I didn’t know what I was doing. I certainly didn’t know if I was welcome to stay here. I just knew I couldn’t deal with Ransom after this…this…ongoing nightmare. To be absent from all the family photos, left for three hours to wait like a salesperson, and above all, to be discarded for him, after my parents hadn’t seen me in so long…
Ransom’s parents may have given up on him when he was a baby, but it was probably because they didn’t have the means to keep him. My parents had all the means in the world and zero will. They knew exactly who I grew up to be. They chose to opt out after trying the finished product.
“Leave!” I stomped, exasperated. “Go away.”
He stayed put, seemingly taller and wider and more intimidating than he was a second ago.
With a feral growl, I ran toward him, pushing at his chest. He didn’t move. My throat produced something between a roar and a whimper. I shoved at him once again, this time harder. I clawed at his torso, my nails scraping through the skin under his dress shirt, trying to make him bleed.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” I balled my fists, raining them down on his chest.
“Leave.” Thump.
“Me.” Thump.
“Alone!” Thump.
“That’s quite enough.” The voice, like an ice-cube, ran down my back, making me freeze in my spot. Suddenly I didn’t want to stay anymore. I didn’t turn around, knowing who it belonged to.
“Step away from the man, Bunny. Heaven knows you were raised better than that. Mr. Lockwood, our daughter will be staying with us tonight. You may take the rest of the day off.”
The voice grew louder, closer behind my back. My mother had entered the room. The delicate clicks of her heels rang gracefully, like champagne glasses clinking together.
“Turn around, Bunny.”
I did, feeling the air whooshing out of my lungs in one go. Oftentimes, I found myself disappointed and dissatisfied with my relationship with my father. But when it came to my mother, I was downright frightened.
She controlled Dad with an iron fist and was the main cause for every sanction against me. I always had the feeling my father’s disappointment with how I turned out was lighthearted. He’d accepted early on that nothing would become of me, and treated me with the same, offhanded sympathy he would to an old, farty family pet. An adorable discomfort, if you would. My mother’s displeasure, however, hit differently. More personal. She viewed me as a failure. An unfinished project. I was a chink in her otherwise flawless list of accomplishments. The house. The husband. The career. The perfect, doctor daughter. Even the stupid dogs won awards. She had trained the entire Thorne household to jump through hoops. Everyone except me.
“Hello, Mother.” My right eye twitched with annoyance. Sometime during this whole ordeal, Ransom must’ve found his way out, because I couldn’t see him. At least he wasn’t here to witness that.
She strolled toward me, hands clasped behind her back. Circled my frame, taking inventory. I tipped my chin up and stood up straighter, trying to swallow a lump in my throat.
“You hadn’t been answering our calls.” Disdain dripped from her voice. “Before we hired your security detail.”
“You haven’t been giving me a good reason to,” I countered.
“We’re your parents.”
You don’t act like it, I wanted to scream. I drifted away, and you let me. I opted out, and the door was wide open for me to walk through. You never wanted me.
“Well, I’m your daughter, and you haven’t been taking my calls, either.”
“You know exactly why.” Her mouth twitched in annoyance. “Don’t you, Bunny?”
To that, I said nothing.
“You’ve added a few tattoos.” Nice to see where our money is spent, she didn’t add.
“Someone needs to give you something to talk about at the dinner table, and God knows Hera and Craig are perfectly boring.” I shrugged.
“Actions have consequences. You’re going to live with these tattoos for the rest of your life.”
“My whole life?” I widened my eyes, slapping a hand over my chest. “Oh, my. That’s why they don’t come off in the shower.”
She made a face. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, exasperated, or both. “When your father gets h—”
“I’m here.” The devil we spoke of walked into the room. “Step back, Jules. Let the kid breathe. Y’all look like you’re about to get in a fistfight.”
Mom stepped back, looking lost and confused all of a sudden.
“Let’s take it to my office, shall we?” Dad smiled good-naturedly.
Following them silently to Dad’s office on the second floor, I remembered I didn’t have anything here with me. No deodorant, no creams, no underwear, no PJs. I would have to make a Target run. The problem was, that would require my parents’ security. One of them would have to accompany me, too.
Mom and Dad conducted a short and efficient discussion about their winter vacation plans on the way upstairs.
“Why must you insist on skiing every year? You know Craig absolutely loathes it. He is no good at it. No good at all.” My mother pleaded my sister’s fiancé’s case.
“So, because Craig isn’t a fan, I shouldn’t do what I want with my limited free time?” Dad huffed. “Craig and Hera are welcome to stay at his parents’ for Christmas if they’re so inclined to. Sugar Pie, you’ll come, right?”
“Christmas…” I murmured behind his back, thinking of a good excuse. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m involved in a lot of charities back home.”
“Don’t be dreadful,” my mother chided, playing with the pearls on her neck as she hurried her steps. “Hera finds them stunningly tedious, and their house is far too crowded for a young couple. Four children. My word, have they not heard of contraception?”
Or overpopulation. Although, here in this house we pretended overpopulation was not a part of global warming. Dad had run on the ticket that he was both an environmentalist and a devout Catholic. Don’t ask me when the last time was he went to church when there were no cameras around.
“In that case, Craig’ll have to toughen up and bear the burden of skiing,”
Dad said.
Finally, we reached the oaky, double doors of his office. Dad pushed one of them open, and the three of us walked inside. He settled behind his desk. My mother and I took the seats in front of him. I felt like I was heading for a life-or-death trial.
“Hallie, my love, how have you been?” my father finally asked, a staggering four hours after I set foot in his house.
I squared my shoulders. I had to plea my case, even if I knew I stood no chance. Here goes nothing.
“Been better.”
“What is it, Sugar Pie?” Dad demanded, his brows creasing worriedly. “Tell us.”
“Well, let me preface this by saying I know I screwed up. Bad. I know that, okay? I’ve absolutely no excuse, and take full responsibility for it. I was drunk, and wore too snug a dress—”
“I have a feeling I know where this is going.” My mother crossed her legs, folding her hands over her knee. Daphne walked into the room, asking if we needed any refreshments.