By the end of my explanation, my dad is pacing through the kitchen behind my mom, working himself into a tizzy. “We’re going down there, Mary. I don’t want that bastard around our daughter.” He stops with his hands on his hips, scowling into the phone. His dark, protective eyes remind me so much of Finn that my heart aches.
“I’m going to handle it,” I tell them. “I just needed today to recuperate. Tomorrow I’m going to show up to work with the best attitude I can muster.” I nod, trying to pump myself up for that.
Mom’s arm must be tired, because she sets her phone on the table and sits in the chair in front of the screen, cutting off the view of the top of her head in the process.
“Millie, listen to me,” she says, pointing toward the phone. “You’ve come a long way since you left Kyle, and we’re proud of youevery day. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need help sometimes. You have so many people who would be by your side in an instant if you needed them. Don’t forget that.”
My chest tightens, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my lips from twisting with emotion.
Dad walks up behind Mom and sets his chin on her shoulder. “You’re better than he makes you feel. He’s a liar and a snake and hewillget what’s coming to him.”
Two tears drip from my eyes, and I try to wipe them away before they can see. They might get in the car to drive down here if they know the raging emotions battling inside me right now.
Mom’s lips press into a firm line. “Honey, does Finn know about this?”
I shake my head silently, afraid that if I open my mouth, more tears will fall.
She sighs. “Yeah, he didn’t mention anything.”
My breath freezes and my body stills. “You talked to Finn?”
Dad nods. “We got off the phone with him about an hour ago.”
Regret bubbles through me. He’s so worried about me that he got me soupandcalled my parents to tell them I didn’t feel well?
My chin quivers. I’m the worst. I can’t believe I let him think that.
I look between my parents, trying to sort through how to fix this.
Dad’s brows stitch together, and he tilts his head. “Who did you think taught him how to make the soup?”
Chills creep over my body, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck. I inhale a shaky breath as two more tears fall, but I can’t move my hand to wipe them away this time.
Who did I think made the soup? The café around the corner, obviously.
“Well, shit.” Dad sighs, kneeling on their kitchen floor beside my mom’s chair. “Doesn’t look like she knew about that yet.”
Several quick, short breaths fill my chest, but my body doesn’t feel the oxygen.
The soup.The soup.
I spring into action, running the few steps to the kitchen. I set the phone down on the counter, giving my parents a great view of the ceiling while they whisper to each other.
As soon as I lift the lid of the cooler, the herby aroma of Dad’s chicken-and-rice soup fills the air, and more tears fall without permission. I pull the glass container out and unsnap the lid.
Chunks of chicken, rice, diced carrots, and celery chopped so finely it’s almost invisible. It looks exactly like my dad’s.
Sniffling, I pick up the phone and find my parents’ soft gazes. The small image of me reveals how red my eyes are. I actuallydolook sick now.
“How did the soup get here, Dad?” My tone makes it sound like an accusation because I already know the answer in my gut. I just need him to confirm it for me.
“I imagine Finn dropped it off,” he says with a shrug. “Wespent an hour on the phone with him, walking him through all the steps. Does it seem like he got it right?”
“It seems like he got it perfect,” I whisper, trying to hold back the flood threatening to pour from my eyes.
“Well, take a bite,” Mom encourages.
The silverware drawer squeaks as I open it and grab a spoon. I scoop up a bite of soup, and the moment it hits my tongue, the chicken and herbs meld together perfectly, soothing my soul.
