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I slam my hand against the window, the force causing vibrations to spread up my arm.
“Why?” I grit out, spinning around and crossing my arms over my chest. “Why do you want me to talk to you? Huh? So you can see how fucked up I am? So you can sit there and judge me and my parenting?”
“I’d never—”
“Just because you’ve been a better mother these last few years, doesn’t mean that you were any good when I was a child. You were never there, in body you may have been, but in mind? You were somewhere else.”
“You don’t understand,” she says, her voice cracking. “Your father, he had control over everything that I did and everything that I was.”
I clench my jaw and drop my hands to my side, realizing that history is repeating itself. I hate how much I resent her for not being there when I needed her to be, and now she wants to rectify that and all I’m doing is pushing her away. But that’s what I do best, isn’t it? I it’s better to push them away than have them leave you.
“I see it,” she says, standing up. “I can see you turning into me, Tris, and I hate it. Listen to what you said and tell me that it isn’t exactly what you’re doing to your own children.”
I shake my head and walk back over to my desk. I can’t keep blaming her, I know this, but it’s just so damn hard to open up to her. I’ve been doing it all on my own for years, so what difference will opening up to her now make?
I slump down in my chair, my gaze fixed on the rolling clouds outside as I decide that it’s better to give her something than nothing at all. At least I’m hoping it is.
“
Pete tried to turn the board against me. He tried saying that I’m turning into my father, that I’m doing what he did.” I move my gaze to hers before saying, “I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.”
She nods knowingly before sitting down. “Have you managed to stop them?”
“I don’t know. Pete’s gone but... shit… I have no idea. Nate is looking into the board members for me, he thinks that there may be something else going on that they’re trying to cover up.”
She clears her throat. “So you’re still talking to him then?”
“Yeah,” I say on a breath, although what I really want to say is that I have to talk to him because he’s my goddamn lawyer and I have no choice if I want to find out what they’re planning.
I close my eyes, bringing my hand up to my face and massaging my temples against the headache that is starting to form. I hear the sound of the chair squeaking and the soft thuds as her feet move forward on the carpet. “Have you thought about talking to your dad about the board?”
“No,” I huff. “I’m not going to him for help, I’m done with him.”
I look up at her, my eyes scanning hers as she worries her lip. “I know he was never the best father and I know that what he did was wrong, but… this was his company for a long time. He might be able to help—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt, not wanting to bring up all of that history again. All it would do is make me think about her, about what I walked away from and I can’t keep going there. I have too many things swirling inside my head as it is.
I flinch when her hand touches my face and when I open my eyes, I see her worried stare. “You need a break,” she says, sitting on the edge of my desk.
“No—”
“Let me take my munchkins this weekend. Have a real break: one where you don’t work, where you can stay in bed until eleven in the morning, not having to worry about anything.”
“I can’t do that,” I say, shaking my head and hating how my voice sounds like the ten-year-old boy that I used to be.
“Sure you can.” She smiles softly, patting my cheek twice and lifting up off the edge of the desk before straightening her cream shirt. “I’ll go with Edward to pick them up after school, then I’ll take them to school with him tomorrow and bring them back on Sunday.”
“No,” I say for a second time, only this time it comes out more like a question. I shouldn’t need a break, I’m their father.
She moves over to the sofa, picking up her coat and bag and turning back around to face me. “You deserve a break, Tris. Take it.”
I huff out a breath, letting my head drop back. “Fine,” I say, bringing my gaze back to hers as I stand up. “But you’re not to take them to the art class on Saturday.”
“What—”
“I mean it,” I grind out. “They’re not to step foot in there. I don’t want my kids anywhere near her.”
She tilts her head to the side, assessing me before she gives me a nod of acknowledgement and walks out of my office.
