Page 102 of A Perfect Fit

Yet, despite the rumble of thunder and sound of rain beating loudly against the windows, it feels like a deafening silence is clouding the room.

Jane closes her eyes, her mouth downturned and her shoulders pulled low.

“You’re right, Jackson,” she eventually says. “I wanted to test whether you’d stand up for Isabelle and make sure you didn’t intend on stringing her along, given how her previous relationship ended, but I agree that my words weren’t appropriate. I apologize.”

Whether or not Jane’s intentions are in the right place, the way she spoke down on Isabelle is intolerable. If she wanted to test me, she should’ve spoken with me in private—not said all this shit in front of Isabelle.

“You can’t just say things like that, Mom,” Isabelle exclaims. She shakes her head, her face pale. “Like Jackson said, profession isn’t the only thing. Maybe you grew up with old-school beliefs, but you’re still my mother. You should be supporting me. How can you imply that I’m less than just because I didn’t choose a traditional career pathway or law, like you wanted?”

It pains me to see the vulnerability on Isabelle’s face, and I don’t even want to begin to guess how many times her mother likely demeaned her in the past. But I’m proud of her for speaking up now about how she feels.

Jane opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

A loud ding reverberates from several phones in the room, and I pull out my phone, reading the text I’ve just received. Everyone else does the same with their phones.

The message is a flash flood warning in effect for our local area until past midnight.

Karl clears his throat, turning to Isabelle, Ivy, and me. “Well, you three should probably stay here tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

ISABELLE

“You three should probably stay here tonight.”

I swallow at the implication of Dad’s suggestion—that I may well be sharing a room with Jackson tonight. I don’t mind doing so, but given what happened in Chicago, this could potentially go in one of two ways.

There’s only one spare bedroom in my parents’ house—after Ivy and I moved out, Mom and Dad converted our old bedrooms into a home office for them each.

“We have two options,” Dad continues. “Since Jackson and Belle are together, they can have the guest bedroom, and Ivy can take the couch tonight if she doesn’t mind. Alternatively, Isabelle and Ivy can share a room, and Jackson can take the couch.”

Jackson and I exchange a glance, some of the tension on his face from earlier disappearing.

“I’ll take the couch,” Ivy says.

I bite my lip as I glance at her. She really hates me to the extent that she can’t even bear sharing a room with me.

Well, if she wants to take the couch, I’m not stopping her.

Dad nods. “Okay, that’s settled.”

The rest of the dinner conversation diverts to mundane topics. Mom is mostly quiet, and although Jackson is a smooth talker, per usual, I can tell that what happened earlier is still bothering him.

I keep replaying the words he said to Mom. The fierce, protective look that crossed his face. That look that I’ve now seen several times—first at the reunion, then in Chicago when we ran into Oliver, and now tonight.

Then, in a shocking turn of events, my mom displayed a streak of remorse. I’m trying to put myself in her shoes and believe she has good intentions. However, she should’ve been mindful of her language instead of leaving me feeling like I was … nothing. Worthless, just because I didn’t choose law.

And I finally snapped. Maybe it was because of Jackson’s speech, or maybe it was something else, but I finally decided to stand up for myself in front of Mom. And it felt pretty amazing to let everything out, like a massive weight being lifted off my shoulders.

Once dinner’s over, Dad leads me and Jackson to the guest bedroom. Mom digs out my old Snoopy T-shirt and shorts for me to use as tonight’s sleepwear, and Dad finds a spare T-shirt and pajama pants of his that he lets Jackson borrow.

“There are spare toiletries and fresh towels inside the bathroom cabinet,” Dad says.

“Great,” I say.

He turns to me. “Are you feeling all right, Belle?”

I’m not sure whether he’s referring to the sleeping arrangements or Mom’s words from earlier. Still, it’s nice to have someone from my family check in on me.