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“He’s so precious. All he has to do is look at you and you’re wrapped around his finger.”
A deep guffaw shakes her entire body. “Don’t I know it? I wish we saw more of him, but I don’t think my waist could handle all the spaghetti he eats at my age.”
Honestly, I have no idea what she means by that. Agnes is tall and slender, and although you can see that she’s not a spring chicken anymore with the lines around her eyes and mouth, the loosened skin on her hands, she’s incredibly beautiful. The kind that you expect from film stars and models.
“He really is something else, but then Parker is full of surprises too.”
“That’s a Hawthorne thing too. My side of the family have always been open books, but Mitch’s side…good God, you never knew what you were walking into.” Nudging her shoulder with mine, she adds, “Wait till you meet Mrs. Hawthorne. That woman is batshit. Even at almost one hundred years old, she makes the rest of us feel old.”
The fact that she’s already predicted I’m going to meet her mother-in-law makes it impossible to laugh along with her. I’m so overwhelmed right now by how nice she is. Not what I expected from a woman that is so wealthy.
“Mitch’s sister will give you the third degree. Frankie’s Parker’s godmother, and to say that she’s protective of him is an understatement. She’s the real reason he’s never really brought any girls home. The couple of times he did…sweet Je—” The yell that echoes from above silences her.
“Trash is trash,” Mitch’s voice booms deep into the night air.
“Oh Lord,” Agnes winces, snapping the photo album shut.
“I told you not to bring it into my house again.”
Quickly, Agnes squeezes my hand as if to distract me from the argument coming from the room above us. “It’s a tough day for us, but he doesn’t mean that. I’m glad you’re here. To finally meet you and to see the way you make my baby smile again.”
I nod, but all my deprecating thoughts rush back. They cling on to his words like a drowning man clings on to a buoy.
This isn’t my world. I’m not rich or bred to be a part of their social standing. There’s nothing about me that is anywhere near their class.
“Stop!” Parker’s voice punches through my thoughts. “Treating Summer like shit doesn’t make her trash. It makes you a bastard.”
“Get the fuck out of here…”
Standing, Agnes looks mortified as she hugs the photo album to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“You keep blaming everyone, but it was you!” Parker yells louder than I’ve ever heard. The thunder in his voice makes me shudder. “You drove him away with your expectations. You pushed him into his sickness and addiction with how desperately he wanted to escape all of this.”
“Excuse me…” Agnes scurries back into the house, leaving me to listen to the fight that only seems to get louder and angrier.
My heart bleeds for each of them, even as my thoughts leer at my lacking pedigree. It becomes impossible to sit here and wrestle with my own doubts.
As I’m about to go inside, a crash has me jumping to my feet in time to catch sight of the decanter flying overhead before it crashes and breaks on the stone path in front of the porch.
“Enough,” Agnes’s voice rings with outrage. “You’re drunk, and you are…you’re embarrassing me and yourselves. That nice girl is down there listening to all of this madness…”
“Shit,” Parker curses before he barks, “You’ll apologize to her.”
I can’t make out what his father says, but Agnes snaps at him. “You were disrespectful and cruel…and you will apologize, or so help me God, Mitchell Hawthorne, I will wash my hands of you.”
Drinking what’s left of my wine, I decide to check on Easton. If he’s heard the shouting, he might be scared, and if I’m honest, I need something to hold on to right now. I need something to remind me that I belong here with Parker. Even if it’s just my love for him and his baby boy.
16
PARKER
The quiet that follows me through the house stokes the anger and worry hammering inside my chest. Maybe my father was right—I shouldn’t have brought Summer here. She deserves more than this shitshow.
Taking the stairs up to the top floor two at a time, I race to find Summer. Mom said she left her sitting on the study porch, but the only thing I found was her empty wineglass. I’m striding to my room when I catch sight of her pacing through the open doorway. Summer has her phone to her ear as she bobs her head from side to side.
“I feel more like my mother than ever,” she groans, and I pause as she then continues. “You don’t understand, Ro. What if his father is right?”
He’s not. My father is bitter, and I despise all the things he said about her.
