Page 107 of Ruling Scar
“A few months back,” I admit.
“How exactly?”
“Um, we just started texting.”
“Started texting.” She slams an onion onto the chopping board, her brown eyes glimmering as she meets mine. She can’t even hide her rage and the knife swings around as she talks. “Is this some sort of generational thing? That’s how you two decided to date. You started texting.”
“You know I’ve always known Elijah. We were friends.”
“Friends?” She points the knife at my scar. “Is that what friends do?”
“Mamma. We were kids. It was an accident.”
She mumbles under her breath. Shaking her head, like I’m foolish.
“Why do you act like it was something else? He didn’t mean to stab me with a butcher knife.”
“No, but he certainly knows how to handle one. Now and then.”
“That’s not fair. He was thirteen. Why don’t you ever get mad at William? He’s the idiot that grabbed the knife in the first place.”
“And who’s the idiot who went up to the kids waving knives around?”
My scar tingles but so do my hands as ice frosts my skin. All this time she let me get off scot-free when she really blamed me. I’m the idiot who didn’t know better. Then and now.
“Mamma,” but nothing follows.
She begins to chop again. “I raised you better than this.”
“You taught us to follow our hearts.”
“And the sneaking around. Did I teach you that too?” Her face tightens. “Huh? ’Cause I’m wondering why my sweet little daughter is sneaking around. Lying to her family. Now doesn’t that sound like Elijah Zimin.”
“I. . .” Lied by admission and can only stand there while she vents.
But this isn’t her normal venting. Her movements are choppy, her shoulders rigid. Barely concealed disappointment. Disappointment in me.
“You know I’ve spent my whole life protecting my daughters. I don’t deserve to be lied to.”
We should end the conversation. Let everyone process before moving forward.
Mom’s too brittle for that. “So do you live with him now?”
“No.” But I get her point. I’m never around anymore.
“Sounds like you’re building a life together.”
“It’s new,” I mumble. But yes. I am building a life.
“What was the plan, Lennie? Let us think it was Leopold the whole time. I guess we’d be lucky if we got a wedding invitation.”
“Mom.” Her dramatics make Adeline’s antics look like nothing.
“God, Lennie.” She smashes the knife hilt into the island. “How?”
How what? How can I be with Elijah? How can I stand here and tell her? Or how can I put someone before her?
“I want to be with him,” I simply say.
