idea. Hire a nanny, if you need the help. I was there to visit with family, and I’d visit the shit out of them, not let Beau boss me around like he did his wife. He could kiss this big butt and get himself one of his demon-children-approved free haircuts on that. Hah.
Dad cleared his throat several times gruffly. “And Bethany and I were talking…”
He was going to milk this until I was gripping the steering wheel like it was his cowardly neck, wishing Mom was here, wondering why the hell I did this to myself. Every year I asked this same thing, risked stressing myself into a damned heart attack with this toxic-people-gathering to snipe and peck and make snide remarks about what I wasn’t doing with my life. Trying to have a career first before settling with Mr. Not So Perfect and popping out a million minions that acted as crude as this invisible potential husband, and be as miserable as the rest of them, was not the end of the world or some sign of impending permanent spinsterhood.
Why—I always begged the question.
I wasn’t bitter about not having a family, or my want of one someday. I didn’t have my head so far up my ass to think settling and settling and settling was going to make me happy. I wouldn’t be any happier now than how miserable I’d be rushing to keep up with the family’s whackadoo, insane ideals.
I’d have a family and husband someday, and it would be everything. He’d be my everything, and our kids would know they were loved, and they’d be raised with a present mother and father that wanted them to be decent human beings, damn it. In that, I’d settle for nothing less.
“Dad,” I prompted, my voice softening with the ache of that part of my life I’d put on hold, not necessarily for a career bettering move, but because it had just never happened for me.
Hadn’t happened for me, yet—that small, flare of hope flickered like a tiny flame struggling to keep lit.
“So, we were thinking, as you don’t always have fun at these things-”
“I never said-” I started to argue, then stopped myself. What was the point? He and Bethany had already discussed this and decided. They had spoken. It was done. The woman was an evil Ugnaught. She kept getting plastic surgery to keep up with the Jones like she did, she’d look like one eventually, too.
Muzzling the growl I wanted to let loose, I tried again. Dad spoke in facts. You couldn’t argue facts. “She told the boys I didn’t love them, that that’s why I wasn’t around all the time.”
“No. No, the boys were mistaken. That wasn’t-”
“Roy asked point blank, “Why don’t you love us, Lumi? Mom says you don’t come around because you don’t love us enough?”” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who says messed up crap like that? Just what was wrong with his wife? But I said none of it. The words died, bitter on the tip of my tongue. The urge to chew gum as if to rid myself of the taste had me glancing around the console.
Dad was quiet for so long I wondered if he’d lost connection or hung up. “Well, that’s not what he meant,” he said finally.
His Bethany could do no wrong. He knew what he’d married, he just didn’t want to admit it.
Fine, he wanted to live in fantasy land with his witch of a wife, fine with me, but when did it become this weird affair to push his first two children completely out of his life? Was sweet Bethany jealous?
“Why did you even invite me?” I wondered aloud. I had a sneaking suspicion Beau had not in fact canceled but Dad had canceled his trip for him. Dad paid for it, so he, much like Beau’s extreme version of Dad’s manipulative, underhanded tactics, would cancel it first and then tell him.
Pulling over, I glanced at my phone. Picking it up from its holder, I shot off a text to Beau.
Surprisingly, Beau responded right away. “Bitchany wants a white Christmas sans us clinger-ons. Dad caved.”
Ah. And there it was.
“Why didn’t you tell me to stay home, why have me come all the way out here if I’m not welcome?” I got that blunt edge from Mom. She never put up with any of Dad’s shit. He’d never have tried to pull anything like this with us if she was still around.