“I got you a gift,” I said, desperately trying to distract him. I indicated the gift table. “Your parents even brought one from your grandmother.”
Cary didn’t seem interested in the gifts, though. He was staring at his dad again, and his jaw was starting to tick.
“Oh! And I got this for us.” I indicated the bar cart, which was stocked with pickles, bread and vodka. “With proper Russian vodka this time.”
All Cary said was, “What are they doing here?”
He addressed me, not them.
“Uh… your parents dropped by as I was setting up for our little birthday dinner.”
“And you let them in,” he said, his eyes shifting back to me. They were so cold and dark, a shiver ran through me. He didn’t even look like the Cary I knew. He looked…. sick.
Why was he turning that strange color?
Was he about to have a panic attack? I had no idea, really, what the signs were. Reading about it was not the same as witnessing firsthand, I was pretty sure.
“Cary…” I took a few steps toward him.
“Of course she let us in,” his dad snapped. “Your mother’s come to visit you on your birthday.”
“I’m not celebrating my birthday,” Cary ground out. His jaw was so tight, his lips barely moved.
“You know that’s a slap in your mother’s face every time you say it?” His dad’s voice was rising.
“Oh, stop talking about it,” Mrs. Clarke said. “It just makes you argue. So fine, no birthday party.”
“Why, Mom?” Cary said, his voice frighteningly low. “Why can’t I talk about it?”
She didn’t even look at him. And as I watched them… it felt like something curled up and died inside me. I could feel his pain and the tension in his body as his mom refused to look at him.
“You know I don’t celebrate my birthday,” he said through his clenched teeth.
“Why on Earth not?” his dad demanded.
“Because Gabe dies tomorrow,” Cary spat out.
Mr. Clarke made an angry, exasperated noise. “Gabe died five years ago, Cary.”
I inched closer to Cary. Clearly, this family conversation needed a mediator or something. But I had zero knowledge of the family politics here. “Maybe we should—”
“I know he died five years ago, Dad. I was there.”
I reached for him. “Cary.” I tried to touch his shoulder, but he recoiled. He didn’t even look at me as he turned away and walked stiffly into the house.
“Don’t waste your time,” Mr. Clarke muttered.
I looked at Cary’s dad. Was he talking to me?
I turned to Cary’s mom, maybe for help. She was looking around at the trees that lined the property, like they had eyes. “My God,” she whispered. “Why does he always have to make such a scene…?” I wasn’t even sure who she was talking to.
Then she downed the rest of her glass of wine.
Clearly, no help was forthcoming.
I hurried to follow Cary into the house. But by the time I reached the studio doors, he’d locked himself inside.
“Oh my God,” were the first words out of Courteney’s mouth when she found her parents standing in Cary’s foyer, putting on their shoes.
When they’d showed up, I decided to text her and invite her to join us for the little birthday party. She’d arrived in record time, but not before Cary came home—and locked himself in the studio. And definitely not in the mood I’d expected her to be in, as she stormed in the front door.
“Hello, dear,” her mom said.
“Oh, no,” Courteney said, as I shut the door behind her.
“Let’s not have dramatics, Courteney…” her dad said.
“You can’t be here,” she told them. I lingered behind her, not sure what to do.
“Don’t be rude, Courteney,” her dad said.
“We’re here,” her mom said.
“No. You need to leave.” Courteney turned to me. “Where’s Cary?”
“In the studio.”
“Does he know they’re here?”
I glanced at Cary’s parents. “Yeah.”
“We’re not criminals,” her dad growled. “Why do you both treat us like this?”
Courteney turned back to her parents. “You have no right. Cary didn’t invite you in here. You can’t just show up. You know how he gets.”
“We simply dropped by with a birthday gift, Courteney,” her mom said. “Where’s the harm in—”
“That!” Courteney stabbed a finger toward the alcove where the studio doors stood closed. “That is the harm, Mom! And your clueless attitude about it doesn’t change anything. It never has.”
“Courteney,” her dad warned.
“You know you shouldn’t be here when he’s not home,” Courteney went on, ignoring him, “and you shouldn’t be just