Page 120 of The Broker

I stared at the flowers, hating how pretty they were and that I couldn’t like them on principle. Did he think this made up for what he’d done?

While she stirred the spaghetti boiling in a large pot on the stove, my mom tried to make small talk. I was polite, answering her questions, but I didn’t engage at all in conversation.

“It doesn’t seem like you need my help,” I said. “Can I go back to my room until dinner?”

She asked it quietly. “So you can go back to moping?”

Irritation brewed inside me, but I kept it in check. “You know, I’m allowed to be upset. I had my heart broken.”

“You’re right.” She stopped what she was doing, and her expression was pained, as if she were trapped between a rock and a hard place. “I’m sorry you’re hurting. Your father is too.”

That was rich, because he’d played no small part in it.

She set the wooden spoon down so she could give me her full attention. “Honey, you need to talk to him.”

Frustration raised my gaze to the ceiling. “I’m not apologizing again. I already did it a bunch of times.”

At this point, if anyone needed to apologize, it was him, but I didn’t say that to her. After I’d spent the night crying over Noah, my tears had dried, and I’d made a plan for myself. I’d do as my parents asked and follow their rules, but I’d be completely disengaged.

I’d finally realized that while their safety net protected me, it also held me back. How could I live my own life if I wasn’t independent from them? I’d watched my friends sometimes fail or struggle, and it had been fucking bewildering to me—

Because I’dneverhad to experience that.

Things always worked out for me because my parents were there, ready to catch my fall or solve any of my problems. Even with the whole Zach fiasco, part of me had known deep down they’d probably take me back.

But their purse strings went both ways. I couldn’t take their help and then expect them to stay quiet about how I lived my life.

It was time to be a fucking adult and start doing things for myself.

“I’m not asking you to apologize.” My mother’s face softened. “I’m just asking you two to talk to each other. You used to be so close, and I hate this tension.” She sounded like she was nearly beside herself. “You know your father and I love you so much, Charlotte. Your happiness is the only thing that matters to us.”

I believed her, but I was too wounded to say anything. Yes, Noah had chosen to abandon me, but it was my father’s ultimatum that had rushed him into making that decision. So, while I wasn’t as mad at my father as I was at Noah, my dad wasn’t blameless.

My mom must have thought I was unconvinced, because her eyes began to water with tears. “Please talk to him. For me.”

I pushed away my emotions, trying to stay detached, and pulled in a breath to even myself out. “Okay.”

She nodded and sniffled, sucking back her tears. When she picked up the spoon and returned to stirring the spaghetti, her shoulders didn’t seem quite as heavy, like my agreement had lifted a weight off her.

I was glad she was relieved, but I didn’t see the point of talking to my dad. He was upset and stubborn, and in the unlikely event he saw reason and said all was forgiven, that he was okay with me dating Noah—it didn’t matter.

Noah didn’t want me.

Being with me was a waste of time, he’d said, after all.

His words had crushed me to the point it’d been hard to leave Warbler and walk to my car without sobbing. I spent a long time sitting in the driver’s seat of my Yaris, with tears rollingdown my cheeks, trying to figure out how it had all gone so wrong.

He’d warned you this would happen,a shitty voice reminded me.

When the tears drained out of me, it made room for anger to take its place. I’d needed to do something, to take back some control. It was stupid and maybe immature, but I wanted to act like the careless way Noah had tossed me aside hadn’t gotten to me.

It felt so fucking good to block his number and his socials, to pretend he didn’t exist. I didn’t want to see him again. To ever think about him again.

Too bad my mind and my heart wouldn’t let me.

The following evening before dinner, I tracked my dad down in the living room. The TV was on, but, as usual, he wasn’t paying any attention to it. His focus was on the tablet in his hands, reading his emails. When I approached and my shadow fell over him, he lifted his gaze and looked cornered.

“Do you have a minute?” I asked but didn’t wait for a response. I plopped down on the couch beside him.

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