Page 133 of A Little Jaded
When he reaches me, he gives me a giant bear hug and grunts, “Who do I need to kill?”
“Dad—”
“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets me go and pins Everett with a stare. “Who doweneed to kill?”
Pushing myself between them, I break my dad’s line of sight and interrupt, “There will be no killing!”
“Yet,” Everett chimes in from behind me.
My dad smirks. “I knew I liked him.”
“No, you didn’t,” I argue. “You thought he was beating me, remember?”
“Yeah, and then you introduced us,” my dad volleys back. “I might not be a saint, but I am good at reading people. And so is your mom.” He glances at his wife. “Does he pass your vibe test, Mads?”
“It’s still a little early, but yes. I don’t think he’s the one who did it.”
“I already told you he wasn’t,” I point out.
Ignoring me, my dad scratches his five o’clock shadow and tilts his head. “So the question is, whodid? Or better yet, let’s start at the beginning?” He motions to the soft leather couch in the family room.
The beginning. Right.
I grab Everett’s hand, lead both of us around the arm, and sit on the edge of the sofa while my parents each take a seat on the matching couch across from us. Once they’re seated, my mom crosses one leg over the other and snuggles into my dad’s side as he hangs his arm over the back of the couch, their looks expectant.
Deep breath, I silently remind myself.
I open my mouth and square my shoulders, preparing myself for the inevitable. For the shame and disappointment and?—
“Can I say something before you start?” my mom interjects.
Surprised, I dip my chin in agreement, and Everett slowly tugs me into him.
“Why didn’t you walk in?” she asks.
My brows crease. “What?”
“When you got here. You didn’t walk in like you usually do.”
Feeling tongue-tied, I look down at my hands, unsure what to say or do or…anything really. Because it’s stupid. My reason for knocking. Honestly, I don’t even know if I have a reason. Not one I can put into words, anyway.
“All right, let me say one more thing,” my mom continues. “I don’t care what you’ve done, who you’ve slept with, or what choices you’ve made in your life. I don’t. All I care about is whether or not you’re happy and whether or not you’re safe. Like I’ve already pointed out once today, we both know I wasn’t a saint when I was your age. And I sure as shit don’t blame you for filming yourself while having some spicy time with someone you care about.”
My dad balks. “Mads!”
“Oh, shush. We both know we have our own kinks, Milo,” she points out. “What I care about is whether or not you’re comfortable in your own skin, let alone comfortable with me and your dad and your siblings. What I care about is why you haven’t come around lately and why you felt like you couldn’t walk into your childhood home without an invitation.” Tears gather in her eyes, and she moves from her couch to mine. “Baby, you are my world. And I’m so sorry if you’ve ever felt like you could do anything to make me ashamed of you or make you feel like you aren’t our pride and joy.”
Her words are like a balm on an open wound, and I dig my nails into my palms to keep from bawling like a baby. I’m not sure it ever goes away. The desire to please your parents. To make them proud.
“Don’t get me wrong. I know you’re not perfect,” she continues, “just like how I’m not perfect, and your dad isn’t perfect, and your sister isn’t perfect, and your brother isn’t perfect, and”—she glances at Everett—“I’m sure you’re a great guy, but I know you’re not perfect, either.”
“Far from it,” he quips.
Her smile widens, and she bumps her shoulder with mine. “That’s the beauty of family, though. Especially ours. We like messy. We like mistakes. We like flaws and life lessons and Sunday brunches.” She grabs my hand and places it in her lap. “We likeyou, Raine Anders, and we’ve missedyou more than you know. Now, if we could only convince you to open up to us so we could help you a bit, that’d be great.”
And just like that, I tell her. I tell both of them. I tell Everett and my mom and my dad everything. When I’m finished, they wrap me in a hug, kiss the top of my head, and promise it’s going to be okay. And for the first time in a long while, I really, truly believe they might be right.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO