“Yeah.” I roll my lips. “I’d’ve left earlier, but my mother severed all communication between us, so I thought he just didn’t want me, you know.”
Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable with oversharing and turn to head back toward the bathroom when Kenneth stops me.
“I’m sorry, man.”
I turn to face him. “What are you sorry for?” He already said that, and I don’t know why he keeps mentioning that.
“That you only got to spend one year with your old man.” His voice is coarse.
I nod and hurry to the bathroom. That’s gotta be one of the top things I’m sorry about, too—I wish I didn’t listen to my mother and had gone to find my dad before she got to me too much. I’ve always been a difficult, rebellious kid, but she suppressed all the feelings I might have had, and I never learned how to deal with my emotions.
She has this ability to destroy a person just by looking at them, and she often used it on me just as my brain was developing. I guess I can ‘thank’ her for contributing to what I am now.
She used to hide me in my room like a freak whenever guests visited. Even during dinners with her family, she didn’t utter a word to me, hating my very presence.
I still don’t know why she kept me and didn’t just ship me away to my dad. I guess it was a power play, because when I met my dad, he told me he’d been trying to contact me for years, and she prevented it every single time. Eventually, she even filed a police report, and he was banned from coming to the country.
Since I came to meet him a month—because that’s how long it took me to find him in the States—after I turned eighteen, I haven’t been back to England because of her, even though I miss the country and its great fuckin’ beer.
She calls me from time to time when she needs something from me—usually money—and that’s about it. She comes from money too, but her spendings know no limit. I’ve stopped picking up the phone when any British number shows up on myscreen because every minute talking to her brings me closer to the edge of insanity.
Yeah, that’s a bad way to finish a day of small victories.Fuck you, mother.
Chapter Four
ARCHIE
We drive to the house in Kenneth’s police cruiser, and it’s weird to be in the passenger seat and not in the back of it. I acted out a lot when I was a teenager and often found myself in trouble with the police. The type of trouble that gets you booked overnight.
To tell the truth, I’m a little nervous, and I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m some teenager meeting my girlfriend’s parents—which I’d never done, by the way—but I’d imagine the feeling would be the same. Maybe it’s because Alex is like family to me, and I’ve never met anyone from his real family besides Kenneth. And we served many years together. Or maybe it’s because I don’t actually know what a normal family looks like.
So, when Alex called and told me that I was invited to dinner at his parents’ house, I took time with my wardrobe. And that’s precisely why I’m currently feeling like a total moron, wearing a dark-gray button-down and black pants while Kenneth wears comfy pants and a sweater.
When we park, he turns to face me.
“I apologize for anything that might happen here.” He nods at the house with a slight wince.
I laugh. “You don’t have any hope for your family?”
“I love them, but I stopped expecting normal meals a long time ago. So yeah, sorry for everything in advance.” He sighs resignedly.
I take in the beautiful, homey house. White brick covers the front of the building, and a cute bench sits next to the burgundy front door. The perfectly shaped bushes lining the sidewalk are covered in snow. The front yard is adorned with Christmas decorations, and electric candles twinkle in every single window. It looks like the perfect home to me, so I don’t know what Kenneth is talking about.
“Whatever happens, it can’t be worse than mine. Trust me.” I get out of the car and look around.
The neighborhood is just as perfect: Christmas trees and Santas everywhere.
“You might eat your words later.” Kenneth draws my attention to him. Leaning against his cruiser, he sends me a funny look. I just smile and gesture to go inside.
“It’s cold here. Let’s go.”
“I don’t see you shivering.” His eyes narrow, and I laugh again.
Fuckin’ cop.
“Let’s go.” I keep laughing as we walk toward the house, and I feel his stare on my back, assessing me.
Once we’re at the door, he whips it open, stepping inside. “Mom, we’re here!” he yells.
