Page 63 of Under Locke & Key
“It’s for an escape room. I’m collaborating on and designing an escape room, okay.”
She gives one dry chuckle and my stomach drops.
“You left a six-figure income in Washington D.C. at a company you’ve been at for nearly a decade because of someman? Slunk off to god knows where in Maryland to lick your wounds, likely taking the first job you could. I thought I raised you better than that.”
Acid eats up my esophagus as she dismisses it all, boils it down to my weakness.Myinability to put up with it like I should have been able to.
“I’m putting myself first, Mom. Lakin-Cole didn’t give a damn about me and neither did anyone there.Thisis exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t get it—would just consider me emotional and weak for leaving, but I’m not.”
“So your solution is to be selfish? Your father and I worked ourselves to the bone at the same company for thirty plus years to pay for you to be great, all the way up to now still paying off your school—to support you when you were starting out, only for you to throw it away.”
My breath gets stuck somewhere between my ribs, chest achingly tight. “I’m not throwing anything away. Just because I’m not on the path you picked doesn’t mean it’s the wrong thing. I’m still able to pay my half of the student loans and the rest of my bills. Besides, no one stays at one company for thirty years any more. Corporate culture isn’t what it was in the nineties!”
Bryce’s frown is so severe that a line cuts in between his brows. I never seen him angry like this before and despite the rage radiating off him at my expense, he moves my hair back with a gentle touch so he can plant a soft kiss on the top of my shoulder. His hold on me tightens and I can feel the shiver running through him as he tries to balance between supportive and righteously tense. It’s a study in caring—a juxtaposition that I never knew I needed until now.
“Why can’t you just be happy that I’m happy? Does that mean nothing to you?” My voice has lost its forcefulness, the quiet broken part of me asking what I’ve been afraid to for so long.
“Of course your happiness is important to me. I just don’t want you to make a huge mistake.”
“It’s my mistake to make. Which, for the record, this isnota mistake. But even if it was, it’s not up to you. I’m a grown woman who can make choices for herself and I have kept myself amiable, and proper, and never stepped a toe out of line because disappointing anyone feels like the worst thing in the world. But I can’t keep living to appease everyone else. Including you, Mom.” My voice has risen, emotion leaking through in wobbles and breaks on the words and I hate that I can’t keep myself unaffected, hate knowing that she won’t accept this kind of reaction.
There’s only silence on the other end and I try to picture what this must be like for her but I can’t. Because I’ve never fought her on something like this before. I’ve folded every time. The closest was when I insisted on D.C. both for college and after, but I was able to convince her with the numbers. Showing her my worth on a piece of paper, to someone’s bottom line.
This. This she won’t understand. Elizabeth Mackey doesn’tdochoices driven by emotion. She’s meticulous and careful. She thinks everything through, all the diverging paths and possibilities. And I’m included in that. Tucked into the planshehas deemed best, without asking anyone else what they think.
“Well. Sounds like you have it all figured out.” She’s got that tone, the one that lets me know she’s exasperated and about to shut down. “We’ll talk again when you’re less emotional. I can’t discuss things with you when you’re like this.”
The last statement throws me over the edge and my fear and sorrow fall to the wayside as anger surges forth.
“Don’t bother. I’m done hiding my emotions because you’re not willing to accept them. And done living my life for you like I owe you something.Youadopted me. I didn’t ask for this and I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove to you that it was worth it. ThatIwas worth it. I can’t do it anymore.”
I wait. Perched on the edge of uncertainty, and hope, and heartbreak. I wait for her to say the words I’ve aspired to my whole life.
“All I’ve ever done was love you and take care of you. But fine. If that’s how you feel then I’ll leave you to your mistake.”
The call cuts out and I set my phone back onto the side table with a gentleness that belies my current state. Then I hear him against my ear, echoing the words I soothed him with yesterday. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
And I realize that I’m sobbing, shaking against him, my hands freezing despite the summer morning. I turn in the cradle of his arms and bury my face against his chest. Crying for me now and the little girl I was, and the hole in my chest I’ve had all this time hoping she would fill it if only I was good enough.
“It hurts,” I manage between sobs.
“I know. I’m here.” Bryce envelops me, until the sunlight from the morning isn’t visible and all I can see and feel is him. I love that he’s not trying to fix this. He’s not trash talking my mom or trying to cheer me up with a misplaced joke.
Bryce holds me while I cry, just letting me have this moment, this feeling I’ve been hiding and keeping contained for so long. When he says “It’s okay,” I know it’s not him trying to convince me that the situation is fine. He’s giving me permission to fall apart, there to catch me just like he promised, though this was never the way I pictured it happening when I made that statement.
Minutes pass, my crying calming to the occasional catch in my breathing—sticky tears on my face and his chest.
“I got my gunk all over you, I’m sorry.” My nose is stuffy from the force of my crying and he just leans me back to look me in the eye.
Brushing a strand of hair out of my face behind my ear, he wipes away the tear tracks on my cheek. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, you’ve seen the whole gamut of emotion from me. Scared off yet?” I ask it as jokingly as I can but my chest aches, hoping against hope that I’m not too much for this man. Because as tentative as things are between us, Bryce has carved himself into me, just the tiniest nick but permanent in how he’s changed me and the way I think.
Six months ago I wouldn’t have dreamed about telling my mom off. Six months ago I’d still been languishing in a thankless job and picking up people in bars. Six months ago I kept myself so compartmentalized that it felt like no one knew me or cared to.
Bryce Dawson is a rogue wave—sneaking up on me and upending me in the space of mere moments. A ripple on the horizon that I never saw coming, and now I’m not sure which way is up. I’m content to let him rock me back to shore. Wherever that ends up being remains to be seen.
“Never. The ways you scare me have nothing to do with you letting yourself be human and everything to do with how you leave me off balance whenever I’m around you,” he says.
