Page 27 of Stealing Sunshine

His expression levels out. I take that as a good sign. Maybe he’ll tell Mom to stop it with all of these terrible potential matches.

“I see.”

“You see?”

“Your mother just wants you to have someone,” he explains.

I lick my lips before letting my words out. “Tell her to expand her criteria, then. No more finance bros. I’d appreciate if she included a few pageant queens as well.”

“Are they not just opposite sides of the same coin?”

“Maybe. But at least she wouldn’t be blatantly making a show of which gender she’d prefer I wind up with,” I mutter.

Dad reaches out and drags his thumb over the edges of my forehead. He’s always been the more affectionate one, but that isn’t saying much. Mom hasn’t hugged me since I was a little girl. I doubt she even remembers how. Dad being a huggerdoesn’t mean he enjoys my company all that much, so really, I could do without the empty affection.

“You know how she is, Bryce,” he says, stepping back.

I realize I’ve been dismissed and grit my teeth, passing him on my way to the backyard. The lack of family photos on the white walls and shelves should make me sad, but it just . . . doesn’t anymore. I don’t have any photos of them in my house, so why should they have to have any in theirs?

I’m incredibly aware of the weight of Dad’s stare on my back until I turn and it’s gone. He doesn’t follow after me. He never has. Mom can be cruel to both of us, but for some reason, I’m the only one who won’t stand there and let it happen. It’s always been this way. I resent my dad for it sometimes.

From my side of the patio doors, I can see Jean and Mom sitting at the patio table, a kettle and tower of fancy fucking pastries resting between them. The teacup in front of Jean is more than likely topped to the rim with tea and honey. Probably cream too. I crinkle my nose and join them.

“Your mother was telling me about your passion for stocks? Is that true?” Mom asks, her cup poised at her mouth.

“Ah, yes. It’s a newer hobby for me. Something to kill the time.”

I hover by the doors, not letting them know I’ve stepped out yet. This conversation is exactly the one I thought they’d be having.

“I suspect you don’t have a lot of that with your career, right?”

Jean smiles bashfully at her. “Oh, I make the time for my favourite things.”

Her cheeks tint with a soft pink that makes me move toward them, done watching. The last thing I want is to see them continuing to . . . flirt?

Fuck’s sake.

“You started without me,” I state bluntly.

They both turn to face me, and Mom gets up instantly, takingher cup with her. Jean jumps up and pulls the chair closest to him out from the table.

“Just waiting for you,” he says.

I reluctantly take the seat and push it in before he can. “What were you talking about?”

“Jean was telling me about his interest in the stock market. Have you ever thought about investing, Bryce?” Mom asks pointedly.

I meet Jean’s waiting stare. “No. I’ve always hated numbers.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. They aren’t for everyone,” he says a bit too quickly, face growing a bit weary.

“My only hobby is tattooing. Do you have any ink?”

He blanches. “No. I don’t, actually.”

“What a shame.”

The air grows awkward as neither of us speaks, and I think I enjoy the silence more than I did the conversation. Mom fiddles with her teacup, a nail tapping along the edge. Her stare is hot and angry on my face, but I ignore it.

---