Page 32 of Mastered By Bliss

The TV blares inside.A basketball game, from the sounds of it.

I hold up my fist to knock, but Peter’s loud voice from inside stops me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.I’ll do it when I’m goddamn good and ready!”

My mom’s voice comes out just as sharp.“You never do a damn thing around here, and it’s all me.”

“Then fucking leave!I don’t care.”

A cupboard slams.I jump reflexively.

After that, silence.My mom’s silence.Peter’s.The two silences hang oppressive in the air, like the stench of roadkill.

Thisis a marriage?Thisis love?

It’s exactly what I was heading toward, with Mick.If things hadn’t happened at that auction with Dmitri and Gage…would I have stayed forever, accepting the twisted “love” Mick offered?

With this example I grew up with, it’s no wonder I’m fucked up and afraid.

I stand on the front porch for so long without knocking, I’m worried Lauren or the other Ironwood bodyguards are going to check on me.So I spin back around and return to the car.

Lauren doesn’t ask questions.She deserves a two-hundred-percent raise for that alone.

I stare out the window at the darkening neighborhood.I spent my formative years in that shitty environment.My mom kept saying, “It’s marriage.For better or worse.”But is it?All I want, right in this moment, is to rush home into Gage and Dmitri’s arms.

That should tell me something, I think.

I wish I knew what the hell that something is.

10

Dmitri

Family lunch turns out to be just me, Dani, and our grandfather.

“It’s been quite some time since I had my favorite grandchildren over,” Granddad remarks from his favorite armchair.

Neither Danica nor I put much weight on “favorite grandchildren” because he’s always said the same thing to Rachel and Patrick.Often in front of the other set of grandchildren.The conclusion we arrived at, years ago, is that he hasfourfavorite grandchildren.

So we sit in his fine living room and eat.We talk about nothing, really.I try to talk him out of the sports car he wants to buy.Some modern abomination.

“A classic Mustang,” I argue, “is classic for a reason.It’s timeless.”

“It’s a fuel drain.”He sips his coffee, raising his bushy gray eyebrows at me in challenge.

The debate continues, with Danica looking up stats on her phone so she can take one side or the other.Eventually, we run out of arguments, and Danica and Granddad move to the chess table.

I close my eyes and lie on the couch, listening to the faint wooden clicks of the pieces moving.I never loved chess.I can play, but if I’m going to battle someone, I’d rather throw them down on a wrestling mat.

The doorbell rings.I sit up.The three of us look at each other.

I head toward the front door.“You expecting someone, Granddad?”

“No.”His brows draw down in concern.

“Are you expecting trouble?”I ask.

He shoots a cautious glance toward Danica.“No, why would I be?”

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