Page 144 of The Games We Play
Finally, the front door chimed, followed by the sound of it slamming shut. Footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor—quick and purposeful.
Lizzie appeared in the doorway, her stance guarded, arms crossed tight over her chest. Classic Lizzie—always braced for a fight.
“You said it was urgent,” she said. “What’s going on? You wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You and me—we’ve always been like cats and fucking dogs.”
She nodded once. “It’s just how it is between us.”
“No,” I countered, shaking my head. “It’s howwe’velet it be. But I’m done with that. I’m tired, Lizzie. Tired of being angry. Tired of feeling bitter all the damn time. It’s exhausting.”
Her brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across her face before she quickly masked it. Neutral. Detached. But I saw the shift.
“I’ve been holding onto this shit for years,” I continued. “Toward Dad. Toward Mom. And yeah, toward you, too.”
She studied me for a beat, suspicious. “Why now?”
I leaned back in the chair, letting it recline slightly, both feet planted on the ground. “A lot has happened. Lately, especially. It made me realize I’ve been dragging around stuff that I don’t need to carry anymore.”
I didn’t expect some big, emotional breakthrough from her. This wasn’t a Hallmark moment. But this was for me. For my own peace.
If she wanted to meet me halfway—great. If not, at least I know I tried.
“Me too,” she said quietly. “I’ve spent so much of my life feeling that way. Angry. Bitter. Like that was the only way to survive in this family.” She laughed, but it was a sad, broken sound. “Matching energy became too easy. It was the only way I knew how to live.”
She meant living with Mom. I saw that. I felt that because that’s how it was living with Dad, too.
I nodded, a crooked grin tugging at my mouth. “We’re definitely products of our parents.”
She took a breath, stepping further into the room and leaning against the desk. “I came here a bit heavy. Didn’t really give you the space to explain yourself, talk about the bar. I’m sorry for that.”
“You did,” I said. “I really wish you had talked to me about what you knew.”
Lizzie’s gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again. “Yeah. Me too. I thought I was doing what was best for the bar.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why do you care so much? Why not just let it all go to hell?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact. “Because of you. Some part of me knew if it all crumbled, everythingyou’dbuilt would fall with it. And I didn’t want that. Not really.”
I blinked at her, stunned into stillness.
“I know you were the one holding this place together,” she added. “Dad sure as hell didn’t. I remember how things were when we were kids. It was always you and Mom cleaning up his messes. Me? I stayed in the background. Just watched.”
I remembered being eight years old, helping Mom mop up spilled beer and rage while she cursed under her breath about Dad. About the bar. About how she couldn’t keep living like this.
The divorce hadn’t been vicious, at least not legally. But the wounds they left behind were deep and loud—clearly echoes that never quite faded.
“Lizzie,” I said after a moment, my voice softer. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
She nodded slowly. “Neither do I.”
“Let’s call a truce,” I said, holding out my hand.
Lizzie hesitated only a second before slipping hers into mine. Her grip was firm, familiar. I gave her hand a squeeze, and she returned it without hesitation.
“Here’s to growing up,” she said with a smirk, “and not acting like such fucking children.”
“Deal,” I replied, matching her smile.
