“I thought you would do more with it,” she says.
And there it is.
I clear my throat, knowing the producers are not cutting this. “The possibilities were endless. I could have gone a dozen different routes with the project. Ultimately, I wanted to preserve what was. I wanted to keep the bones of the house alive and make it shine again.”
“Shine again?” she asks.
My eyes fly to my dad who’s looking anywhere but at the two of us. Does my mom not know what he told me about this place? I wish he never hung up on me that day I called him so I can understand any of this—understand what she knows and what I don’t.
I look back at my mom and nod, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “The house was very weathered and needed some serious work, but not everything was a complete gut job. We were able to maintain everything I wanted.”
“Andthisis what you wanted?” She scoffs, extending an arm toward the house. “I thought you were supposed to be proving this isn’t just a hobby. You wanted people to take you seriously.This…this is just a sentimental fixer-upper instead of something professional.”
The words hit like a slap to the face.
Not because they’re true, but because the house looks incredible now. I love the things we’ve done with it because it wasmyvisionandmyproject.
“But,” she draws out, turning to face me again. “I can see why you chose to do the bare minimum.” She looks from Tucker to me and leans in. “You were too busy goofing around instead of working.”
I don’t dare look at Tucker.
I have never felt so embarrassed, and I don’t need to see the look in his eyes.
My familiar reflex kicks in. I straighten my spine, smile properly, and nod my head. The performance is muscle memory at this point, but the moment I snap it in place, I feel Tucker’s hand on the small of my back.
Istilldon’t look at him, but I know what he’s silently telling me.
I know he’s telling me that I’m stronger than this.
“Scottie, you look…” my dad starts, sympathy on his face because I know he hates when my mom is this way.
“Tired. Exhausted.Definitelynot put together,” she rattles off.
“That’s enough, Laura,” my dad says under his breath, so hopefully the cameras won’t hear.
Tucker shifts behind me, and I feel him inhale like he’s holding back and trying not to jump in. His hand presses more firmly on my back, and I know he’s urging me to stand up for myself. Just his presence is enough to feel strong enough to do it.
My dad extends a hand to Tucker, a warm smile on his face. “Hi. I’m Billy. And you must be…”
“Tucker,” he answers flatly, returning his greeting before his hand is back on my back.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m guessing by the tool belt you helped?”
Tucker nods. “I did, but she did most of the work.”
“He’s the head contractor. And…” I pause, looking from my mom to my dad. “He’s important to me.”
My mother’s expression freezes.
My dad just smiles.
“But you aren’t staying here,” my mom says like it’s a fact when she never even asked me. “And you need to think about howthis”—she gestures between Tucker and I—“will look on the show. Everyone is going to be watching.”
Something inside me snaps like a cord that’s been fraying for years and on its last string.
Fuck this.
Just as I open my mouth to speak, the sound of an angry golf cart comes barreling down the driveway. I say angry because it sounds like the engine is on its last leg. One putt away from exploding.
