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The woman’s eyes grew so wide that I thought they might just fall right out.
“What do you mean, you’re not coming home? You can’t possibly think you can stay. This was a nice dream when you had Daniel, but now?—”
My face hardened. “You don’t think I can do it by myself?”
“That’s not…” She straightened slightly. “It’s just not the same, and you know it. Daniel supported you before. You don’t even have a job.”
It felt like a slap in the face.
Did she really believe I was so reckless?
“I know that,” I spit. “But I don’t need one. I don’t have a mortgage anymore,” I reminded her, just in case she had forgotten. “And I’ve already secured a spot in a local gallery to showcase my paintings.”
“That’s wonderful,liebling.” My dad’s face lit up.
There he was.
My champion and eternal cheerleader.
The man who’d left his homeland to chase his own dreams. And even though it hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped, he’d never deterred me from doing the same.
“Thanks, Papa.” My face beamed.
Unfortunately, that pragmatic side of my mother, the one who’d seen the fruits of my father’s labor fail, was still rearing its ugly head. “And you think that will sustain you?”
“Well, I made three thousand dollars yesterday, so, yes, Mama, I think I can make it work.”
Without a mortgage and some serious budgeting, I could live on that money for a while if I had to, and she knew it.
“Is this about the man that was here?” she finally asked.
I had been waiting for her to throw this question out. I knew she’d been dying to ask about the mystery man since he’d walked out.
“Margarete.” There was a warning tone in my father’s voice.
Don’t go there, it said.
She did anyway.
“Don’t ruin your future for a fling, Marin.”
I knew when she started calling me by my given name that things were bad.
I rose to my feet.
“Macon is not a fling.” I seethed. “And let me remind you that you came to my house, unannounced and uninvited, so I’m sorry if you walked in on something you might consider inappropriate, Mother. Next time, perhaps”—I let out a huff—“call first.”
I turned away, my arms tightly wrapped around my chest. I was angry and upset.
At them.
At myself.
If I had just been honest from the start, none of this would have happened.
My dad was the one who finally cut the silence. His voice was timid, but reassuring. “Tell us about your fellow,liebling.”
I let out a ragged sigh of relief. He was offering a bridge. A way to make amends. As I turned back around, I found his kind eyes, and my own became wet with unshed tears.
