Twenty Four
The Truth, Served Cold
MIA
I’M SITTING AT THE kitchen table, my foot jiggling nervously under the floral-printed tablecloth mum insists on keeping year-round. The smell of roast chicken wafts through the air, and I can hear my dad fiddling with the TV remote in the living room, muttering curses at the rugby commentary.
Danny, as always, is surgically attached to his phone, completely oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him. Meanwhile, his two kids, Allegra and Freddie, are tearing through the place like caffeinated tornadoes, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
Danny’s wife, Claire, is probably off at the salon, living her best life and getting pampered. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t dislike Claire. I actually do like her . . . she’s just one of those flavors you have to try a few times before deciding if it’s for you.
I take a deep breath, staring at my mug of tea like it holds the answers to life.
The answers it gives me?
Don’t do this.
Lie.
Move to Peru.
Fake your own death.
“Mia, love, you’ll get wrinkles early if you continue frowning like that,” Mum calls from the counter, her back to me as she chops carrots with the same ferocity as someone avenging their family name.
“I’m not frowning,” I mutter. “I’m . . . thinking.”
She turns, raising a brow. “About what? You look like you’re gearing up for battle.”
I resist the urge to groan. This is going to be awful. Like, rip the Band-Aid off with no anesthetic awful.
Danny finally looks up from his phone, narrowing his eyes. “If you’re pregnant, I’m going to personally strangle that fucker.”
“Danny!” Mum barks, glaring at him.
“What? It’s a valid concern,” he says, shrugging and taking another sip of his tea like he hasn’t just single-handedly made this ten times worse.
“I’m not pregnant,” I snap, rubbing my temples. “Can we not be so . . . dramatic for once?”
This from the woman about to drop a bombshell so big it could level the entire village.
I swallow the lump in my throat and steel myself as my dad ambles into the kitchen, a bottle of real ale in hand.
“What’s all this about then?” he asks, sliding into his seat at the head of the table. “Are we having a family meeting?”
“Apparently,” Danny says, still scrolling like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “Should we be worried?”
The only thing Danny should be worried about is his kids who are doing what can only be described as a full-scale re-enactment of Godzilla vs. King Kong in mum’s living room.
“Enough,” I snap, sharper than intended. Everyone falls silent, their eyes snapping to me.
“Mia,” Mum says gently, setting down the knife. “What’s going on?”
And there it is—the soft, concerned tone that’s going to make this even harder.
I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. “The engagement,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It wasn’t real.”
Silence.
Deafening silence.
Dad blinks, looking between me and Mum like I’ve just announced I’m secretly a lizard person. “Come again?”
Danny chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering. “Wait, what?”
I take another deep breath, trying to ignore the wave of heat rushing up my neck. “Austin and I . . . we weren’t actually engaged. It was fake. The whole thing.”
Mum stares at me like I’ve just told her I’ve joined a cult. “Mia,” she starts, her tone a dangerous mix of disbelief and disappointment. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” I say, my voice rising, “that the engagement was a lie. A cover. A . . . mutually beneficial agreement.”
Danny bursts out laughing, doubling over in his chair. “You faked an engagement? Wow, that's bad even by your standards.”
“Danny,” Mum snaps, but she’s still looking at me, her face pale. “Why on earth would you do something like that?”
“For you!” I blurt, and immediately regret it.
Mum’s jaw drops. “For me?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I say, throwing my hands up. “Maybe it was more for Amber.”
“Amber?” My dad frowns, setting down his beer.
"That bitch from school," I say, as if he should instantly know who I’m talking about. When I saw her, I panicked. She had this smug look plastered on her face that practically screamed, ‘I’ve got my life perfectly together, and you don’t, Poodle.’ So, yeah, it just kind of . . . slipped out."
“Poodle?” Dad asks, raising an eyebrow.
“My hair. You know, the curly, wild mess I had back in school,” I explain, gesturing at my head for emphasis.
He frowns, slowly nodding. “Ah. Got it. Poodle.”
Danny leans back in his chair, grinning. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Please, go on.”
um glares at him before turning back to me, her voice trembling. “So . . . everything was a lie? The ring, the announcement, all of it?”
“Not all of it,” I admit, my voice softening. “Austin’s a real person. A friend. He just . . . helped me out. That’s all.”
“Helped you out,” Dad repeats, his tone flat. “By pretending to love you.”
I flinch, the words hitting harder than I expect. “Yes.”
“And you thought this was a good idea?” Mum asks, her voice rising.
“No,” I snap. “I thought it was a desperate idea. But it worked, didn’t it? You all believed it.”
“That’s not the point!” she cries, throwing her hands up.
“That’s exactly the point,” I snap, my chest rising and falling with frustration.
“I lied, and you all ate it up because you wanted it to be true. You wanted me to be this perfectly put-together, settled version of myself that doesn’t actually exist. You always have.
You never wanted me to go into hair and beauty—you thought being just a hairdresser was beneath you, beneath the precious family name. ”
The room falls silent again, the weight of my words settling over us.
Danny breaks the tension with a low whistle. “Damn, Mia. That was . . . savage.”
“Danny,” Mum hisses, her eyes flashing.
He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying. She’s got a point.”
Dad sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Mia, love, no one’s asking you to be perfect.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter.
Mum looks like she wants to cry, and for the first time, guilt starts to creep in around the edges of my anger.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking down at the table. “I just . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”
Mum sits down heavily, her face pale. “And Austin? Does he . . . does he know how you feel?”
I shake my head, my throat tightening. “It’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over.”
Danny snorts. “Bet he’s glad to be rid of you. ”
I glare at him. “Shut up, Danny.”
Mum reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers. “Mia, love, we just want you to be happy. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”
“I know,” I whisper, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. “But sometimes, it feels like that’s not enough. Like I’m not enough.”
Her grip tightens, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. “You are. You always have been.”
Danny clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional turn. “Ok, so... what happens now? Do we just pretend this never happened?”
“No,” I say firmly, standing up. “We don’t pretend. We deal with it. And I figure out how to fix the mess I’ve made.”
Dad nods, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds like a plan, darling.”
Danny grins. “Wait until I tell the lads in the office. They will eat this story up.”
I grab a roll from the breadbasket and hurl it at his head. It smacks Danny square in the forehead, and his shocked expression is almost worth the tidal wave of regret currently drowning me.
Almost.
“Oi!” he yelps, rubbing his head.
“Oh, shut up,” I snap, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I’m holding back. “You’ve been asking for it since the moment I opened my mouth.”
Danny, being Danny, flashes a wide grin like this is all some comedy routine we’ve rehearsed for years. “Not my fault you’re so entertaining when you’re a complete disaster.”
I shoot to my feet so fast the kitchen chair screeches across the floor.
“Enough,” Mum cuts in, her voice sharp as a knife. Danny and I might be grown adults, but she can reduce us both to children when she is angry.
She’s staring at me in particular with that mix of concern and exasperation only a mother can master. Her hands still clutching the edge of the table like she’s afraid it might sprout legs and bolt. “Mia, sit down.”
“No, thanks,” I say, backing toward the door. “I’ve had enough family bonding for one night.”
“Mia,” Dad starts, his tone weary, but I hold up a hand.
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t try to fix this or tell me it’s all going to be fine. I know I’ve made a mess of things, and I know I’ve let everyone down, but right now, I just . . . I can’t.”
I grab my coat from the back of the chair and sling it over my arm, the fabric catching awkwardly on the table corner because, of course, it does.
Every step toward the door feels heavier, like I’m dragging my guilt behind me like a suitcase filled with bricks.
Danny pipes up from behind me, his voice far too casual for the situation. “So, are we not doing dinner, then? Because I was really looking forward to Mum’s sticky toffee pudding.”
I freeze, turning slowly to glare at him. “Danny, I swear to God—”
“Alright, alright!” He raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “I’m just saying, if you’re storming off, you’re leaving me to deal with the fallout. And I don’t even know where the fire extinguisher is for when Mum inevitably combusts.”
“Danny!” Mum snaps, jabbing a finger at him like she’s about to cast a curse. “Go and sort out your children—I can hear them destroying the house from here.”
Danny nods and heads toward the living room, whistling a cheery tune that makes me want to scream.
When he’s gone, the kitchen feels suffocatingly quiet. Mum stands there, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Dad sits in his chair, looking at me with that calm, steady gaze he’s perfected over the years.
“Mia,” Mum says softly, breaking the silence. “We can’t help you if you keep shutting us out.”
My shoulders slump, and the fight drains out of me like air from a punctured balloon. “I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.