Chapter Thirteen #2
The room was a smaller version of the main dining area, with a single table set for four beneath a chandelier.
My father stood at the head of the table, rigid in a bespoke suit that probably cost more than our entire wardrobe.
My mother remained seated, her back straight as a ruler, hair still the same perfect blonde as when I left, most likely courtesy of New York’s most expensive colorist.
The room contracted around me, air suddenly too thick to breathe. They looked exactly the same, untouched by the six years that had transformed me completely. Time had frozen for them, preserving their wealth, their status, their unshakable certainty that the world existed to bend to their will.
My father’s gaze swept over us, lingering on Marcus with the same expression he might use when finding something unpleasant stuck to his shoe. “Well,” he said, voice clipped. “You finally decided to grace us with your presence.”
“Hello, Father,” I replied, hating the way my voice automatically shifted, adopting the polite, deferential tone I’d spent years unlearning. “Mother.”
She didn’t rise to greet me, just inclined her head slightly.
“Cora.” Her gaze traveled from my face down to my dress, lips tightening.
“You’ve gained weight. Not in a healthy way.
” She gave an indignant sniff, like my very presence offended her.
I hadn’t seen them in six years, and that was her opening line.
I bit back a hysterical laugh. Some things never changed.
“This is Marcus,” I said, refusing to acknowledge her comment. “My husband.”
The word fell between us like a grenade. My mother’s perfectly manicured hand flew to her throat. My father’s face flushed a dangerous red.
“Sit down,” he barked, not looking at Marcus, not acknowledging my introduction. “We have matters to discuss.”
We moved to the table, Marcus pulling out my chair with surprising grace before taking his seat beside me. His thigh pressed against mine beneath the table, a warm anchor in the cold sea of my parents’ disapproval.
“What exactly is this?” my father demanded once we were seated, finally addressing Marcus directly. “Some kind of joke? Showing up with this… person?”
“His name is Marcus,” I said, ice crystallizing in my voice. “And I just told you, he’s my husband.”
My mother reached for her water glass, hand trembling slightly. “We’ve been worried sick,” she said without a trace of actual worry in her tone. “This little rebellion has gone on long enough, darling. It’s time to come home.”
“Rebellion?” I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “I’m twenty-two years old, Mother. I’ve been on my own for six years. This isn’t a phase or a temper tantrum. This is my life.”
“Six years,” my father scoffed, waving away half a decade as if it were nothing. “Six years of playing poor or whatever this is. Slumming.” He gestured vaguely toward Marcus without looking at him. “Did you think we wouldn’t find you? That we wouldn’t eventually bring you to your senses?”
“I never hid,” I said quietly. “And, obviously, you could have found me at any time you wanted.”
The waiter appeared, nervous eyes darting between us as he sensed the tension. “Would you care to order drinks?”
“Scotch,” my father snapped. “Macallan 25. Neat.”
“Bring me the driest white wine you have,” my mother added.
“Water for us,” I said, not wanting anything to dull my senses for what was to come.
When the waiter retreated, my father leaned forward, his expression hardening. “Let me be clear, Cora. This ends now. You’re coming home with us tonight. Your mother has already arranged for your old room to be prepared. Your therapist is expecting you Monday morning.”
I stared at him, genuinely stunned by his delusion. “That’s not happening.”
“Don’t be difficult,” my mother snapped, her voice taking on the syrupy quality she used when trying to manipulate me.
“You’ve had your adventure, dear. Proven whatever point you needed to make.
But this has gone on long enough. Look at you, in that cheap dress, with this person.
” Her eyes flicked dismissively toward Marcus.
“What would your grandfather say if he could see you now?”
Marcus remained perfectly still beside me, his silence more powerful than any words could be. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the controlled power of a predator deciding whether to strike.
“The Cora we raised would never embarrass us like this,” my father continued, acting as if Marcus weren’t present.
“That trust fund we set up for you was meant to set you up properly, not finance whatever sordid lifestyle you’ve been living.
Do you have any idea what people say about you?
About us? Your mother can barely show her face at the club anymore. ”
“How tragic for her,” I murmured, earning a sharp look from both of them.
“Enough sass,” my father barked. “You’re coming home tonight. End of discussion. We’ll get this marriage annulled, if it’s even legal, which I seriously doubt. Your mother has already spoken to several suitable young men who are willing to overlook this… indiscretion.”
The waiter returned with drinks, setting them down with trembling hands before retreating quickly. My father took a long swallow of his scotch, then fixed me with the look that used to make me shrink into myself.
“I expect you to be grateful,” he continued. “After everything you’ve put us through, we’re still willing to welcome you back. Still willing to restore your place in this family. Most parents wouldn’t be so forgiving.”
“Forgiving?” The word escaped me in a whisper. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Of course, it is,” my mother said. “We’re offering you a clean slate, Cora. A chance to put this ugliness behind us and return to your real life.”
That was when Marcus finally spoke, his voice so quiet they had to lean forward to hear him. “Her real life,” he said, each word measured and precise, “is with me. Has been for a while now.”
My father’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “No one asked for your input. This is a family matter.”
“I am her family,” Marcus replied, his tone carrying the dangerous undertone I recognized as carefully controlled rage. “The only family she needs.”
“Security,” my father called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Marcus. “We need someone removed from our private dining room.”
I sat frozen, unable to speak as years of conditioning battled against the person I’d become. My face settled into a mask of boredom, a defense mechanism I’d perfected in childhood, but my hand gripped Marcus’s under the table so tightly my knuckles were likely white with the tension.
“You’ve always been such a disappointment.” My mother sighed, shaking her head. “Always so willful, so determined to embarrass us. We gave you everything, and this is how you repay us?”
“We expect you to come to your senses now,” my father added, his tirade building steam.
“Pack whatever meager belongings you care about and say goodbye to… this person. Our driver is waiting outside to take you home. I’ve already contacted the board at English Financial.
There’s a position waiting for you, provided you demonstrate the proper attitude.
It’s more than you deserve, but that’s what parents do.
They forgive. They provide. Now it’s time for you to show some gratitude. ”
They finally paused, breathing slightly heavier from the exertion of their self-righteous speeches. Their eyes fixed on me with identical expressions of expectation, waiting for my capitulation, my apology, my surrender. The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire.
I looked at my parents’ disdain-filled faces and felt something inside me finally giving way, like a knot suddenly unraveling in my gut after years of tension.
My entire life, I’d been taught to swallow my words, to speak only when spoken to, to agree and apologize and accommodate.
The invisible chains they’d wrapped around me since childhood suddenly felt gossamer thin, their power existing only in my mind.
I glanced at Marcus beside me, his steady presence a reminder of who I’d become, of the strength I’d found in his arms and in myself. Then I turned back to my parents, smiled, and spoke the words I’d been holding back for most of my life.
“Go fuck yourselves.” The second the words fell from my lips, a weight lifted from my soul.
My words landed in the silence like stones dropped into still water.
My voice didn’t shake or rise, didn’t betray the thunder of my heart beneath my ribs.
I simply stated it as an order, a dismissal of everything they represented.
My father’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, no sound emerging.
For once in his life, Charles English was speechless.
Beside him, my mother’s face drained of color, her perfectly painted lips forming a small ‘o’ of shock as her wine glass tumbled from her hand to spill on the table in front of her.
“Excuse me?” she finally managed, her voice barely audible.
“You heard me,” I replied, still smiling, “but I have no problem saying it again. Go. Fuck. Yourselves. Both of you. Preferably with something rusty and painful.”
My father recovered, his face flushing purple. “How dare you speak to us that way! After everything we’ve done for you!”
“What exactly have you done for me?” I asked, rising slowly from my chair.
Marcus stood with me, his hand finding the small of my back.
“Controlled me? Belittled me? Made me feel worthless unless I was fulfilling your expectations?” I shook my head.
“That’s not love. That’s ownership. And I am not your property. ”
“Sit down this instant,” my mother hissed, eyes darting to the door as if worried someone might overhear. Always more concerned with appearances than reality.
I grinned. “Make me.”