Page 32 of Tough Love
“You can’t get upset about everything, Mum.”
“I have a right, don’t I?” she snaps.
I open my mouth to say the words I know I should:“Of course you do.”But nothing comes.
I’m not stupid. I know I’m only frustrated because she’s expressing emotion I can’t. I’m jealous and jaded about being left out of this connected group. The black wool I’ve cared for these past years suddenly feels itchy and out of place on my skin.
I wanted us to be a family. Not two parents in the middle with a child on each side. We were supposed to be a perfect circle, a tight square. Instead, we’re some strange open-sided triangle.
“I’m sorry,” she says when I remain mute. “It’s just hard because we hadn’t physically seen her since we visited last year.”
Yeah, and I hadn’t spoken to her in over seven years.
I bite my tongue and continue dressing, well aware I don’t have time for this right now if I want to slightly resemble the person Evan saw a couple of days ago, and not some mangy stray animal that’s dragged itself in from the garden.
By the time I re-emerge from the en-suite with basic make-up and at least brushed hair, Mum’s gone, and the distinctly husky voice downstairs tells me I didn’t even hear the door.
Damn it.
Everybody looks up at me as I enter the living room, the conversation paused while I’m greeted with polite smiles. Mum and Dad occupy the sofa, while Evan sits on the front edge of the armchair, leaning forward over a small Lego set he’s helping Briar put together.
He’s decked out in full uniform, his shirt just as tight over his muscular arms as I was the other day. I’m met with a twinge of guilt at holding him up from his job mixed with unwanted desire at how ridiculously hot he looks as a man of authority.
I address Mum and Dad first, “You remember Evan, right?”
Dad exchanges a glance with the man who seemingly still holds the lion’s share of my heart. “Yes. Of course. We were just saying how long it’s been since we heard anything about him, let alone saw him.”
Awkward.
“Nine years,” Mum helpfully fills in.
Evan swallows, directing his focus to Briar who currently looks between the adults with a confused expression adorning his face.
I step into the room, making myself a physical barrier between Evan and my parents’ none-too-subtle judgment of him, and find my way to the space between the coffee table and TV.
“Thanks for coming by.” I draw Evan’s focus to me.
“Would you like the seat?” he asks, making a move to stand as I drop to the carpet.
I raise a hand and stop him. “No. You two carry on.” It’s sweet, seeing that he so clearly thought of Briar as well.
“You didn’t tell us it wasthisEvan who brought you home Friday,” Mum says, stirring the pot.
“I didn’t find an opportune time,” I grit out with a stiff jaw.
“Look, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” Evan raises both hands, palms out. “I’ve done what I came for, so I’ll head off.”
“Don’t be silly,” I argue a little too eagerly. “At least stay for a drink. I really appreciate you saving us the trip.”
“I’ll pass on the drink.” He smiles, his eyes bright as he holds my gaze. “Maybe another time.”
I shift my seat on the carpet, urging the rush of electricity through my nerve endings to ease. Too many memories associated with that smile. Too many feelings that I’ve kept buried all this time.
I glance at Mum, horrified at the scowl she gives me. A plain white box is set on the sofa between my parents, the tape broken, yet the top still closed. I look pointedly at it, and Mum shakes her head lightly to indicate we’ll address that later.
“What are you building?” I ask, shifting the focus from Evan and me by gesturing to the Lego with my chin.
“A car,” Briar states, his brow furrowed as he concentrates on the instructions.