Page 14 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
“Yes, James. Prince Charming. As I was saying, now that you’ve found him, we can put all this flower shop nonsense behind us and get on with the more important business of wedding planning!” She pulls a hankie from her sleeve and dabs at her eyes, sniffing dramatically. “Oh, this calls for a toast!”
No, mother, this calls for a mutiny.
I stand. I wipe the remaining wine from my chin. I place my napkin on the table. “Eric and I are not getting married.”
The room comes to a screeching halt. Nina, who has just arrived from the kitchen with a wet towel, turns around and dodders out.
“Babe,” says Eric, hurt.
“Not anytime soon, anyway, Eric. There are a lot of things we need to talk about first. And a little news flash: this isn’t the nineteenth century. My father’s blessing is nice, but it isn’t necessary. I’ll marry whomever I want. Probably someone who respects me enough to consult with me and ask my feelings on the matter before he makes a dramatic announcement to my family.”
“Now, Chloe,” my father says in his deepest, most commanding courtroom voice, “let’s not get hysterical.”
If he thinks this is hysterical, he ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
“We’re simply thinking of what’s best for your future—”
“You haven’t asked what I think is best for my future—”
“You haven’t shown great intelligence in that regard—”
“That’s so unfair! Just because my choices aren’t what you’d make, that doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot, or a failure for that matter—”
“You’re upsetting your mother—”
“We’re even, then, because she’s upsetting me!”
“Enough!” My father pounds his fist on the table so hard all the glassware jumps, falling back with a clatter.
Silence descends. The grandfather clock in the corner begins a doleful chime.
It’s eight o’clock on a Sunday evening in January, and I am finally at my wit’s end.
I look at my parents. My mother, swathed in silk and pearls, my father, lord of the manor, master of all he surveys. I know these flawed but genuinely good people love me. They have provided me with a lifetime of constant—if somewhat distant—affection, have gladly paid for my extravagant education, have done everything in their power to ensure I’ve had every advantage in life. Yet what they don’t know about
me could fill volumes.
The terrible truth is that they don’t want to know. They want their dream of the perfect daughter, the obedient, sweet-natured girl who marries the perfect man and attends all the right parties and knows how to manage a household staff.
I am not that girl. Or, if I was, I’m not any longer.
Quietly, I say, “I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not your baby anymore. I’m sorry if the person I’ve become is a disappointment to you, but this is who I am. If you’re not willing to accept me this way, then I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for a while.” I pause, look at Jamie’s face, at the gleam of approval in his eye, and add, “And by the way, your son is gay. Stop being such assholes about it.”
The following silence is so total, it’s almost deafening. Into it, James begins slowly to clap.
I turn and leave the table, and let myself out the front door.
Santa Monica Boulevard is surprisingly busy for a cold Sunday night. Then again, I’ve never walked down the boulevard on a cold Sunday night, so I really have nothing to compare it to.
Eric drove us to my parents’ in Beverly Hills for dinner. Walking back to my apartment in Hollywood would take weeks. Or at least a few hours, which in walking time is the same thing. I have my handbag and cell phone, so I could call Uber, or even hail one of the taxis regularly passing by, but I need to walk for at least a little while. I need to clear my head.
I need to calm down before I get home, where I know Eric will be waiting for me.
My mother’s final cry of “What’s gotten into her, Thomas?” as I marched out of the house is still echoing in my brain.
Not what, mother. Who.
I can’t get him out of my head. This new rebelliousness, the anger, the cursing . . . it all started when my life collided with A.J. Edwards. He sent me into a tailspin I haven’t recovered from.
