Page 65 of Heartbreaker
Our families aren’t exactly…cohesive. No, I take that back; John’s mother isn’t cohesive withmyfamily. Or me.
When John called to invite her to Celestia for the holiday, she was quick to make an excuse for her planned absence. “Your grandmother can’t make the trip,” she said, but unfortunately for his mom, he’d already called Grandma Aggie, and she was over the moon.
I think Debra’s issue is me, but she’d never admit it. Or maybe she’s so engrossed in her tormented past that she fears her children might go through the same thing she did—a loveless marriage with a partner who held her hostage for over half her life—and she doesn’t want to get attached. Or maybe her concern for her elderly motheristhe reason she didn’t want to travel. Whatever it was, she always prefers to stay home, and anytime she’s forced to join us, she spends the majority of the time in quiet solitude.
“I figured you could use some fresh coffee, and my mother set aside a plate for you,” I say, extending the mug to her. Her only response is a curt smile. I sigh, placing the mug on the handcrafted table next to her, preparing to leave, but I don’t even make it two steps before the filter between my brain and my mouth disappears. “Do you hate me?”
Okay, maybe hate is a little extreme, but what other word should I use?
Debra glances up, looking even more annoyed than she did a moment ago, if that’s possible. When I don’t back down, she closes her book with a small huff and her long, bony fingers thread together in a tight knot on top of its deep turquoise-colored cover. “I don’thateyou, Savannah.”
“But you don’t like me.”
She sighs, briefly glancing down at her hands. “I think you’re just like the others. Only you’ve managed to stick around longer than they did.” What is that supposed to mean? “And you know, I find it peculiar, Savannah. You don’t have a ring on your finger, but—”
“Excuse me?”
“Remind me. How many years have you been dating my son? Four? And still nothing.” Debra rises from the couch, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Her brown eyes flicker down to my hands that clutch the now lukewarm mug. “And truthfully, I think that makes you…lucky.”
Lucky?
“You still have time to get out before it’s too late. Marriage is not everything it’s cracked up to be. It only brings out the worst in you…and your partner. It forces women to bend until they break, because that’s what society expects out of us. Men are nothing but liars and cheats, all of them.”
“Maybe in your experience, but not mine,” I say.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Your parents are living the perfect fairytale,” Debra says, with a slight scoff. “They’ve truly set you up to fail.”
“You know nothing about my family, and you don’t know your son. John is nothing like this father—”
“Wrong. He is exactly like his father.”
“Your son has done nothing but love and care for you. He’s made sure you have everything you need, everything you want. And you treat him like it’s his fault you’re in this situation. The only person to blame for your unhappiness, Debra, is you.”
Her laugh catches me off guard. “He really has his hooks in you so deep that you can’t see the truth. Or you refuse to. He’s controlling you, Savannah. He controls everything about you and your life. Mark my words, one day, you’re going to wake up and realize you’re trapped with no way out, not until he’s done with you.”
“Careful, Debra,” I say, with a tight smile. “Someone might think you’re jealous, maybe even a little worried that when he does put a ring on my finger, I’ll put a stop to the exploitation of your son.” Her eyes narrow into slits. “John isnothinglike his father, and you might know that if you took the time to get to know him, instead of pretending like every man is just another Leeland Cabot. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe you’re the problem?”
A soft gasp echoes the way her eyes widen.
Did I take it too far? Maybe, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, they need help preparing dinner. You’re welcome to join us, but I know being pleasant and present isn’t your strong suit. So, by all means, enjoy your solitude.”
Turning on my heel, I head back for the door because my mother, Grandma Aggie, and Ari are waiting for me. John joined Nash on a ride out to check on the cattle so my oldest brother could go pick up his girlfriend and former high school sweetheart, Amara. This will be her first official Williams family holiday since they started dating again before she and Crew join her family later. My father is out near the garage with the twins and Samuel, trying their hands at deep-frying turkeys. There is a lot to do if we want to eat before nine o’clock. I don’t have time for Debra’s pity party. If she wants to continue to confine herself to the corners of every room she’s in, trapped in her grief and despair, fine. But I’ll be damned if she’s going to drag her son down with her.
“Savannah.” Debra’s voice stills my hand as I grasp the doorknob. “For your sake, I hope you’re right about him.”
“Bird looks good, Pa,” Crew says, carrying in a large bowl filled to the brim with mashed potatoes—not the kind you get out of a bag, either, these are the real thing—and the matching gravy boat. The twins follow suit with dishes full of fresh brussels sprouts, squash, asparagus, and green bean casserole. Amara carries the macaroni and cheese she helped me make—her first attempt at making it from scratch. Nash holds the overflowing plate of stuffing—which might be the only thing prepared from a box—and the adjoining kitchen door for John. He brings the ham my mother made for Debra, since she doesn’t like turkey, along with cranberries, cranberry sauce, and candied yams to the table. Hot on his heels, Ariana tries to talk to her brother, but he ignores her the whole way, and her fiancé follows with the salad bowl and an eye roll.
John gives me a grateful smile when I lift the cranberries from his forearm. After he unloads the rest onto the table, he wraps his fingers around the base of my neck, pulling me in for a long kiss on my temple. “I love you,” he whispers.
“Brooks,” Ari says, interrupting us, and my boyfriend sighs. “Why won’t you—”
“Ariana,” he snaps, pulling away from me.
Nash meets my gaze across the table, slowly setting down the dish in his hands. My brother glances briefly at John, then back at me, and I shake my head.
Stay out of it, Nash.
