Page 185 of Mad Girl

“So, again, why do you care what she thinks?”

“She thinks you’re jealous of her.”

I laughed. “Of Amber? No. But I don’t appreciate having to hear you two together at night, so if you could keep it down from now on? That would be nice.”

Finally free of Bree, I showered and dressed and braided my hair, then walked down to the kitchen for a snack. By that time, Libby and the girls had left, leaving me alone with my dad and John. They’d been kicked back on the couch all morning, sitting close, lingering over their second cups of coffee. My dad flipped through issues of The Economist and Harvard Business Review while John started a new book I hadn’t sliced the pages out of yet.

I’d almost escaped to the sunroom with my snack when John lowered his book and said, “Elliot, can we talk?”

Clutching a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, I paused in front of the coffee table. “I’d rather not, actually.”

Nic tossed his magazine aside. “We need to have another conversation about this Michael stuff.”

“You mean where I innocently made out with a guy, then you two shipped him off to a different country to put him as far away from me as possible?”

“Listen,” John said, removing his reading glasses. “Casey needs Michael more than we do right now. You understand that, right?”

“Of course,” I said. “I just want you to admit Casey’s family issues worked to your advantage—and you seized the opportunity to separate us.”

John leaned over his lap, hands folded in front of his mouth. “I think you and Michael could use some time apart, yes. I don’t approve of what went on here last summer.”

“Because I’m not good enough for your son.”

“I never said that. I said you aren’t good for each other.”

“You said, ‘This one’s a hard no. There are hundreds of eligible girls in this city, but this one’s off limits.’ And what you obviously meant by that was: this one’s a hard no because she stabbed you. Because she’s dangerous. Because she’s crazy.”

John’s expression softened. “Elliot, I didn’t mean it that way at all.”

“Then why would you say it like that?” I demanded, voice wobbling around the words.

“Elliot,” Nic said, eyeing me warily.

“You think I’m crazy, too, Dad. That’s why I’m almost nineteen, and you’ve never allowed me to have a boyfriend. Bree gets to have her girlfriend here, and they’re up there going at it every night—I have to hear it. If Michael were here, and he wanted to bring his bitch ex-girlfriend for the summer, that would be allowed, too.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Nic rushed to say, gaze flashing. “Sienna isn’t allowed on any property of mine.”

“Fine. If Michael wanted to bring a girl other than Sienna here, it would be allowed. If Casey were here, and he wanted to bring someone different back to his room every night? Also allowed. But me? I’m not allowed dating privileges at all. Because I’m too messed up, right?”

John said, “Elliot⁠—”

“Can’t let Elliot have anyone. Have to keep Elliot locked up tight. Everyone’s in on it. Everyone agrees.”

“Honey,” Nic said softly. “No one thinks you’re crazy.”

“Dad, you threatened to send me to a psychiatric hospital after what I did to Sienna, then you talked me into putting off college this fall. And I just want to know why. I want an honest answer—not some bullshit about me needing a break or having a rough year. The actual reason.”

I glanced between my dad and John, both of whom gazed back at me with twin expressions of undisguised sympathy on their faces. Expressions that, quite frankly, destroyed me. With those looks, it felt like they were saying, I know it’s hard, but it has to be this way.

It felt like they were too afraid to say the truth out loud: It has to be this way, because you are crazy. You are dangerous.

My voice broke as I said, “No one wants to say it. No one’s brave enough to come out and say it.”

“Elliot,” John said gently. “Sometimes, parents make decisions for their children that don’t seem fair or make sense. Someday, you’ll understand your dad’s just trying to do what’s best for you.”

“What a bullshit thing to say, John. What a complete dismissal of my feelings. What—you, too? You don’t see anything wrong with my life? I don’t see you locking up your children or preventing them from having anything—unless what they want is me. Admit it already: you think I’m crazy.”

John shook his head. “I don’t think that.”