Page 79 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“I only meant––”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt.

“No, Madelyn,” my mom clarifies. “I meant––”

“So, what’s new with you guys?” I ask, cutting her off again.

She sighs. “Nothing out of the ordinary. How are you? How was Penny’s birth? Are you healing all right? Getting used to the gift of motherhood?”

“Gift?” A scoff slips out of me before I can help it.

“Pardon?”

“I’m surprised you called it agift,” I note, reaching for my butter knife.

Milo clears his throat beside me.

I take a deep breath and rest my hand on the cream-colored table cloth. It’s not like I would actually stab her. I just need something to throttle.

“You wouldn’t call motherhood a gift?” she asks, oblivious to how close I am to snapping. I’m not surprised, though. She’sneverbeen good at reading me.

With a syrupy sweet smile, I explain, “When I showed up on your front porch a little while ago, you were singing a bit of a different tune.”

Milo grips my knee beneath the table and squeezes softly. Hell, I can almost hear the silent warning as his calloused fingers brush against my bare skin.

Warning. Warning. Careful. Careful.

I take another slow, steady breath, praying it’ll be enough to keep me grounded, though I doubt it’ll work for long. They’re probably already anticipating a temper tantrum from me. Hell, maybe they even made a bet to see how long I’d last until I caused a scene.

Or maybe I’m being unfair.

Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. I’m still pent-up with guilt and adrenaline from the car, which is not so great for my nerves. Throw in my overbearing, overly-critical parents, and I’m ready for World War III.

The worst part is, I know I should be used to this by now. But I’m not. I want them to like me. I want them to like Milo. I want their approval. I want Penny to have grandparents who love her.

I want a lot of things.

And I hate how I’m too weak for the truth.

I’ll never have any of those things.

“You’re right,” my mother whispers, her quiet voice breaking the silence, her face ghostly pale. “We were wrong, Madelyn. We’re so sorry for making you feel like you didn’t have our support.”

“Making mefeellike I didn’t have your support?” I counter.

Screw Milo’s silent warning to tread lightly.

“Ididn’thave your support. Period.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, her hands raised in defense. “You’re completely right, Madelyn. You didn’t, and it’s on us. Isn’t it, Peter?” With glassy eyes, my mother turns to her right and looks at my dad as a gorgeous waitress with a pen and pad of paper approaches the table.

“Hi. I’m Lainey. I’ll be your waitress for the evening. What can I get you?”

“We’ll both have water,” my dad returns, waving his finger between him and my mom.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll have a Diet Coke, please,” I add, though I don’t bother to pretend I’m enjoying this moment, unlike the people sitting across from me.

Heaven forbid we don’t keep up the façade of a happy little family.

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