Chapter 34 #2
Interestingly, Daryl doesn’t seem surprised. He just looks thoughtful as his eyes jump back and forth between us.
“You dated in college?” Alvina says.
“Yes,” Dom says. He pauses, straightening up, and then goes on in a hoarse voice, “I was her TA.” He swallows. “I changed her grade without her knowledge so she could keep her financial aid.”
This is clearly a surprise, but Dom doesn’t respond to his father’s wide eyes. He just keeps talking.
“I turned myself in and got expelled. As I should have,” he adds bitterly. “I told them Reese had nothing to do with it, but—”
“Yes, I did,” I cut in. “I dated you. I knew I shouldn’t have, and I dated you anyway.
” It’s hard to maneuver my tongue around these admissions, but I look at Dom and push the truth out.
“We were wrong. Both of us.” Then I turn to Alvina.
“I withdrew in place of being expelled, but it amounted to the same thing.”
“You never told me that,” my mother says, aghast.
“You never asked.” It’s brutal, blunt honesty—all I have to offer her now. “You never cared. I told you I wasn’t going to college anymore, and you said I would have more free time.”
“Either way,” Dom says, his voice steel. “We shouldn’t have dated then, but it can’t be changed. We’re dating now.” He glances between our parents with a meaningful expression. “Do what you will with that.”
In the silence that follows this pronouncement, I look more closely at Daryl and Alvina. They’re not sitting particularly close, I notice, and neither of them looked very happy before they saw us.
“I’m not actually sure what we walked in on,” I murmur to Dom as I lean toward him.
“Me neither,” he says with a frown. Then, addressing our parents, he says, “So…?”
Alvina sniffs, but it’s not haughty this time; it’s tear-filled. She sets her napkin on the table, next to her salad. “Well,” she says in a stiff voice. She looks at me with watery eyes and arched brows; she nocks the arrow. She draws. Aims.
And then she releases. “I have to say, Reese, I’m disappointed in you. And feeling more than a little betrayed.”
The words pierce my balloon of happiness, sharp and true.
“I know I haven’t always been the best mother, no matter how I’ve tried,” she goes on, “but dating my boyfriend’s son in retaliation…it’s cruel, sweetheart.” She shakes her head, a jerky motion. “I thought you were above such petty tricks.”
Her lips purse as she fidgets with the bracelet on her wrist. I try to look more closely at her, to see if she’s faking or being sincere—because with Alvina it’s hard to tell—but I find it doesn’t matter. Sincere or not, my heart is deflating, even with Dom’s hand wrapped tightly around mine.
“My decision to date Dominic had nothing to do with you,” I say quietly as weight settles over me, over my chest and my mind and my wings as they try desperately to unfurl. “It will continue to have nothing to do with you.”
Her eyes widen—in shock or scandal, I can’t tell. “Well,” she says. “That is ridiculous. I am your mother.” Each word is clipped. “I carried you and birthed you and raised you.”
The sigh that slips past my lips is so, so tired. “Alvina—”
“No,” she cuts me off, standing abruptly.
Her fancy silverware falls to the fancy floor, and her napkin flutters to the ground.
She brushes stiff hands over the skirt of her dress as her eyes fill again with glassy tears, which she tries to blink away with fluttering lids.
“No. Choosing some—some boy”—she sends a bewildered but scathing look at Dom—“over your own mother is absurd, Reese.”
“You cannot speak to her like that.”
Dominic’s quiet, firm words come before I’m able to reply to Alvina, and I turn to him in surprise. He’s not looking at me, though; his hand is clenched painfully around mine, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he stares at my mother.
“I beg your pardon?” she says as her penciled brows lift in scandalized disbelief. “What are you saying to me?”
A soft, bitter laugh is Dom’s first response. “For years and years, I’ve had things I wanted to say to you. But for now…” His eyes dart to me and then back to my mother, and when he goes on, his voice is even and calm but utterly cold. “You cannot speak to Reese like that.”
“I’m not choosing Dominic over you,” I tell Alvina quietly, even though my legs are trembling and my heart is racing and my hands are sweaty. “I’m just choosing myself.”
It’s a line I’ve seen in movies, cliche and quippy, but saying the words myself is different. They’re knives on my tongue, and they don’t feel empowering at all, like I hoped they might.
They just hurt.
“Well,” Alvina says again. “In that case, I’m clearly no longer needed here,” she says, just as frigid as Dominic, her eyes still glassy with tears, her nose as high in the air as it will go.
Then she looks at Daryl. “I’m surprised at you.
Are you okay with all this?” She waves one vague hand at Dom and me.
And to my unending surprise, Daryl doesn’t even look at her. He just murmurs tiredly out of the side of his mouth, “For your own sake, make a graceful exit, please.”
It’s then that a waiter appears, his steps not easy but hassled and bustling.
Poor guy; he probably drew the short straw.
He approaches with darting eyes and says, “Excuse me.” Then, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the restaurant, he says, “I’m going to have to ask you to settle down or leave, please.
We pride ourselves on maintaining a calm, elegant establishment. ”
“Fine,” Alvina snaps—an unprecedented display of emotion in front of a man she’s trying to impress. The waiter startles, and some of his nervousness hardens into offense.
“Fine,” my mother repeats. She clears her throat, her expression shifting to something more grudging as she looks at Daryl. “Thank you for—for dinner.”
He hesitates but nods, his brows pulled low.
Alvina doesn’t even look at me before she clips away from the table.
Daryl sighs, rubbing his hand down his face and slumping back in his chair.
“Did you guys just break up?” Dom asks in disbelief.
“Yes,” Daryl says. He looks up at us and opens his mouth. For a second it seems like he’s going to say something disapproving to Dom, and Dom sees it too; his grip tightens, his body going stiff.
But after a careful look at us, he sighs again and shakes his head. He pulls out his wallet and digs around for a card, which he places on the table. Then he stands up, claps Dominic on the shoulder, and says, “I’m happy for you both. Truly.”
Dom is way more surprised than I am to see Daryl’s smile, small but genuine. He turns that smile on the waiter, too, who relaxes.
“Our apologies,” Daryl says, and then he looks at me.
“I need to take your mother home,” he says his smile fading into something regretful.
“I expect we’ll see each other again soon, Reese.
” Then, with a little wave, he says, “Have a good evening, kids. On me.” He points at his credit card and then shuffles away without another word, the waiter following him, and Dominic and I are left standing at the empty table, staring at each other.
I want to say something flippant, or funny, or relaxed. My mother behaved exactly how I thought she would; no surprises here.
But being right has never hurt so much. It’s never been filled with so much exhaustion, either.
Dom squeezes my hand, and I startle, looking over at him. His eyes are full of understanding, but all he says is “So? What do you think?” Then he nods at his dad’s card and lifts one brow. “Should we try some dessert?”
And my heart feels utterly broken, worn out and tired and defeated, but…
“Yeah,” I say simply. “Let’s have dessert.”