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"She is focusing on her career now, dear," my father cut in. "She has plenty of time to have children if she chooses."
That was less for my benefit and more his way of landing a blow to her. He had never wanted children, had never wanted me. Sure, he had done the right thing and provided for me and occasionally interacted with me, but it was painfully clear that I was a mistake. Or, more accurately, a manipulation.
"Of course she will be having a child," my mother scoffed, doing a completely ridiculous hair toss as she waved down the waitress as she passed to get the bill. "You want children don't you... Reggy?"
"Renny," I corrected, knee-jerk, defensive.
It was right then that Renny's hand landed on my knee, squeezing, reassuring. I knew that if I looked, I would find the coldness gone. I would find my old Renny back. Because he got the answers he wanted. He got to push my button and watch me squirm.
But I didn't want my Renny back.
It was too late.
And he fucked up way too much.
The hand on my knee didn't feel comforting; it felt like a shackle that I desperately needed to pry off before I got stuck forever.
"Let me," I offered, reaching for the bill.
"Don't be silly, Minny," my mother scoffed, passing the bill to my father.
"Yes," Renny broke in then.
"Yes?" my mother prompted.
"Yes, I want to have children. Blank slates," he added and I was a mix of pleased that he remembered I had made that comment and disgusted that he would bring it up in front of my parents, people who had a squishy little blank slate once upon a time and turned it into me.
"That is quite the... clinical way of looking at it," my mother said, reaching to put her purse in front of her on the table. A lifetime of prompts told me that she was signaling the meeting was over.
They drove over an hour to spend less than five minutes with me. Eight years and I got five minutes.
It shouldn't have hurt, not after so many years, not after me knowing to expect nothing else. But it hurt.
And it hurt double right then because their coldness wasn't the only thing I had to deal with.
I had to deal with Renny too.
Just the thought of it made bile rise up my throat.
"Well, you'll excuse us, darling," my mother said, standing, straightening her dress, "but your father has a meeting back in New York in three and a half hours. Had we known you were nearby ahead of time, perhaps we could have given you more time."
It took about every drop of willpower to not blurt out- why start now?
So I stood and I accepted the cold kiss to the cheek from my mother and the cup to the shoulder from my father, wished them a good trip back, and watched them leave.
"Sit, sweetheart," Renny's voice said, his hand touching my thigh, making me realize I had been watching the closed door for a long minute after they walked out it.
I looked down at him, at his perfect, beautiful face and his amazing, impossibly light blue eyes, his charmingly copper-red hair, and the pain to my stomach almost doubled me over.
"Don't call me sweetheart," I demanded, pulling away from him and tearing through the store and onto the street, making my way on foot back toward the compound where I knew I could find a car and a way back to Hailstorm. Renny caught up to me just a couple storefronts after.
"Mina, let me..."
"You probably shouldn't be on the street right now," I cut him off. "Some people might be upset if someone put a bullet in your heart. Not me, of course," I added, viciously, too hurt, too offended, too shocked to be anything other than cruel, "but some people."
"Mina, I thought..."
"You thought what?" I snapped as we came up toward the gates of the compound. I turned to face him, finding his face remorseful. But it was too late for that. There were some screw ups that couldn't be wiped away by sad eyes. "You thought that I would somehow allow you to press my buttons and watch me squirm while you jotted down notes about me?" I almost shrieked. "For someone who loathes his parents so much, you sure fit into their shoes perfectly!"
That was a bit of a low blow and I could see the impact it made when he winced.
"You won't talk to me," he said oddly, a long second later.
"I talk to you all the time! When we aren't having sex, we're talking."
"You talk about Hailstorm and your friends there. You talk about the places you've seen, the profiles you've done, the foods you hate and the movies you love. You don't tell me anything."
