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“Come again?” Itilted my head to find her gaze.
“Calista, the last woman your father and Iset you up with.” She raised her eyes to mine. They were sharp as knives, ready to strike. “The one woman who didn’tconsider you to be ascrewup.”
Her spiteful comments stung, but it was another person entirely. It was because of Laura. The one woman who silenced the noises inside me, not alousy attorney or human; she was the one woman who had my brain repeating the same sentence over and over again. That Iloved her, that she was everything her parents refused to acknowledge. That she was perfect.
And in that respect, my dear mother was right, Iwas indeed ascrewup. Iscrewed up three freaking years ago for not insisting on her when Ihad the chance and Iscrewed up for not convincing her that being with me now would be worth it.
“You’re athirty-six-year-old for crying out loud. Get your life in order.” My mother’sknife-prodding dug deeper, slashing my gut.
“Zach,” Val said softly, signaling me with her eyes toward the kids when Iglared at my mother, ready to strike back.
The kids. Fuck.
Causing ascene in front of them was irresponsible; telling their grandmother Idespised her for being such acu—blunt woman was out of the question. Icouldn’tgive them all the middle finger and walk out the door since Arthur, the nice Arthur, had waited for more than amonth for his uncle to play with him.
“You’re right, Denise. Ireally should.” Istuck my fork into the lettuce and chewed with my mouth open, washing it down with aglass of white wine, and then another, to the sounds of little Arthur’schuckle.
