Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
She gets a twinkle in her eyes. “Worcestershire sauce and brown sugar.”
“Stop, no. I can’t even say it.”
She chuckles and glances at my dad. “Neither can your dad.”
Who has a smile of his own on his mustached face.
My dad looks like one of those eighties heroes, with sideburns and a thick mustache that curls slightly on the ends. Super dashing and super strong. I love his mustache. My mom does too and I know that’s why he doesn’t get rid of it.
My dad would do anything for my mom.
And it shows in his dark eyes when he looks at her. “Oh, I can.”
“Say it then,” my mom challenges.
My dad’s smile grows as he forks more spaghetti in his mouth. “Can’t talk with my mouth full.”
“You just did.”
He shakes his head, forks in more spaghetti and points to his mouth.
My mom throws the napkin at him. “Your dad’s a liar.”
And I’m so happy to see that.
To see them playing around with each other like they’ve always done.
God, please stay like this.
Please just be happy.
But of course not.
Because I ruin it with my thoughtless words, “Oh my God, one of my friends, Callie. Mom, she’s such a good baker. Like, so so good. You have to try her cupcakes. And her cookies, I can’t even. They’re the…” I trail off when I notice the utter stillness in the room.
The utter stillness on their faces.
Shit.
I completely forgot.
It completely slipped my mind that they don’t like to talk about St. Mary’s. Or anything related to that place. My classes, my friends, how I live there, what I do. All the rules and regulations that I have to follow.
I think they just want to forget that I go to a reform school.
That I’m still going there. That I was stupid enough to not graduate on time.
But of course they can’t.
So they simply avoid talking about it.
While he went ahead and read the manual, and asked around…
Don’t, Echo. Don’t think about him right now.
Not in front of your parents.
My face burning with embarrassment, I lower my eyes to the plate. “Sorry.”
The room goes back to being silent and tense and filled with the stupid clink of silverware. And I’m so frustrated that I’m about to start crying, begging my parents to please, please forgive me for everything that I’ve done.
But then my mom speaks. “So we wanted to talk to you about something.”
I snap my eyes up, my heart in my throat. “About what?”
My mom looks at my dad and he straightens up in his chair. I do too because this is it.
This is why they asked me to come home, isn’t it?
My parents emailed me yesterday evening and said that they wanted me to come see them this weekend. It was sudden and unplanned; not something you do at St. Mary’s and they know that. Still, I got my permission slip signed and took the bus to come home this Friday afternoon.
I have been waiting all evening for them to tell me why.
Although I have a feeling that I may already know the reason.
Given that the whole manor is abuzz with it.
Mom looks at me. “Your father and I discussed this and while we’re both wary about telling you, we think it’s the best course of action.”
My palms grow sweaty and I put down my spoon. “Best course of action for what?”
“To get a handle on the situation,” my dad says.
I look at both my mom and dad. “O-okay. What’s going on?”
My mom’s the one to answer me. “Lucas is back in town.”
My breath gets caught up in my throat and all I can do is stare at my mother, mutely.
“His father is unwell,” she tells me. “And he’s back in town for that. They say it could be any day now that… his dad could pass away.”
“How do you…”
“Someone at the manor,” mom replies.
My parents really liked Lucas. And I was always very happy about that, my boyfriend and my parents getting along. So when we broke up, my parents were disappointed.
Especially disappointed about how I brought it on. How my betrayal brought it on.
I don’t think they could grasp the concept of their good, responsible daughter doing something so reckless.
“But that’s not why we wanted you to come home this weekend,” my dad says and I grow alert.
My mom and dad look at each other again and I detect a movement under the table. They’ve got their hands joined; I know. They’ve done this a lot ever since everything, as if they’ve had to form their own team. Them versus me.
I don’t blame them but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
And just because everything hurts these days doesn’t mean that I’m used to it.
“He’s back too,” my mom says.
I knew it.
I knew when I saw their email that this is exactly what they wanted to talk to me about.