Page 114 of Mangled Memory
She swats at the air as if swiping away my silly thoughts, and I see red. “Your father is protective. He always has been. He dotes on me and will go out of his way to make sure I’m okay. He and Christian are alike in that regard. He hates that Christian wraps you in a bubble, but only because he’s on the outside looking in.”
Yeah, that’s not it, but we’ll pretend.
“So long as you and I are okay.” I take another bite of my salad, noting that she doesn’t miss the emphasis I put on the two of us and not the collectivewe. “You know, he’s only going to have Ci left if he keeps this up and Cian isn’t doing much to be available for his control. He may be the oldest, and it may be his livelihood, but he’s not going to stick around if his brother and sister, and potentially his mother, are taking abuse at the hands of the same man. If you think he is, you don’t know Ci.”
“Don’t tell me I don’t know my own son, Ayla.” She sets her fork down with enough force it clangs on her plate. “I most certainly know more than you think. And you’re missing a key piece of this whole thing. I can’t say. I won’t, but you should know that pushing and pushing and pushing will fracture more than can ever be set right.”
“Mom, I’m not the one pushing. The pressure is coming from one place. We can agree that there’s no repair when the fissures are under such tension that relief will only come from a break.” I take a sip of my water.
“You can’t lay this all at your father’s feet.”
“Should I lay it at yours?”
She blanches. Speechless, she stares at me as if she’s never seen me before.
“I love you. At some point, I want kids. I want them to know you and I want you to know them. I can’t say the same thing about Dad. I don’t trust that his anger won’t be triggered by who knows what. I have bruises in the shape of his hand on my arm. My eye socket is yellow from being slammed into a wall—” I stare at her. “In. Your. Home. You think I’d sign my kids up for that? No way in hell. And God forbid something remind him of my husband. It’s bad enough that looking at his own daughter sparks that kind of rage. Can you imagine if they look like Christian?”
She swallows painfully as what little color she has drains from her face. Her hand shakes as she reaches for her water glass.
“So my question is, do you want to be a part of our lives in a manner I’m willing to offer? Or are you going to drag him in too? Because, right now, from everything I see, that’s a hard no.”
“Ayla.” Her voice quivers. “I so desperately want to meet your children.” A lone tear rolls down her cheek. “And Ci’s. And Liam’s.”
“And?”
She shakes her head as another tear trails the first. She pats it away gently with her napkin and plasters a fake smile on her lips. “One day, darling. One day.”
What the hell does that mean? And why is she wistful one moment and hell-bent on us not baiting Dad the next?
Our conversation returns to the banal, and we finish lunch and part ways. I have no clue what just happened.
I’m wandering toward my car when my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Ayla-girl.”
God, I love my brother.
“Hey, Li. What’s going on?”
“Can you meet me at Cian’s?”
I look at my watch, though I have no clue why. I have nowhere I need to be and no reason not to go. “When?”
“As soon as you can get here.”
“You’re scaring me, Liam.”
“It’s not good, but there’s no need to be scared. We’ll be here when you get here.” He clicks off.
Me: I promised I’d check in. I had lunch with Mom and am heading to Ci’s. Liam called saying he needed to talk to us. I wanted you to know.
I hit send and am nearly to my Audi when my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Princess. What’s going on?”
