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“That’s not true.” My mother frowns. “We let you invite friends over.”
“Only after doing a full background check on their entire families,” I groan, pressing my fingers into my eyes to stave off a threatening headache.
“We just want you to be safe,” she says.
“You may not always use the best judgment when picking friends.” Up until this point, my dad let Mom spearhead their side of the argument. But his comment pinches the end of my nerves, and I throw him a questioning glance. “How much do you know about that boy you brought to the party?”
He knows.
Why should I be surprised? My father is the king of background checks. I wonder if he even waited for the party to end before he was on his laptop scanning every bit of Dash’s criminal history.
“I knowplentyabout him.” My strategic emphasis has him narrowing his eyes.
“Stop it, Richard. I’m not talking about Dash. Seems like a sweet boy. And he likes cars.” At my mother’s offhand comment my dad’s mouth tightens.
Her response surprises me, and I glance from her open, honest expression to Dad’s disapproving stare.
She doesn’t know.
For some reason, my dad hasn’t shared his findings with her. And despite his obvious dislike of my friendship with Dash, I experience a stray bit of hope. Maybe Dad hasn’t completely signed off on him.
“You know what? If it makes you two feel comfortable, call Jerry. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him anyway.” Jerry was my first self-defense instructor, teaching me all the vulnerable spots on a man I can dig my nails and teeth in to.
It was an interesting relationship to say the least.
“Thank you, Paige. You know we’re just worried about you.” My mom’s voice has gotten tight, and I think I see a sheen across her eyes. My heart swells, suddenly grateful for her overprotective love. Because it’s still love.
“I know, Mom.” I step around the kitchen island and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Taking my height from my dad, I stand a few inches taller than her, making me feel more like the protector in this embrace.
With my mom in my arms, I hit my dad with a loving but stern expression.
“And you don’t need to worry about Dash. He’s anhonestguy.”
Dad doesn’t give me any kind of response. Not accepting or denying. Just blank intensity.
Another reason he’s so good in a courtroom.
I step back, taking in the two of them in. My parents don’t necessarily look like a matching set, with my father tall and imposing and my mother short, full-figured, and upbeat. Somehow, they work, and despite how often we get into our verbal sparring matches, I realize I’ve missed them. A lot.
When I lived in New York, they would come up to visit a few times a year, and it would be pleasant but always over too soon. These last couple of months, I’ve felt a new connection develop between the three of us. A different kind of relationship than we had when I was in high school and relied on them for everything.
I still want to move out from under their roof, but the idea of going back to those rare visits makes my throat tighten.
Maybe I could scan job ads a little closer to NOLA.
I try not to linger on how that would also keep me closer to a certain dog trainer, too.
“I’m going over to Dash’s house tomorrow night to make him dinner. I doubt he’d mind if I bring Pumpkin with me.” Every time I leave my dog here with my parents, I feel like I’m taking advantage of their hospitality.
“Oh no. Don’t worry about that.” My mom strolls across the kitchen and sits down on the tile floor beside my dog, scratching a little bit of exposed stomach until Pumpkin stretches and rolls over for a full belly rub. “I’ll feed her dinner and take her out. You don’t need to worry about us.”
I watch the two of them and a tiny candle flame worth of hope lights in my chest.
Maybe, if Mom can get over her distrust of pit bulls, she could also find a way to be around Dash when Dad eventually reveals my friend’s less than respectable past.
I’m careful not to breathe too deep, worried the flame will go out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
