents’ home.
I climb out of the car, my stomach sinking to my feet at the idea of walking in. I’m halfway up the stairs, a still-mute Kayla a step behind me, when the front door opens. I look up, expecting to see the housekeeper, but dread swirls when my mother steps out.
She’s dressed in a high-necked blouse, the rose fabric tucked into the waist of her navy slacks. Her hair is pinned in a bun, the style making her features seem even more severe. “I wondered if you would be coming or not,” she says haughtily in lieu of a greeting, her mouth pinched sourly.
Anxiety flows through my body, followed by a wave of exhaustion. My mother is a constant weight around my neck, her words screaming through my head even when she’s not around. Not seeing her these last few months has muffled that voice, letting me just breathe again. It all rushes back in now, making my chest tight.
Why am I here?
My mother isn’t put off by my silence, running a critical eye over me, her frown deepening. I dressed for myselftoday, wearing a knit sweater to ward off the cold and my favorite pair of jeans—ones Kayla told me made my ass “pop”. I don’t regret it, but my shoulders still creep up to my ears at her wordless judgment.
“Good evening,” I greet, forcing an unaffected tone. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
“The same place you’ve been hiding during every other dinner you missed,” she retorts tersely, her lips pressed together so tightly, they seem to disappear completely. “And I can see you’ve decided not to dress appropriately. Really, Charlotte? I would have thought that living with Kayla would mean she would be something of an influence on you…At least with your eating, if not your style.”
I let her words wash over me with bitter familiarity; a sharp, nettling sting that burns long after the words fade. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something—anything—but her eyes are cutting, making me feel smaller than an insect underneath the heel of her pumps.
She shouldn’t affect me like this.
I shouldn’tlether affect me like this.
My breath hitches in my throat as my mother watches with a shrewd look. She knows she’s getting to me, and she relishes it.
Kayla is looking between us and takes the chance to break the tension, saying brightly, “Auntie Aggie! It’s so good to see you!” She steps forward, pressing a light kiss to my mother’s proffered cheek. “Is my mom here yet?”
“Yes.” My mother’s face smooths out as she looks at Kayla, the tiniest tilt to the corners of her mouth—still more than she gave me. It disappears as fast as it came when she flicks one last scathing look at me before she turns to lead us inside the house.
A truck rumbles to a stop on the street, parking rightbehind Kayla’s car, and we turn as Barrett gets out and slams the door shut. He ambles up the front walk, his grin wide even if it doesn’t reach his eyes, especially when he catches sight of my expression.
“I don’t believe you were invited, Barrett,” my mother says stiffly, her lips barely moving.
“That’s rude,” he chides easily, his long legs skipping every second step. He stops next to me, his arm brushing mine and reminding me that I’m not alone. “I wouldn’t miss your catered cooking for the world, Agatha.”
Her pale cheeks fill with a dull red, and she continues inside without another word, heels clacking against the polished flooring.
Kayla snorts, eyeing Barrett. “Always know how to make an entrance, don’t you, Grizzly?”
