The week’s been a disaster, but what if Uncle Dima isright? If we talked instead of shuffling around each other, things could get better. They will get better.
It’s not divorce or death for us. Only marriage.
A union.
Mom leans back in her chair. Her blonde hair is swept up into a ponytail, her bony chin angling as she studies me.
She reaches out a hand, her fingers skimming my cheek before I jerk away.
“What is wrong, Maxie?” she asks softly.
“Did you hit my wife?”
She pouts, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leaning over the table. “Where is this coming from?”
“Mom.”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Don’t lie.”
Her frown deepens. “I do not know why you’re treating me in such a way.”
“Why did you slap my wife?”
“Is that what she said?”
We stare at one another. A fake scandalous expression cuts across her face. I remain impassive, refusing to give in.
She shrugs, picking a different tactic. “People are so sensitive these days.”
“Russet’s not coming to lunch anymore.”
She waves her hand, caring less.
“You’ll never come into contact with Russet unless I’m there.”
She rolls her eyes.
“And I’ll go out of my way to avoid you at all costs.”
My mother’s eyes are crystal clear as they search my face.
“You already lost Roma.” I dig the knife deeper, disgusted by my mom.
She hisses under her breath, losing control for a moment. “Do not blame me for your brother! That was all your father’s fault.”
Rage sparks in her eyes along with something else. Despair.
I wish I could care.
“This one’s not on him.”
She falls back in her seat. “So you choose her, over your own mother.”
“You forced my hand the moment you laid hands on her. Never again, Mother. Never again.”
I leave her at the table.
