Chapter 21 #2
His gaze softened. I shook my head and turned back to the photos.
They weren’t personal—not even close. If you’d taken photos that actually belonged in a childhood bedroom, it would’ve been of me and Holly, gossiping and listening to music.
Me playing drums. Me with Colin and the guys on the volleyball team.
These didn’t show life; it was a trophy room. And it wasn’t even meant to be mine.
I should’ve prepared Atty for this. He looked confused as fuck and now I knew with complete certainty that I couldn’t keep avoiding this conversation.
I parted my lips, ready to at least tell him I’d explain later, but then I caught something out of the corner of my eye. The uneasy flutter in my gut turned sharp as the discomfort surged.
What the…?
I moved closer, picked up the frame. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I nearly hurled it across the room. Inside the ornate gold frame was a photo of me tucked beneath River’s arm. Our first shoot together.
A flash of a memory hit—me pressed against a bathroom wall—and I dropped the frame on the shelf with a dull clatter.
“Noah?” Atty’s voice came from somewhere beside me, but it barely registered.
I looked so young. Despite the styled clothes, the makeup—I looked so fucking young. Why hadn’t I seen that before? My stomach always twisted when I thought about it, but I’d never really seen how we looked standing next to each other.
Back then, I hadn’t known. I figured it out years later—after I’d already slept with him. River was twenty-four when we met.
“Noah?” Atty asked again, gently. “What is it?”
I turned to him, swallowing down the knot that had risen in my throat. “Um, that picture,” I started, but the words cracked. I cleared my throat. “I don’t like that picture,” I managed. I turned away, afraid that if I didn’t, I’d start crying over something I damn well knew I’d let happen.
Atty reached for it. My hand twitched, ready to stop him—but he didn’t look at it. He flipped the frame over, undid the clasps one by one, then slid the photo out. Still without glancing at it, he tore it into pieces—small, decisive tears—until it was just a pile of paper on the shelf.
He gave me the softest look—a question. I nodded and wiped at the moisture gathering under my eyes. His arms came around me, and I let myself sink into that comfort—for a moment. Then I pulled away.
“I can’t do this here,” I whispered.
He kissed my temple, gave my shoulder a quiet squeeze, and stepped back. Barely—but just enough to feel like space.
A breathless, bitter laugh escaped me.
“Ready to keep going?” my mother asked, far too cheerfully, peeking through the doorframe.
Atty looked at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”
We walked the rest of the apartment while she delivered her running commentary. I stayed behind, eyes fixed on her back.
I knew she hadn’t been present. She never noticed anything unless it had something to do with her.
But didn’t this count? Wasn’t there some kind of instinct that should’ve made her stop and wonder why that picture felt wrong?
Of course not. Even with all her trying and so-called changing, she was still the same.
If it didn’t touch her, it didn’t matter. I didn’t matter.
I shook the thought away.
Later, Noah. Later.
I glanced at my watch. Two and a half more hours.
“Wasn’t Matias going to be here?” I asked Ilana.
She grimaced, leaning closer to me and keeping her voice low. “He canceled at the last minute.”
“Why?”
She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. And then I got it.
“He didn’t know I was coming, did he?”
Reluctantly, she shook her head.
Figures. Why the hell my stomach sank, I had no idea.
I was still pissed at him—at them—for ditching Dad for no fucking reason other than money.
And apparently, that same petty logic extended to me.
Even though I never asked for any of it.
Never wanted to be handed his role like some twisted consolation prize.
“They’re assholes, Noh. Don’t let it get to you,” Ilana said softly.
I turned to her, surprised. I’d never heard her say anything bad about them before. And that expression on her face—it wasn’t resentment. Her eyes were kind.
We didn’t look or act much alike—she took after Dad’s side of the family.
When I was younger, I used to think that was why we’d never been close, that the difference in our personalities had created the space between us.
We were different in every way. Ilana had always been shy, quiet, and reserved, while I…
wasn’t. But that was a bullshit reason. I knew whose fault it really was.
“Noah,” she said.
“Yeah?”
She parted her lips, but right then, our mother turned to us, and she clamped them shut.
“Let’s join the rest of the group!” Mom said, tugging Atty along.
He managed to politely wiggle his way free as we reached the living room and her attention shifted elsewhere. Without hesitation, he reached for my hand and laced our fingers together, gripping tight. Comforting.
Drinks turned into my mother’s boyfriend delivering a dramatic monologue about his undying love for her and how thankful he was that the whole family had finally come together. My mind kept drifting back to a fractured picture in my room—and the person who had hung it there.
Each second that passed made my heartbeat feel stranger, the rhythm off. The world around me warped—the quiet moments too still, the bursts of laughter too sharp, the clink of ice against glass jarring in my ears. My legs ached to move. Mostly begging me to run.
When we moved to the table, panic settled like a weight in my chest. I couldn’t eat.
I covered my glass with my hand. “Water, thanks,” I told the server, who’d tried to pour wine for the third time.
They served the food in the center of the table, family-style, which only added to the awkwardness. That definitely wasn’t how things had ever worked in the Rossi household.
I leaned forward slightly and caught Ilana’s eye. She wore the same flabbergasted expression I probably had. She just shrugged and hesitantly reached for a serving spoon as our mom encouraged us to dig in. At least I wasn’t the only one feeling whiplash from this whole production.
Our mom kept trying to draw Atty into conversation.
She asked about school, his life, our relationship—interrupted only by little stories from our past that felt cherry-picked, edited for public consumption.
I undid the first couple of buttons of my shirt, but it didn’t help.
The tightness in my chest didn’t ease as I kept pushing the food around my plate.
“Are you still in school?” I asked loudly, interrupting her latest attempt to pull my poor boyfriend into conversation. The guy had barely managed a bite.
Marco’s son blinked at me. “Yeah,” he said, slow and uncertain.
Couldn’t blame him. The kid was fifteen—where else would he be?
“Tommy is the captain of his school’s swim team,” my mother chimed in. “He’s an athlete, like you, Atty. And such a handsome boy.”
Handsome boy.
The words echoed in my head, louder than they should’ve been. Familiar in the worst kind of way.
She was smiling at him—genuinely smiling. And he smiled back, like he trusted her.
Maybe he doesn’t get the bad stuff. Maybe that’s reserved just for you.
“That’s great,” I said, my voice thick, as she finished her long, glowing list of Tommy’s accomplishments. An impressive feat for someone so young.
“Are you still playing, Noah?” Ilana asked, her voice cutting through the static.
I was caught off guard by the subject change—especially since she already knew about the band. Was she trying to help me out? She widened her eyes slightly, like she was clueing me in.
“Yeah. Still play,” I said.
“What do you play, Noah?” Marco asked.
“Drums,” Atty and Ilana said in sync.
“That’s so—”
“Tommy, have some more. You barely put anything on your plate,” my mother said, reaching over and spooning more mashed potatoes for him. “You need to eat more, keep yourself strong for the team.”
Tomas smiled and thanked her.
My stomach churned. Bile rose fast, burning my throat. I clenched my jaw to keep it down, to hold back the sudden, violent reaction building in my body.
See? It was you.
She can be a mother to other people. Just not you. Who could love you when all you do is take? When you suck out the air from every room you’re in? That’s why nobody can stand you.
The room tilted. My hand curled into a fist around my fork.
Still, she kept talking. Kept praising him.
How wonderful, how smart, how handsome. Her voice grated against my skull.
Had it always sounded that shrill? That fake?
That impossible to tolerate? I couldn’t keep listening to it, and nobody gave a fuck about the heat in this fucking room—it was becoming harder to even breathe in here—
“And he got an award for—”
“Nobody fucking cares!” I snapped.
Silence slammed into the room like a dropped plate.
I cleared my throat.
Atty tensed beside me.
Shit.
“This is amazing, Mrs. Ríos. What do you put in it?” Atty asked, breaking through the silence and turning every set of eyes on him.
My mother’s face—flushed, wide-eyed—swiveled slowly in his direction. She blinked. “In the mashed potatoes?”
His knee bumped mine under the table, lingering just long enough. “Yeah? Zucchini?” he added, golden-retriever charm deployed full force.
The word looped strangely in my head.
Zucchini.
It moved through the fog thick in my brain, slow and syrupy.
What?
His pale-blue eyes flicked to mine just as the meaning landed.
“Zucchini? No, honey. It’s just potatoes,” she said with a laugh so fake it made my skin crawl.
Atty kept looking at me, his calm, focused gaze locked on mine.