My Rebound (On My Own #2) - Carrie Ann Ryan Page 0,7

than I could ever be. My parents had met when they were far too young, and my mother had gotten pregnant with dear old me. I hadn’t had any say in the matter, of course, but I had ended up being born outside of London, where we had lived for most of my life. My parents had moved me across the pond ten years ago to finish university in America—where my mother was from—and I hadn’t really understood it at the time. I still didn’t, but we were closer to her family, and I didn’t mind having a connection to both sides of my world. I just didn’t know where I would go after school. Would I go back to the UK, where my father’s family was? Where my parents still spent half their time? Or would I stay here near my mother’s family, finding my place in a country where my accent wasn’t too familiar, and people thought I was interesting? I tended to blend in back in my home country, at least that’s what I told myself. My mother said that could never happen, but that was mothers for you. They always thought the best of their children.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to my first home where the walls still spoke, and everything seemed so dreary. Not because of the weather or the people, but from the memories that never seemed to fade away.

Wow. I was far too melancholic for my own good today.

“I don’t understand why we’re here. You can never get a decent cuppa in Denver,” my father grumbled, looking down at his teacup. His lips twitched in a smile as he said it, the refrain familiar.

I had added a splash of milk to mine, just to see what my father would do. I liked tea any way I could get it, but if anybody touched my cup and put it near a microwave, I would never forgive them. There were electric tea kettles for a reason. If you couldn’t use a teapot on a stove, find a tea kettle.

That was one thing I never understood about Americans.

“Anyway, darling,” my mother said, smiling. She had kept her American accent, and since she was in Colorado, she always said that she had no accent as that was the epitome of being a Coloradan. I hadn’t understood until I moved here and spoke to the locals. But every once in a while, she added a bit of a twist at the end of her vowels and consonants and sounded more like my father’s sister, with a touch of an accent. I loved her so freaking much. I just wished that I got to see her more often.

“Your mother and I asked you to dinner while we were in town to talk to you.” I looked at my dad and then at my mom, frowning. We usually went out to tea when they were in town since they spent most of their time at the London house these days, but something about my dad’s tone worried me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your father and I…” my mother began and then cleared her throat.

She gave my father a pointed look, and he sighed.

“Your mother and I have decided to get a divorce. We feel it’s the best thing for both of us, and we wanted to let you know in person rather than have you hear about it from someone else.”

I blinked and looked between them, confused. “What?”

“No need to raise your voice, son,” my father said before he lowered his. “We probably should’ve done this at home, but we always go out to tea when we’re in town, and we didn’t want you to worry.”

I looked between them and swallowed hard before looking down at my teacup. My chest constricted, and I tried to keep up. My parents seemed the epitome of happiness. They were the reason I knew that marriage could work, even though most of my friends had parents who were divorced. It didn’t make any sense. “You’re saying this, just like that? After how many years of marriage? You’re just ending it?”

“Your father and I had twenty years,” Mum said. “It’s time for us to move on in our journeys.” There was something she wasn’t saying. I saw it in her eyes, but she didn’t want me to make a scene. God forbid we made a fucking scene. My parents were getting a divorce. It wasn’t like I even lived with them. I had my own