Page 119 of You Were Never Not Mine

All I can do is sit in misery with August, who’s observing everything with that narrowed gaze of his. The one that tells me he’s judging everything they’re doing and saying, not that I’m surprised. Iris and Brooks are wrapped up in the baby, trying to get her to calm down when she starts to fuss. Mom doesn’t even acknowledge them, only when they leave the room does she say something.

“Who’s the baby?”

“That’s my niece,” August answers, his voice smooth. “My sister’s daughter.”

“Oh right. I saw you had a sister.” That’s all she says, ditching us, including Summer, so she can wander around the room again, examining every detail. “How much was this?” Mom pats the back of an overstuffed chair and I wither at how vulgar she’s acting, asking about the price of the furniture. I want to die every time she opens her mouth and I don’t know how many times August has squeezed my hand in reassurance, but it’s a lot.

By the time we’ve moved into the formal dining room for dinner, I ask for an alcoholic beverage—any kind of beverage,as long as it has liquor in it, because I know it’s going to be a long night.

“You probably shouldn’t have a drink,” Mom tells me from where she’s seated directly across from me. I can barely see her thanks to the abundant flower arrangement sitting on the table between us. “You’re only eighteen.”

Like I don’t remember how old I am. “I’m not going anywhere so I’ll be fine.” I smile up at the server who’s taking our drink requests. “Thank you.”

He moves on and Mom leans over the table, her gaze fiery when it lands on me. “Sinclair, what in the world is wrong with you?”

I glance around to make sure no one is paying us any attention before I answer her. “Nothing. What’s your problem?”

Oh God, I sound like I’m fifteen and fighting with my mom about the length of my skirt or whatever. Why do I always revert to that version of me when we argue?

“What’s my problem? First of all, you’re not twenty-one, meaning it’s illegal for you to drink. Second, you are defying my wishes, and since you seem to have forgotten, I am yourmother.” She lifts her chin, trying to stare down her nose at me and failing miserably. “And you shall do what I say.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re being?—"

“Do we have a problem here?”

I go still at the tone of August’s voice, taking a deep breath before I turn to look at him. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine,” he practically snaps, glancing over at my mother. “Why are you yelling at Sinclair again?”

“I’m her mother. I can yell at her if I want to.” Mom sounds indignant. And she’s treating me like a child when I’m an adult who doesn’t even live with her anymore.

“You’re in a stranger’s house, sitting at their table and about to eat dinner. If I were you, I’d tone it down a little,” August says to her.

The look on my mother’s face has me wanting to slide under the table. I’d sort of forgotten that look, but it all comes back to me now. Whenever I’d talk back to her—which wasn’t often—she’d fume. Her lips would thin and her nostrils would flare and it’s happening right now. She’s fuming mad at my—what do I call him? My boyfriend? My lover? Oh, that one would send her straight off the rails.

“And who are you to tell me how to treat my child?” Mom throws at him.

He stares at her for a moment, the entire table going quiet, and I hold my breath, dreading his answer. Almost looking forward to it too because I’ve never seen anyone talk to my mother like this before.

I kind of like it.

“Who am I? I am the man who’s going to marry your daughter one day, so watch how you speak to her.” He glares at her. “Got it?”

Oh God.

Chapter Fifty-Three

AUGUST

This woman—the mother of the woman I have fallen in love with—is an absolute nightmare. Who the hell does she think she is, speaking to Sinclair like she just did in front of my family? We’re practically strangers and she’s letting it all hang out, so to speak.

Sin warned me and I thought she was exaggerating, but apparently, she wasn’t at all. Her mother is awful. Her father though? He’s latched on to my dad and Brooks and they’re having a grand time talking about football and cars. I’d rather be in on their conversation than have to deal with Jennifer Miller, but I’m doing this for Sinclair. She needs someone to stand up for her.

And that someone is me.

“Just because you have more money than me doesn’t mean you can tell me how to talk to my child. I’ve been her mother for eighteen years and you’ve only just waltzed into her life,” Jennifer retorts, crossing her arms in front of her. Reminding me of a spoiled kid who isn’t getting their way. “Goodness, Sinclair. Are you really going to let him treat me this way? I amyour mother. You should show more respect toward your elders, young man.”

Getting chastised by this ridiculous woman isn’t what I planned for this evening. Someone needs to put her in her place. “And listening to you insult the woman I love isn’t showing much respect to your daughter, don’t you think? You are a guest in my home. You have no business talking to Sinclair like that.”

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