"I'll text you later, Molly," he says, and I know he feels it too.
I nod. His keys are in his pocket, I guess. Because he says goodbye again, and waves, and my parents say it back and wave too, smiling, and it's all so horrid and strange and shitty that I wish I'd never been born. I watch him drive away, wishing I was with him.
Then I take a deep breath and turn to my parents, smiling that bullshit smile.
"So! Um. Come inside?"
They follow, assessing everything, noting things here and there, complimenting things, trying to be nice and normal.
But nothing is normal.
I haven't talked to Mom alone since that call, the one where she cried in her closet and hinted at secrets and saidsafe isn't the same as right. Every time I've texted asking if she's okay, she brushes it off.I was just upset. Overreacted. Nothing to worry about.But seeing them here, Dad's tight silence and Mom's nervous energy, I know that's not true.
And their fight? Their fight was because Dad found out I was seeing someone.
I'm almost positive it's the same reason they're here. And somehow, I don't know that Mom had much to do with it.
"I still can't believe you're here," I say, dazed.
Mom tucks me into her side, her hand cupped on my shoulder. "Well, your father really wanted to see the house for himself. Make sure everything's…safe."
There's that word again. Safe.
I look at Dad. He's not here to help with the house. He's here to assess the threat. Grey. My independence. Everything I've built here without him.
"He did all this?" Dad asks. Funny--I've seen Mom use a screwdriver more times than him.
"We did it together. He's helping me learn."
"He seems…nice," Mom says, the word loaded.
Dad says nothing. His silence says it all.
"Do y'all want some coffee? You must have left at the crack of dawn," I say, deflecting.
"Sure, honey," Mom says, taking a seat at the table. Dad's still wandering around. "So, Grey! The mysterious boyfriend. He's…older than I expected."
"I told you he was a teacher. Did you think he'd be twenty-five?" I'm glad my back's to her, given the sound she makes.
"He's closer to our age than yours," Dad snaps.
"I'm an adult, and it's not that big of a deal." I turn with her coffee to find her trying to look cheerful again. "Of course you're an adult! I'm not saying you're not capable of making your own decisions, honey. It's just…surprising. That's all."
Translation: concerning, aka what the fuck?
I see her trying to reconcile the sweet story I told her--he was so locked up, I needed a sledgehammer to crack him open--with the man she just met. A man with twenty years on me and the body of a linebacker.
"We've been friends since I moved here. He looks out for me, is always selfless and helpful and generous. The town loves him."Maybe not at this exact moment, but…
Dad's arms are crossed. "Has he ever been married?"
"No."
"Why not? Man his age, never married?" He shakes his head. "Either he can't commit or he doesn't want to."
Dammit, here I thought I had the right answer. "He's been through a lot--"
"Honey," Mom cuts in gently, "we're just trying to understand."
