Page 24 of A Place Like You
When I glance over my shoulder, her eyes hold a complex expression that I struggle to comprehend. Is it pity? Understanding?
“We don’t have to rehash the past. I promise to maintain civility,” I assure her.
“I thought I knew what I was signing up for when I married him,” she confesses. Her voice trembles as she opens up. “He had a polite, shy, little three-year-old son, who I hoped would become like a son to me. I was ready to be your mom, not just a stepmother by name.”
Her revelation strikes me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me momentarily stunned. I pivot, fully facing her, my gaze locked onto hers, a silent plea for further elucidation. The air thickens with anticipation, pregnant with unspoken revelations.
“My marriage to your father was a disaster from the beginning,” she continues, her voice laced with a mix of pain and resignation. “I had no idea it was merely a marriage of convenience. He sought my father’s power, and my dad needed Eric’s money. I was a twenty-year-old, blindsided by a handsome and charming man. I was raised to obey my father at all costs and continued doing the same once I married.”
Confusion swirls within me as I try to comprehend the significance of her confession. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” she replies, her expression softening, offering a poignant smile tinged with sadness. “Your father prevented me from getting close to you. He claimed you had nannies to take care of you. I allowed him to manipulate and control all my relationships, including the one I could never have with you.”
“It was fine,” I offer a dismissive response, trying to downplay the impact of their actions.At some point during my childhood, I learned to live with my father’s apathy and the way other adults treated me.
I was just a convenient pawn. Father was a single father, but the outsider didn’t know that we barely interacted and he never gave two fucks about me.
“But it wasn’t fine. You deserved love, and instead of giving it to you, I allowed him to perpetuate his cruel decisions,” she asserts, her voice carrying the weight of regret. Her hand reaches out, gently squeezing my arm in a gesture of empathy for the boy she couldn’t love. “I’m sorry for not being the person you needed.”
“Believe me, it was okay,” I say dismissively. “You weren’t my mother.”
“No, it wasn’t okay,” she counters. “As an adult, I shouldn’t have let him be so cruel to you.” In the depths of her eyes, I catch a fleeting glimpse of remorse, a silent acknowledgment of missed opportunities and unfulfilled roles.
A mixture of gratitude and resignation floods through me as I pat her hand and step away from her grasp. “Thank you,” I offer, my voice filled with a bittersweet appreciation.
“Can we try?” she asks.
I furrow my brow, attempting to comprehend her request. “Try what?”
Her gaze meets mine, her eyes filled with earnestness. “You’re my sons’ brother. We’re going to be living here for several years. I’d like to get to know you, to become a family this time,” she suggests.
Any other day, I would have responded with defiance, uttering a simple “Fuck you” and walking away. But this time, something shifts within me. Skepticism momentarily yields to a glimmer of possibility. Maybe, just maybe, I could lower my defenses and allow her, along with my newfound siblings, into my life. After all, our father’s absence opens the door to something he never permitted us to be—a true family.
“That would be nice,” I simply say and add, “and thank you again for dinner.”
Her smile, like a gentle embrace, holds a warmth that resonates within me, thawing the iciness that had encased my heart for so long. Its genuine radiance cuts through the darkness, illuminating the path toward a newfound connection. “Please come more often. I always make enough food for everyone.”
I nod, a silent acknowledgment of her invitation, but as I step away, my mind becomes a whirlwind of questions. Thoughts tumble and collide, stirring a storm of uncertainty within me. I’m left wondering about her relationship with my father and hers with other men.
Has she always been trapped under the thumb of controlling, misogynistic men who denied her the chance to live her own life? Did my sisters grow up in the same oppressive environment?
My father was a terrible man, that much is clear, but with each passing day, I’m beginning to believe that he may have been the devil incarnate. Perhaps his legacy will continue to haunt us, and those criminals who took his life lie in wait, patient as vultures, biding their time until they find us, seeking retribution for his heinous deeds.
What if, by hiding in this seemingly peaceful town, we are merely prolonging the inevitable?
Chapter Fourteen
Drake
When I reach the cabin where I’m staying, Magnus and Callahan are already there. How did they get here so fast? The question should probably be, why are they here?
I left Donna’s place to get away from them. I shoot them a withering glare, the intensity of my irritation seeping into my words as they escape my lips. “What the fuck do you want?” The words burst out of me, laced with a sharp edge of irritation. I point at Magnus. “Head to your place and stay away.”
Sensing the crackling tension, Callahan takes a step forward, his movements deliberate and measured. “Magnus, our brother, is here just to hang out with me, since this is also my place. We plan on drinking the scotch we found in the cabinets earlier today. You want to join us by the fire pit?” His invitation is casual, carrying a touch of nonchalance that cuts through the charged atmosphere. It’s a deliberate attempt to defuse the escalating conflict between Magnus and me.
I shake my head, my refusal clear. The last thing I want is to spend more time with him or any other Thorndale. With a hint of finality, I say, “Enjoy your night,” and begin walking toward my room.
“We could build a cage and have you two fight until you work out your differences,” Callahan teases us with an absurd notion. His voice carries a hint of playfulness, daring us to consider his unconventional and absurd approach to fixing our differences.
