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That was Eric’s first thought when I brought him here to meet my parents, and he was right. Compared to the small, but intimate, confines of Mama’s house, which is constantly brimming with people and laughter and love, the house where I grew up feels cold and unwelcoming. It’s more of a shrine to luxury and excess than anything else, and that’s the way my mother likes it. If I thought about it long enough, I could probably link my obsession with making homes cozy and functional back to my mom and this house. Hell, I can link most of my issues back to her.
A knock on my window startles me out of my thoughts.
“What the hell?!” I twist in my seat to find my father’s handsome face smiling at me. The knot in the pit of my stomach loosens a little when our eyes meet. “Daddy!”
I open the door and throw myself into his arms. He drops his briefcase and wraps both of his surprisingly muscular arms around me, lifting me off of the ground a bit. I squeal like a little girl and squeeze him a bit tighter. My dad, Mark Carson, is one of my favorite people in the world, and he’s the only reason I survived having a real-life Disney villain for a mother.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
I let him go just enough to allow him to put my feet back on the ground and stare into his face, taking in all of his features. The slight wrinkles around his round eyes are a little more evident now, but he’s still as handsome as ever. All clean-shaven chestnut skin with sharp and soulful eyes that always make you feel comfortable and safe.
He plants a kiss on my forehead and laughs. “I’ve missed you too, bean. You don’t come home enough.”
“I know. Work keeps me busy, but I have to make more time to see you.”
He studies me for a moment, and I notice a few gray hairs sparkling in his otherwise black eyebrows. “Sloane, you can’t spend your whole life at that office. Tell me Mallory gets you out of there at a decent hour most nights. ”
I scoff as I close the car door. “Did I just hear Mark ‘I invented the term workaholic’ Carson tell me I can’t spend my life at work?”
“Yes, you did. And you should listen to me. ”
He bends down and picks up his briefcase then wraps one arm around my shoulders. “Because you’re my dad?”
“That’s one reason. The other reason is a little more selfish: I want some grandbabies to spoil before I become old and decrepit.”
I roll my eyes to hide the pain that twists through my heart at the mention of grandbabies. “Wow, laying it on pretty thick there, sir. You’re nowhere near old and decrepit.” Like at all. The man runs three miles every morning and is probably the only partner at his law firm who is over fifty and has abs. If he ever becomes a grandfather, he’ll be the best looking one on the playground.
Just put the man out of his misery. You know you have no intention of ever giving him grandchildren.
As random and unfair as the thought seems, I can’t argue against it. Once upon a time, coming over here with a couple of babies in tow felt like a forgone conclusion. Eric and I wanted kids; we dreamed up a whole life where we were surrounded by little curly head cuties with his smile and my eyes, but fate had other plans for us. Hurtful, destructive plans that tore us apart at the seams long before he left this world and took my hope of ever creating a new life with him.
My dad doesn’t have to know that though.
He’s still smiling as he leads me into the house, regaling me with stories about his day. I listen intently, remembering the days in my childhood when I would wait by the door for him to come home and talk to me just like this. A lot of the time, it would be the first conversation I’d have all day with someone who wasn’t paid to be around me.
“Mark, darling, I didn’t realize you would be home so early!” My mother’s voice floats across the foyer to us, the sound of heels echoing along with it. “I was just about to call Sloane—”
She stops short when she sees me standing next to Dad who’s already loosening his tie. He puts his briefcase down and walks over and envelops her in a tight hug. “Call Sloane for what?”
“To see if we could reschedule.” She says, slipping out of his embrace and waltzing over to me. I resist the urge to cringe as she embraces me. Her bony fingers dig into my flesh and her perfume floods my nostrils. “Sloane, honey, you should have called before you came over.”
My spine stiffens. “I didn’t think I needed to call, Mom. Dad and I made these dinner plans on Sunday at your request.” I pull back to look at her face. Her mouth is drawn tight, lips pressed into a flat line as she releases me.
“Yes, I know.” She spins around on her heel and heads deeper into the house. Dad and I trace her steps to the kitchen. “But things with my schedule change so quickly. It would have been nice to have a reminder, dear. ”
There it is. The subtle shift of blame. She probably agreed to attend some dinner or charity event instead of having the dinner she forced me to schedule. Of course, it’s not her fault though. The great Lauren Carson could never be guilty of something so classless as double booking. I suck in a deep breath and swallow the urge to apologize to her. I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure I could have called ahead and let her know I was still planning to visit, but what kind of mother forgets her child is coming over for dinner?
Mama never does. She spends hours in the kitchen preparing for me, Mal, or Dominic to visit her.
But the differences between my mom and my mother-in-law are so vast it makes my head spin just thinking about it. Until I met Mama, I had no idea what it felt like to be loved and cared for with so much deference. She can be overwhelming and nosy as all hell, but it’s all born out of the selfless, life-altering love she has for her children. And for me.
“I’m sure Sloane was just excited to get home and see us, Lauren.” Dad presses a soft kiss to her temple and hugs her from behind. Her hazel eyes soften, and I let out a sigh. Maybe dinner with Cruella won’t be so bad with Dad here. Even as a kid, it was never lost on me that his presence had a calming effect on her—while my every breath only seemed to annoy her.
“Of course,” she pins me with a hard look, letting me see how annoyed she is before twisting around in Dad’s arms and planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I’ll just call Ella and let her know we can’t make it.”
“Sounds great, Mom. Thanks for changing your plans for me.”
It’s a fight to keep the bitter sarcasm burning in my throat from coating the words. The last thing I want to do right now is fight with her in front of my dad. His blood pressure is already high—he says it’s due to stress from his job—but it would kill me to know I contributed to it in any way.
