Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
Mia
I HADN’T INTENDED to stay overnight in Ladue. Unfortunately, after the stressful dinner with my parents and the less stressful—but still tiring—couple of hours spent hauling boxes around, I made the mistake of crashing on the comfortable sofa to watch TV with Luca.
Just to decompress , I’d said.
Just for thirty minutes, then I really have to go , I’d said.
And, of course, I’d woken up seven hours later in a comfortable tangle, drooling all over Luca’s sage green button-down shirt.
I’d packed all sorts of crap in that first load of boxes—but not an overnight bag, since I hadn’t been planning to stay overnight. So, after a polite refusal of breakfast and an awkward goodbye to Luca, I stumbled out to my car in yesterday’s sweaty clothes and made my bleary way back to Jennings.
When I saw a familiar maroon Dodge Caravan parked in our driveway, I came perilously close to blowing straight past the house and not stopping until I was somewhere safely out of range of the imminent nuclear detonation.
Canada, maybe.
Nat’s mom and dad had descended. I assumed it was both of them, anyway. They usually came as a set.
My foot hovered between the brake and accelerator pedals for a split second before my conscience—along with my completely legitimate need to get cleaned up and dressed for work—took control. Jaw clenching, I pulled into the driveway, squeezing carefully past the van to park next to Nat’s Jeep.
Apparently, despite everything, I retained just enough loyalty to Nat that I couldn’t stomach the thought of throwing him to the jackals alone. Tom and Martha Bell were the most toxic of toxic born-again Christians, and they had been ever since I’d known them. They never missed a chance to remind Nat of the sacrifices they’d made in adopting a half-Chinese orphan, or pointing out all the ways he’d disappointed them.
For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder how much of Nat’s ‘I demand an open marriage’ bullshit had been subconscious rebellion against thirty solid years of being moralized at. Too bad this wasn’t a good time for a psychological eureka moment.
I had a feeling this confrontation was going to be brutal unless we both straight-up lied about our marriage being on the rocks—which I, for one, had no intention of doing.
I got out of the car, locked it, and girded myself for spiritual battle. When I cracked open the front door, the sound of a gruff male voice shouting about the evils of divorce greeted me through the gap.
Question answered, then. Clearly, we weren’t trying to cover it up.
“Good morning,” I greeted cheerfully as I stepped into the small entryway at the edge of the living room.
Three sets of eyes fell on me—two scandalized and one desperate. It was surprisingly easy not to quail under those stares. None of them were alphas, for one thing, and I also felt a strange sense of lightness upon realizing that I no longer had any reason to walk on eggshells around my prickly in-laws.
“Mia!” Martha gasped, with as much offense as if I’d strolled through the door naked. “Your eye!”
“Hello, Martha,” I said, still in my best annoyingly chirpy voice. “Hello, Tom.” I touched the slowly fading bruise over my cheekbone. “Yeah, about that. I got mugged the other day. Nothing to worry about. Bit early in the morning for an unannounced visit, isn’t it?”
Martha immediately fell into an aggrieved stance. “Nat here can’t be bothered to call or visit—”
Hmm, wonder why?
“—so, what choice do we have?” she finished, her tone bordering on a whine. “And now this talk of divorce!”
“Were you out all night?” Tom demanded aggressively, as though some universe existed where that was remotely an appropriate question.
Omega instinct tried to shy away from the prospect of a large, angry man turning his poorly regulated emotions in my direction. But I’d recently been beaten up by professionals, and while I’d always suspected Thomas Bell had been a proponent of ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ when Nat was young, he wasn’t going to physically attack an adult woman in front of witnesses.
Nat bristled, angling himself to step partway in front of me. “That’s an inappropriate question, Father. You will speak civilly to my wife, or you will not be welcome in this house.”
I couldn’t help the small frisson of goosebumps that rose and fell in response to that calm, deadly quiet tone. Nor could I help the faint thrum of satisfaction I felt at watching Tom realize that his gym-addicted adoptive son might be more than a match for his own middle-aged, paunchy physique.
“Not going to be your wife for much longer, is she?” he grumbled.
“We’re undergoing a trial separation while we try to figure out our issues,” I said, stepping out from behind Nat’s shoulder. “I was moving boxes to the place where I’ll be staying last night, and I ended up too tired to drive home safely.”
“What kind of issues?” Martha asked, still in that whiny, put-upon voice.
Nat went very stiff, no doubt wondering if I was going to take this chance at revenge by spilling the details of what he’d done.
“Sexual incompatibility,” I said, not willing to let him off the hook completely. Besides, it was satisfying to watch the blotchy red color rise in Tom’s cheeks, while Martha made high-pitched, squeaky noises of shock.
Surprisingly, Martha recovered first. “You mustn’t let... unfortunate personal issues ruin God’s plan for your marriage, Mia! I know the perfect thing—there’s a Christian marriage retreat that worked wonders for my friend Betty! I’ll send you the website link on Facebook—”
Nat, I couldn’t help noticing, looked like he wanted to die on the spot.
Understandable.
I couldn’t have said why I decided to take pity on him. Maybe because I felt genuinely bad for him... or maybe because there was something mildly addictive about baiting his parents, now that I had the chance.
“I’m not sure Christian marriage counseling would be a good fit, under the circumstances,” I said. “You see, I think I might be a lesbian. So, mostly, I just need to take some time to find myself.”
Nat made a cut-off choked noise, so soft I barely heard it.
“A what ?” Martha nearly shrieked. “Mia, you can’t go down that sinful path!”
“This is some kind of omega nonsense, isn’t it!” Tom put in. “Nat, we warned you about marrying across designation boundaries! But would you listen?”
I blinked. Had they, now? Interesting... though maybe not a complete surprise.
Nat, who’d been looking like passing out was a real possibility, rallied. “Mother, Father—I think it would be best if you left now. This is our private business. Not to mention the fact that we need to get ready for work.”
He managed to herd them out of the front door.
“So good to see you both!” I called after them before it closed.
When Nat returned, he was physically shaking. He sat down on the battered couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, not looking up at me. “Taking the heat, I mean.”
“I know,” I told him, letting some steel creep into my voice. Then, I softened. “You do understand how toxic they are, right?”
He gave a listless, one-shouldered shrug.
I sighed. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Nat. But you should really get into therapy to deal with some of that shit.”
At that, he looked up. “Do you... think we should do couple’s counseling? Real counseling, I mean. Not whatever horrific fundie reeducation camp my mother was talking about.”
I froze, caught completely by surprise.
“No.” It came out before my brain made even a half-hearted attempt at engaging. “I... uh... maybe you should just start with solo counseling for now.” I fumbled over the words.
The faint light of hope that had kindled in his deep brown eyes flickered and died. “Yes. You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll look into it.”
My pulse had skyrocketed, and I didn’t know why. On that awkward note, I escaped to the bathroom for a shower... where I immediately started second-guessing my knee-jerk negative response to the proposal. Shouldn’t I want marriage counseling? Especially since Nat was the one to bring it up.
I stepped into the spray of hot water, turning my face into it. What the hell was wrong with me, anyway? First Nat had offered to stop seeing other people, and I’d thrown it back in his face by moving out. Now he was asking for couple’s counseling, and I’d shut that down as well.
All of this would be so much easier if I hated him. But he was still the guy who’d had my back without question when he thought someone was abusing me. He was still the guy who’d physically stepped between me and his asshole of a father, even though deep down, Nat was terrified of the man.
No matter how badly he’d screwed up the marriage, I couldn’t hate him. And that made everything else a hundred times more complicated. I thumped my forehead gently against the clammy tile wall, a growl rumbling up from my throat.
“ Fuck .”