Twenty-Four
TWENTY-FOUR
Mia
“YOU’RE GETTING A DIVORCE ?” my father asked, sounding appalled. And this was what I’d been afraid of. My parents weren’t remotely like Nat’s when it came to religion or morals—but my father had grown up in a devout Catholic family of Greek immigrants, and sometimes it still showed.
“No, it’s a trial separation,” I told him patiently. “Not a divorce. We’re just... giving each other a bit of space for now, that’s all.”
My mother’s expression was pinched. “If that’s what you both think is best, dear,” she said, giving me a clear-as-day ‘ we’ll talk later’ look as she did. “But good heavens... what about the restaurant? That place means everything to you.”
“It shouldn’t affect the restaurant.” Even as I said it, a little voice whispered, ‘won’t it, though?’
“I see.” Mom still sounded skeptical. “So, you’ve asked him to move out? Does he have someplace else to stay? Besides his parents’ place, I mean.”
We all knew what a dumpster fire that would be.
My throat felt dry. “I thought it would be simpler if I moved out, actually.”
My father frowned, worry clear in his brown eyes. “How is that simpler?”
“Do you need a place to land?” Mom asked. “We could make up your old room for you. We’re only using it for storage—it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Thanks, but...” I grabbed my water glass and took a sip, desperate to get some moisture in my mouth. “I, um... I’m going to crash with an omega friend of mine for now. They’ve got plenty of room, and it’s closer to work.”
“Oh, I see.” My mother sounded somewhere between disappointed and worried. “An omega friend? Do we know her?”
Argh .
There was no getting around this. “He’s a he, not a she. And no, you don’t. His name’s Luca—he works as a grant writer at a center for at-risk youth.”
My father’s frown was deepening. “You’re separating from Nat in order to live with another man? That doesn’t sound very proper.”
It was in no way ‘ proper .’
“He’s another omega, dear,” my mother said. “It’s different. Besides, it’s the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. If Mia says there’s nothing untoward going on, then I’m sure it’s fine.”
I absolutely refused to think about curling up in Luca’s warm nest... about his lips on mine, or climaxing with him inside me.
“Ah, this generation,” my father muttered. “So many radical ideas. We trust you, Mia—but please take a moment to think how you would feel if Nat left, and said he was going to stay with a woman friend. Because that’s probably how he will feel about this .”
Yikes. I guess irony could be pretty ironic sometimes.
“I’m pretty sure he’ll understand why I’m doing it,” I managed, and I felt proud of myself for not injecting too much sarcasm or bitterness into the words.
“Well, I hope you two can work things out,” Dad went on. “Nat is a good man. Maybe you should try that couples counseling I’m always reading about in magazines.”
Mom shot me a look laced with sympathy at being subjected to my father’s ideas on relationship dynamics. “It’s not a terrible idea, sweetheart. You’re both under a lot of stress with your restaurant, and that can have an impact on a couple’s home life.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I promised. “Not sure Nat would go for it, though.”
My father nodded. “It’s harder for men. To talk about feelings, I mean.”
Maybe it was. I didn’t know. Luca and Zalen seemed to do all right at it... though to be fair, Emiel and Byron were locked up tighter than Fort Knox. And god knew it felt like having my insides scraped out whenever I had to talk about this kind of shit.
“I’ll suggest it,” I promised.
The rest of the meal was a bit strained, but I gave my parents points for letting it go while we ate. It was only when the food was finished, and they had filled me in on all their recent news that my mother caught my eye with a significant look.
“Come help me get the dishes rinsed and in the washer, sweetie,” she said. “Michalis—why don’t you pull out those photos you took when we went to Miami. I’m sure Mia would love to see them. We’ll be done in a few minutes and join you.”
Dad mumbled vague assent and headed out of the dining room. Bracing myself, I rose and started gathering up the plates and silverware. Mom did the same, and we settled into the old, familiar rhythm of her rinsing dishes in the sink and handing them to me to arrange in the dishwasher.
“What did he do?” she asked quietly, as I straightened from slotting a pan into the upper rack.
“What do you mean?” I asked, deflecting for all I was worth.
She made a chiding ‘ tsk ’ sound. “Nat. He did something to make you leave him. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, love... but I wish you would.”
It was a good thing I hadn’t picked up another dish, because I probably would have dropped it when all the pain and confusion and anger and resentment crashed over me at once, and I collapsed abruptly into tears.
“Mia!” My mother hurriedly rubbed her hands on a towel and stepped close, wrapping me up in her arms.
I sobbed—great, hiccupping spasms that stole my words for long minutes as I pressed my face against her neck. She shushed me and made reassuring noises, rubbing my back until the tears subsided into ragged, uneven breathing and finally, stillness.
She eased me back so she could see my face, and only when her look of horror registered did I realize what a bad mistake I’d just made.
“Oh, my god,” she breathed. “Mia—is that a black eye? He’s hitting you?”
“No!” I said quickly, scrubbing at my snotty nose with my sleeve and taking a step back. “Mom, no. That wasn’t Nat! I got mugged on Friday night. They didn’t get anything—I pepper sprayed one guy, and the people I was with managed to run the others off. I didn’t want to worry you—that’s why I hid it.”
Her expression held the same skepticism Nat’s had held when I told him my concocted story, and somehow that realization felt like cactus spines jabbing my heart.
“Then what?” she demanded. “If he’s not abusing you, why are you separating?”
Abruptly, I was so tired I could barely stand it. My shoulders slumped.
“He demanded an open marriage because he wasn’t happy with our sex life,” I said, defeated.
She went very still. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I agreed weakly.
“So... you refused, and now you’re separating?” she asked.
“Not... exactly.” I hesitated. “I’m sorry, Mom. But it’s really hard to talk about the details right now.”
She gave a slow nod. “Of course. You’re not obligated, sweetheart. But... why separation and not divorce him right away? You’ve got grounds for it. I suspect even your father would agree.”
“Oh, god—don’t tell him,” I blurted, picturing nightmare scenarios of Dad storming into the restaurant to confront Nat.
Those same visions must have been playing across my mother’s thoughts as well, because she said, “No. Definitely not.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t know why I’d told Nat we were separating instead of telling him I wanted a divorce. Maybe it was the way he’d freaked out when he saw my eye. Maybe it was our years of history, or my worry about the restaurant.
“It’s complicated,” was all I could come up with.
Mom nodded again. “I understand.” Then she paused, as though unsure of her next words. “Sometimes I worry that we didn’t raise you the way an omega child should be raised. Back then, I didn’t know anything about packs, or bonding, or how alphomic relationships worked. No one talked about it openly to betas.”
It was easy to forget sometimes that it had only been about forty years since the Alphomic Accords that granted equal rights to alphas and omegas. The distrust had lasted long beyond that.
“There’s no way you could have done anything different, Mom,” I said. “You were great parents. You still are. But, yeah, I’m not sure either Nat or I really understood what we were getting into when we married beta-style.”
She reached out and hugged me again. “That’s no excuse for what he did, though. He hurt you. Just so you know that your dad and I only want you to be happy. It doesn’t matter what that looks like... or even if we understand it. You do know that, right?”
I did. Deep down, I really did.
“Thank you,” I murmured against my mother’s hair. “I love you both.”
This was something Nat didn’t have, and never would, I reflected. It occurred to me for the first time that he must be navigating this mess completely on his own. And despite the fact that his problems were ninety-nine percent of his own making, in that moment, I felt for him.