that they honestly believed they were doing the right thing. I didn't even know how many times I heard, We are doing this because we love you, Malcolm. You can’t expect us to stand by and watch while you throw your life away before I finally gave up and stopped trying to talk to her.
Now that we were at the house she’d rented, I just had to get through the next few hours and then when they left, I would, too. In this instance, the fact that I'd always done what they told me worked in my favor. I was sure they assumed I’d just stay if they told me to, but I had news for them, the old Trey, the one who didn’t have the courage to stand up for himself, was long gone. I left him behind when I looked in Gayle Moore’s eyes at that rally.
According to the bedside alarm clock, almost three hours had passed since I left the townhouse. Our townhouse. Even in the middle of this mess just thinking about it made me smile, until I remembered how scared Roman must be right now. He would have no way of knowing I was with my religious fanatic of a mother instead of my religious lunatic of a stalker. Man, I was starting to think these people were the ones who needed a little prayer and isolated-contemplation. I smiled again, imagining the look on my mother’s face if I told her I thought she needed to spend a little time with Jesus and think about her life choices.
Deep breath in…deep breath out. I looked at the boats out over the river and thought about all the times, as a child, I imagined being kidnapped by pirates. I could use a pirate right about now, as long as he was tall, dark, and went by the name Roman, that would work. Maybe I would see if he would dress up as a pirate for me for Halloween this year. We could have some fun with that.
I was picturing it and thinking it could be a lot of fun when there was a knock at the door, and it pushed open. “Malcolm, your father has arrived. We would like to speak with you in the sunroom, please.”
“Fine,” I said, following her down the hallway. The faster I let them have their say, the faster they would leave me to pray on things, and the faster I could get out of here.
We walked into the room and I froze. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Son, I believe you know Reverend Adams,” my father said, motioning to the man standing next to him.
“Oh, believe me, I’m well aware of who Reverend Adams is.”
“Malcolm, I don’t like your tone, you will not—”
“Mal, it’s okay,” the man said. “It’s understandable that he isn’t thrilled to see me. Now before we get started, do you need anything to drink, Malcolm?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I said. I wished they would just say what they had to say and get out of here.
“Okay, well then let’s have a seat and chat, then shall we?” He motioned towards a chair positioned to face the small group sitting there. The sunroom was all windows, and it ran the entire width of the house. On one end, you could see the river, and the other end had French doors that opened on to a large patio. I briefly wondered why we couldn’t have done this outside. Wouldn’t that have been a better place for them to tell me how wrong I was and how my choices were destroying the family?
I rolled my eyes and sat down. This was like an episode of that show Intervention, except there was no one to say if they wanted to leave, you should let them. I had a feeling my parents weren’t going to let me walk out of here until they’d had their say. So fine, they could say what they felt they needed to and move on.
“Cynthia, did you write out what you wanted to say like I suggested?” Seriously? Were they going to pull out letters and read them to me just like on the show? This was ludicrous.
“No, I know what I need to say. I didn’t need to write it down,” my mother said, and all I could think was thank god for that because I’d read her books and they were wordy.
“Malcolm, we have raised you up in a godly manner. This thing with