Page 78 of Brazen Deceits

I slide up behind my mom’s chair. “No, he was definitely in med school. We met while he was still an undergrad. However, we broke up months ago. We’re not getting back together. Ever.”

“Clara, don’t be curt,” my mom says, waving a hand at me.

“Then don’t lie, Mom.”

“Clara Grace McElroy! Do not use that tone with me!”

“Mom, if you don’t make stuff up, then I won’t have to call you out on it. This isn’t a competition. They’re family. What do they care about who I’m dating? They should care about me. What I’m up to, what my plans are, who I’m becoming. Not who I’m dating. This isn’t the freaking 1800s. I’m not defined by the men I’m with.”

My mom surges to her feet, her hand snatching my ear as she drags me out the front of the house. My dad stands up to follow, but I wave him off as involuntary tears fill my eyes.

Once we’re out in the front yard, my mom lets loose. All the words, the recriminations, the rage, it all flies at me.

And for the first time, I don’t cower. I don’t ask for forgiveness.

I’m numb to it.

She winds herself down, running out of words in the face of my silence. “If you can’t behave, I don’t think you should even be here.”

I smile, and my mom’s self-righteous rage flickers. “Are you sending me home without my supper, Mom?”

“No, I’m asking you to stay out here and think about what you’ve done. Once you’ve collected yourself, you can come back in and have a civil dinner.”

I throw my hands out, spinning in a circle. “Am I not cool and collected?”

“Clara Grace, I will not have you back talking me in front of my family.”

I shrug. “I’m done hearing about Bryce, Mom. Done. Every time from here on out you bring him up, I will shut that shit down hard.”

She grinds her teeth, her face red from yelling, her curls lumpy where she ran her hand through them, breaking up the hairspray. “So what, then? I can’t talk to my family about my life?”

“No, Mom. You can’t make shit up aboutmylife.”

We stare at each other across the blacktop, the wind cutting through my sweater dress, my calves frozen above my booties.

I look away first, but I don’t cry. I don’t give in. I’m not even sure I know how anymore. “You know what, Mom? If I’m such a disappointment, I’ll just go.”

“Clara, you’re so overdramatic.”

I shrug. “I’ll get my purse and get out of your hair. Tell Dad I love him.”

I walk past her, stepping into the house just far enough to retrieve my coat and purse from the front hall.

My mom is still in the driveway, her arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Clara, this is juvenile.”

I pull on the capelet I got with Walker, yanking on my mittens and hat, wishing I’d brought something warmer. “Maybe,” I say, before walking away, down the driveway, down the street, away, just away.

Because I’m done. Completely done.

My dad calls twice, leaving a voicemail when I don’t pick up, but I don’t want to hear his excuses. He chooses my mom. He always does. I never got that chance.

I make it to the nearest shopping center, the coffee shop sign saying it’ll be open at 8 p.m. for Black Friday shoppers. My phone says it’s not quite 4:30.

If Emma were closer, I’d call her, but she’s at her family farm, so that’s not going to work. I pull up a rideshare app, but the prices are stupidly high. There are too few drivers and too many people flying in at the last minute. Opening the group chat with the guys, I think about asking for help there, but really, would they care?

Jansen would be here in a heartbeat. I know that. But he’s also out in the boonies at his stepdad’s house.

I’m not sure where the rest of the guys live, but either way, they’re all bound to be busy with their families. There would be no good reason for them to come and get me.

---