Chapter 31 It’s Giving Passive-Aggressive Pot Roast
AMANDA
The ride to my parents’ house takes forty minutes through Brooklyn traffic, and I spend every single one of those minutes hyperaware of the vibrator still nestled inside me and the way Chad’s body feels solid and warm against my chest.
By the time we pull up to the familiar brownstone where I grew up, I’m wound tighter than a spring and trying very hard not to think about how good he smells or how his muscles shift under my hands when he leans into turns.
I slide off the bike the second he kills the engine, pulling off the helmet and immediately trying to fix my hair.
“Okay, thank you so much, much appreciated, bye-bye now,” I say in one breath, already backing toward the front steps.
CHAD
Don’t let them get to you.
I pause, one foot on the bottom step, staring at my screen.
Huh? How does he—
You’re worth more than their approval. Remember that.
I blink, suddenly feeling a little flustered and weirdly touched. Because his words are not what I was expecting. They’re actually kind of sweet in a way that makes my chest tight. I glance back at him, but he just tilts his helmeted head like he’s waiting for me to go inside.
How do you even know about my parents?
I know you, baby doll. Now, go. And don’t let them dim your light.
I stare at the message for a long moment. Then I shake my head, shove my phone in my purse, and climb the steps to face the monthly torture that is Bennett family dinner.
The second I walk through the front door, I’m hit with the familiar scent of my mother’s cooking and the sound of Raven’s laugh coming from the dining room. At least she’s already here, which means I won’t have to face the interrogation alone.
“Amanda, sweetheart!” My father’s voice booms from his recliner in the living room. “Come give your old man a hug.”
I detour to kiss his cheek, noting the way he immediately mutes the television. Dad’s always been the warmer of my parents, but there’s something about the way he sits—shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for impact—that makes me sad.
“How’s work, pumpkin?”
“Good, Dad. Really good. We had a great sales month, and I’m thinking about—”
“Amanda!” My mother’s voice cuts through from the kitchen. “Finally. We were starting to wonder if you’d changed your mind again.”
I wince. Last month I’d bailed because I had a migraine, but apparently that’s now being filed under “Amanda’s disappointing behavior.”
“Sorry, Mom. Traffic was crazy.”
I make my way to the dining room, where Raven is already seated, looking stunning as always in a flowing black dress that somehow makes her look both goth and elegant. She gives me a sympathetic look that says brace yourself.
“You look tired,” Mom greets me, appearing from the kitchen with a serving dish. “Are you getting enough sleep? You know, lack of sleep shows in your skin first.”
And we’re off to the races.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just busy with work.”
“Hmm.” She sets the dish down with more force than necessary. “Well, sit down. Dinner’s getting cold.”
I take my usual seat across from Raven, who mouths sorry at me. Dad shuffles in and takes his place at the head of the table, immediately focusing on his plate.
“So,” Mom says, settling into her chair with the air of someone about to conduct a performance review. “Rebecca was just telling me about her latest… project.”
The way she says “project” makes it sound like Raven’s building pipe bombs instead of creating content that millions of people enjoy.
“It’s not a project, Mom,” Raven says with forced patience. “It’s my career. I just signed a brand partnership with a major skin-care company.”
“Well,” Mom says, cutting her pot roast. “You hope it works out.”
My phone vibrates under the table.
CHAD
She’s intimidated by Raven’s success.
I nearly choke on my water. How is he—
“That’s amazing, Rave,” I say quickly, trying to cover my reaction. “Which company?”
Raven’s face lights up as she starts explaining the partnership with the vegan skin-care line, but I can see Mom’s expression growing more pinched with every detail.
“Of course,” Mom interrupts, “these internet companies come and go so quickly. I just hope you have a backup plan.”
Translation: I’m scared my daughter is more successful than I ever was.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. Because damn, he’s not wrong.
“What’s new with you?” Raven asks me, clearly trying to divert some of the attention away from herself. I can’t blame her.
“Actually, I’ve been thinking about maybe applying for the regional manager position that’s opening up at Monarch. It’s a big step up, and—”
“Well,” Mom says with that same dismissive tone. “We’ll see if they think you’re ready for that kind of responsibility.”
The dismissal is immediate and automatic. Not congratulations or that’s wonderful or even tell me more. Just doubt. Immediate, automatic doubt. My fingers circle my forearm scar until the skin feels warm, and I realize I’ve been doing it without even noticing.
She’s projecting her own insecurities onto you. Don’t take it on. You’re brilliant and capable. Her opinion doesn’t change that.
Dad clears his throat. “That sounds like a great opportunity, Amanda. You’ve always been good with people.”
I give him a grateful smile, but Mom immediately cuts in.
“Good with people and good at business are two different things entirely.”
The rest of dinner continues in the same vein. Raven mentions she’s thinking about moving to a bigger apartment, and Mom says, “You hope you can afford it.” I talk about a client who complimented my styling, and Mom says, “Well, flattery is part of sales.”
Every achievement, every piece of good news, every moment of pride gets immediately deflated with a passive-aggressive pin.
And through it all, Chad keeps texting.
She’s wrong.
You light up every room you walk into.
Don’t let her negative voice become yours.
By the time Mom brings out dessert—store-bought cake she’s arranged on her good china like that somehow makes it homemade—I’m vibrating with frustration.
Normally, I’d just take it. Smile and nod and deflect with humor, then go home and decompress with wine and reality TV until the sting fades.
That’s always been my strategy: survive the dinner, then deal with the emotional aftermath in private.
But tonight feels different. Maybe it’s Chad’s texts, pointing out how wrong this all is. Maybe it’s finally having someone validate that this isn’t normal, that I don’t deserve to be treated like this. Whatever it is, instead of shutting down like usual, I’m getting more and more wound up.
“So,” Mom says, settling back into her chair. “Any updates on your dating life, Amanda? You know, you’re not getting any younger.”
And there it is. The final blow.
“Mom—”
“I’m just saying, if you want children someday, you need to start thinking seriously about settling down. Rebecca, too.” She looks between us like we’re disappointing investments. “I had both of you by the time I was your age.”
She pauses, then adds with that particular smile that’s somehow worse than a frown, “And this time, maybe try to pick someone who actually wants to stay married.”
I feel my face flush with embarrassment and anger.
She has no right to bring that up. Say something. Don’t let her make you small. You deserve better than this.
Hot anger rises in my chest. All the years of this. All the deflection and doubt and casual cruelty disguised as concern.
I set down my fork and look directly at my mother.
“You know what, Mom? I’m doing fine. Actually, I’m doing better than fine.
I’m happy with my job, I’m happy with my life, and I have no regrets.
And if you can’t support that—if you can’t celebrate the good things in your daughters’ lives without immediately tearing them down—then maybe the problem isn’t us. ”
The table goes dead silent.
Dad’s eyes are wide. Raven has a barely contained shit-eating grin spreading across her face like she’s been waiting years for this moment. And Mom’s face has gone several shades of red.
“Amanda Catherine Bennett—”
“No.” I stand up, my heart pounding but my voice steady. “I’m done. I’m done pretending this is normal. I’m done letting you make me feel like nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Mom’s voice rises, her eyes filling with tears that appear on command.
“After everything I’ve done for you? After all the sacrifices your father and I made?
I was only trying to help you, to prepare you for the real world.
This is how you repay me? By attacking me in my own home? ”
She presses a hand to her chest like I’ve physically wounded her. “I can’t believe my own daughter would be so cruel to me. I don’t know where this is coming from, Amanda. You’ve never been like this before.”
I turn to Raven, who’s staring at me with something like admiration.
“I love you,” I tell her. “I’m so proud of you. And I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”
I give her a quick hug, then look at Dad, who’s staring down at his plate like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him whole.
“And Dad? You deserve better than this, too.”
I grab my purse and head for the door before anyone can say another word. Chad is waiting exactly where I left him, leaning against his bike like he never moved. The second he sees my face, he straightens.
How do you feel?
My hands still shaking slightly from adrenaline, I can’t find my voice in the moment, so I text him instead.
Terrified. Exhilarated. Like I might throw up.
That’s how you know you did the right thing.
I look up at him, this mysterious man who somehow knew exactly what I needed to hear, exactly when I needed to hear it.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice still a little shaky.
He tilts his helmeted head, and I know he’s asking the question even without words.
“For reminding me who I am.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can see my reflection in his visor. Close enough so that I can see the faint outline of my pink lipstick kiss from this morning. He never washed it off.
I’m proud of you.
And somehow that means more than any approval I’ve ever gotten from anyone else.