His mouth twists. “Of course. Is there any other way to do it?”
Kayla peers into the depths of the house before straightening her shoulders and sucking in a breath. “Let’s get this shit show over with,” she mumbles and steps inside, leaving us lingering in the doorway.
Feeling Barrett’s eyes on me, I drag in a centering breath, shaking out my shoulders like I’m about to step into a wrestling ring.
“You don’t have to do this.” His tone is gentle. “You’ve loved not putting yourself through this mental circus the last few months. Why are we here, Charlie?”
Something pinches tightly in my chest at the concern in his voice. “They’re my parents,” I remind him. “My only family. Blood matters, doesn’t it?”
Barrett tugs me into his arms, pressing my cheek to his chest. “We’re not blood,” he reminds me. “And we’re family, aren’t we?”
I loop my arms around his waist, grateful he’s here. It’s not something I’ve ever expected of Barrett, but he’s always had my back, even though he hates coming here as much as I do.
“No, I know…” I shake my head. “I’m their only child. You’re, like…programmed to love your kid, right?” I pull away, giving him a weak smile.
He watches me, his eyes resigned. “Some people are worth cutting off, Charlie.” He looks into the house, mouth turned down. “You deserve to have your life filled with people who put you first, blood or not. I thought you’d learned that lesson with Dillon.”
I open my mouth, even though I’m not sure what I’ll say, but then he’s linking our arms, tugging me into the house.
“Come on,” Barrett murmurs. “If we’re gonna do this, best just to get it over with.”
We head inside, walking past the formal living room, keeping my gaze averted, not wanting to see the massive oil painting mounted over the fireplace.
It’s a family portrait, commissioned by a local artist when I was fourteen—but it’s not me. My mother made sure of that, instructing the artist to lighten my hair, slim my body, and even smooth away the youthful roundness of my cheeks. In the painting, I’m standing right behind my parents, dressed in a matching outfit to my mother—the same style she’s wearing tonight.
It’s my family, and yet, nothing about it is familiar.
It was a portrait of the daughter they always wished they had—a permanent reminder that I was never enough. Every time I lay eyes on it, the cracks in my heart split a little deeper, more pieces slipping away from me, even after all these years.
“Chin up,” Barrett murmurs to me, right before we enter the dining room. Everyone is already seated, so I take the empty seat on my father’s left, and Barrett sits beside me.
“Hello, Charlotte,” my uncle greets pleasantly, peering at me from the other end of the table. “It’s been quite a while.”
A murmur of scorn comes from my mother. I just smile. “Yes, I’ve been busy at work.”
My father frowns in disbelief. “The bookstore?”
I look at him, ignoring the disapproval glaring back at me. “Yes, the bookstore. Business is actually doing really well. We have several well-known authors coming in to do signings.”
“It’s a dying business,” is all he says, looking away with disinterest. My jaw goes tight, and Barrett nudges me with his elbow just as the housekeeper comes out with the first course.
The rest of dinner goes just as I expect it to, each minute feeling like it’s dragging on for over an hour. Barrett shifts in his chair, pushing his green bean casserole around his plate, expression filled with mild disgust.
“Do I have to put this into my mouth?” he mutters to me.
I make a small noise of amusement. “You’ve put worse things in your mouth.”
On his other side, Kayla hears, choking on her mouthful of wine. Barrett smacks her on the back—too hard, her whole body jerking with the impact.
“Quit it!” she hisses, swatting him away before she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “I’m fine.” She leans forward to shoot a narrow-eyed look at me.
I widen my eyes innocently, mouthing, “What?”
Kayla’s gaze flickers to my mother, and I look over just in time to catch her glaring at me. “It’s interesting that you look like you’ve gained weight since the last time I saw you.”
Ice hits my chest, stealing my breath. “Mother?—”
“Usually, when someone gets tossed aside, they lose weight. But you’ve always been one to eat your feelings, haven’t you?” She pauses, tilting her head, acting like it’s completely normal to openly talk about someone’s body at the dinner table like this.
