Page 13 of Damaged Protector

“You’re right, Daddy,” I said, avoiding eye contact with my mother. “I’ll be sure to do that.” I could hear Mama’s teeth grinding from across the table.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he said, patting the back of my hand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you two about. I’m not going back overseas for work anymore.”

My dad and his brothers ran Fitz and Sons Construction, with my cousins and Uncle Nolan handling the Northeast U.S. division, and my father running the international side. Their other brother, Sean, was in charge of the business down in Texas.

My heart beat a bit faster. There was no way Mama would confine me to the studio if Dad was here all the time instead of in the Middle East, Asia, Europe, or wherever the job took him.

“That’s so great, Dad! Do you have to go back and wrap anything up?”

He shook his head as he took a long pull of his beer. “Nope. The project is finished, and we’ve got someone to run the international stuff from now on.” Setting the bottle on the table, he rotated it around in circles, the lines around his eyes smoothing out. “I’m tired of being away from my family all the time.”

Mama’s face was a mixture of happiness and worry. I knew she would be happy to have her husband home, but his presence would eliminate a lot of the tight control she had over me.

I’d done a lot of research on enmeshed mother/daughter relationships the past five weeks, and it had been enlightening. Our relationship was something I hadn’t even realized was abnormal. I always thought we were just closer than most mothers and daughters.

I had been messaging back and forth with a really sweet counselor online, and she’d given me some strategies for setting boundaries with my mother.

Which brought me back to phase two. “I applied to some PT schools in Dallas,” I blurted out.

Dad gave me a gentle, encouraging smile—I’d already filled him in on my plans yesterday—as Mama’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“No. You are not moving to Texas, Mallori Fitz.”

Employing the boundary-setting methods the counselor had taught me, I kept my voice calm and firm. Form your responses as facts, not questions.

“It’s difficult to get in, but if I’m accepted, that’s where I’ll be going to school.”

“You absolutely will not,” she reiterated, and my fingers tightened around my fork until the edges of it were cutting into my flesh.

My father spoke up, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t confident at standing up to my mom, and it was nice to have the backup.

“Karen, Mallori is an adult, and if this is what she chooses to do, we will support her.”

The harsh ropes binding me to my mother slowly began the unraveling process. They weren’t completely untied yet because this enmeshment had been going on for years, but they felt looser, for sure.

“I won’t stand for it,” she insisted. “She can’t be away from me.”

“I can’t live here forever, Mama,” I said, again keeping a firmness to my tone.

“It will be fine, Karen. Cam lives in Dallas so he can take care of her.” Noticing my brows inching closer together, he amended that. “Let me rephrase. Mallori is a grownup and can take care of herself, but it’s nice to know her older cousin is there if she needs anything.”

Mama looked wholly unconvinced, but it was two against one. Plus, she rarely argued with my father. “We’ll see about that,” she muttered at the mostly uneaten pork chop on her plate.

“Speaking of cousins, I thought I might go visit with Collin this weekend.” Collin was Uncle Nolan’s second oldest. Uncle Nolan had four sons, but I’d always been closer to Collin than the others. He and Cam always let me tag along with them when I was younger.

“That’s over an hour away, and I don’t like you hanging out with Collin,” my mother said, lifting her chin.

“Why not?”

“He’s with that younger woman. It’s disgusting.”

Tilting my head, I gave her a sweet, faux-innocent smile. “What’s wrong with that? I didn’t think you minded an older man with a younger woman, Mama.” Her green eyes narrowed on my aqua-blue ones, and I had to fight to keep from snorting out a laugh. “Collin and Jade are only sixteen years apart. That’s much better than, oh, say… thirty-two years, isn’t it?”

If a person could literally shoot daggers from their eyeballs, I would be bleeding into my mashed potatoes right now. My father’s eyes were flitting back and forth between us in confusion.

“Who’s thirty-two years older? One of your friends isn’t dating an older man, is she, Mal? That’s way too big of an age gap for my liking.”

As I broke my staredown with my mother, I could see a hint of fear in her eyes. Because Bernard Moreau was thirty-two years older than me.

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