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“She was upset at first. She wanted to know how long I’d kept it from her, if I was just using her. She started drinking…a lot. Then she started to cry.” I pause, reframing it slightly. “When she calmed down, we talked and decided that we still wanted to see each other and would try it until I had to leave.”

Emma looks pissed.

I’m confused.

She’s the one who said her mother would always want me around. Begging me not to hurt Rachel over and over again. I do everything she asks, and she’s angry?

“Why did you do that?” Emma’s words are nearly as sharp as Rachel’s.

“What do you mean?” What is happening tonight? I can’t keep up with either of them.

“You’re only making it worse by leading her on.” Somehow I’ve been found guilty in a trial I didn’t know I was on. Seems to be the theme tonight.

“I’m not.” I run my hands through my hair, fighting my own fatigue. May be why I can’t understand why she’s so upset.

“Yes, you are,” Emma insists.

Then it hits me, the moment the lies come back to kick me in the ass. Emma hasn’t known the truth. I thought I made it clear that day in the park. But I obviously didn’t. There’ll be a day I can communicate clearly. Today isn’t it.

Emma believes I pursued Rachel. That we’re in an actual relationship. Hell, she doesn’t even know I’m twenty-two. That’s my fault too. She called me out on it when I was here at the beginning of the week, and instead of telling her my true age, I said I was twenty-four. Like those two years make any difference. I’ve been trying so hard not to cause more tension between Emma and Rachel that I’ve become the tension point.

“Can’t you see how messed up she is? You can’t give her something and then tell her she can’t really have it.”

“That’s not what’s going on.” The exhaustion has given way to annoyance. It begins to reveal itself in the increased volume of my voice. She’s defending Rachel again. Why is she ignoring what’s really happening here?

Open your eyes, Emma. She’s not who you want her to be.

I can’t blame her completely. Rachel manipulated me this entire time. She’s a master of it. It’s the reason everything got to this point.

I thought I knew what I was doing. What I was getting involved in. Set clear boundaries. But she’s subtle. I’m not sure what’s worse, the wolf snarling in my face or the snake slithering up behind me. They’re both deadly. I’d rather see the danger coming.

But Emma’s blind to the danger. Too desperate to win her mother’s affection. She drops her head onto her chest in defeat.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” I tell her sincerely. For more than she knows. But she’s past hearing me.

Emma stands and climbs the stairs without glancing at me.

Forget about tonight, this entire week has been shit. And to think it started with a squirt gun fight and laughter.

Magda shakes her head at the abomination that is our apple pie. “How could that have happened?”

“It looks like a face full of cystic acne,” Collin comments.

“So unnecessary,” I scold, whacking his arm.

“It does look pretty disgusting,” Jonathan admits. “There’s no way I can feed this to my mom and brother.”

Car doors shut outside.

“Too late,” I announce. I grab the butcher knife and shove it into the center of the pie, thinking it will deflate the bumpy crust, but it just sticks out of it.

“Now it’s a murder pie. Nice, Sadie,” Collin scoffs. “They’re going to love you as their in-law. No subliminal message at all with a knife sticking out of a pie you’re about to serve them.”

Panicked, I hold up the pie, frantically searching for some sort of fix.

The knock draws Jonathan to the back door off the kitchen, the one we instructed them to use.

“Give me that.” Magda takes it from my hands with a disgusted tsk. “Go greet your guests.”