Page 64 of Her Pretty Words

“Mom!” I gasp. It feels as though I’ve been stripped bare and picked apart piece by piece, her demeaning gaze set upon my bloodied frame.

“You won’t be part of this conversation if you’re going to behave this way,” my dad says.

“Am I wrong?” she asks. “I saw the way you two looked at each other.”

If I bite down any harder, my teeth will shatter. “What I do or don’t do in myprivate lifeis none of your business.”

My dad shifts, clearly uncomfortable by my statement.

“Your precious Walter has been cheating on me. So don’t reprimandmefor the suspicions you have when I’m a single woman who is free to do whatever I want.”

She goes silent, arms crossed in a way to protect herself from the truth. In her mind, Walter could do no wrong, and I was never in a rush to change that until now. She saw him the way I wished he was. But I’m done settling for anything less than what my grandparents had.

“You want to see his profile on the dating app? I can pull it up in less than two seconds.”

A beat of silence is hanging between the three of us. My dad clears his throat, and then my mom whispers, “No. I believe you.”

The weight of the world glides off my shoulders. The thick tension thins and suddenly it’s as though we can all breathe a little easier.

“I painted a perfect picture so you guys would see him the way I wanted him to be.” I look at my ceiling fan. Memories of our relationship bubble to the surface. “But he’s awful,” my voice stumbles and breaks over the words.

“I need to go take care of something,” my dad mumbles, leaving me alone with my mom.

Silence drapes between us. She stares too intently at her nails, pushing back her cuticles as if nothing has been said. I shift my legs, crossing them and lifting the covers higher over myself.

“I—I’m sorry,” she says. I can’t suppress the shock on my face. Apologizing is foreign to a woman who can’t admit when she’s wrong. “You know, I dated somehorribleguys before I met your dad?”

My eyes widen at her vulnerability. “I didn’t know that.” It’s hard to imagine your parents’ lives before you were born. It never occurred to me that either one of them dated anyone but each other.

“I remember what it was like to lie to my family. I wanted something awful to appear shiny to everyone but me.” She looks at me in the eyes. “I’m ashamed that I never saw what was happening in my daughter’s life. I know you’re capable of hiding it well, I was too, but if anyone would see through it, it should’ve been me.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Her gaze is on the wall, appearing deep in thought. The only sound is the breeze flowing through the house. She sighs and reaches for my hand above the comforter. “You had no one to talk to about all of this for so long. Talk to me, sweetie. You’re not alone anymore.”

I’ve never opened up to my mother. When it came to my emotions, I always brought them to my grandma. She handled them with a certain care that my mother always lacked. But now, years of heartbreak pour from my lips and tears drip alonghercheeks. I tell her everything, including the way Grayson is Walter’s opposite.

Horrible experiences bring people together. As much as I wish I never put up with Walter’s shit, it led to this moment. One where a mother and her daughter finally see each other.

Hours have ticked by, and we steer off topic to more simple things. She tells me about drama she overhears in the gym locker room and then I tell her how Elliot proposed to Sarah. We bond and laugh, and later into the night, she says, “I think I like Grayson.”

“Yeah?” I grin.

She nods. “He looks familiar,” she says. I shrug, but she doesn’t see because her thoughtful gaze is on the window facing his house. She yawns and it’s contagious. I look at my alarm clock, realizing it’s just past midnight.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” she says when she follows my line of sight. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

Chapter 22

Grayson

As soon as I leave Macy’s house, I catch sight of a figure not far off in the distance, walking on the sidewalk. I catch up quickly, grabbing his shoulder so he turns around. Wally’s eyes meet mine and before he can anticipate what’s about to happen, my fist is connecting with his nose. Bone crunches and blood sprays.

“That was for Macy,” I seethe. I wind up my fist and pack a powerful blow to his jaw. “That one was just for fun.” I’m turning around, about to walk away when he latches onto my shoulder. I spin and twist the appendage in a way that makes the motherfucker cry out.

My voice is lethal when I say, “Pray I never see you again, because the longer I sit with my hatred toward you, the more it’s bound to grow. I might not be as pleasant if you cross my path again.” I take a step back, the metallic smell of his blood making me queasy. “You never deserved her,” I say as a way of farewell.

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