Chapter 52 Limits
LIMITS
MOLLY
Ihate it here.
Until recently, I always thought this was the perfect house. Charming, full of personality, unique, timeless. Full of happy times and memories and laughter, of family and holidays and love.
Now, I see the cracks in the walls, smell the must of a leaky pipe in the bathroom, notice the foundation slipping.
I'm scrolling through social media, too exhausted to read, too decimated to engage.
Dad's watching a baseball game, and it makes me miss Grey so much, I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin.
I get up, toss my phone on the couch. He's stretched out in his recliner under a blanket looking feeble, old. It's terrifying.
"You okay, honey?" he asks like he knows good and well I'm not.
I offer him a halfhearted smile and nod. "Can I get you anything from the kitchen?"
"Some coffee, maybe."
"Coming right up."
I walk away, wishing I could run. But I find Mom in the kitchen, washing dishes while she cries. She doesn't notice me approach until I put an arm around her.
"Oh, gosh, chicken," she starts, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. I'm okay."
"No, you're not. You don't have to be."
She nods, her chin flexing. "I don't even know why. He's doing well, the doctors aren't worried. And you're home. I love having you home," she says sweetly, sniffling, smiling.
I can't stop a sigh. "I know. But I've got to get back."
Her face crumples. "Do you have to?"
"School starts in a few days, and I need--" I stop myself before I say him. "I need to get home."
She nods slowly, wiping her eyes. "I know. I know you do."
"There's nothing for me to do here. You won't let me cook or clean, and I get it--having something to do makes you feel better. But I'm not helping. You've got all handled."
"It makes me feel so much better that you're here, though."
"I know. But I'm just a few hours away. If something happens, you call me."
For a moment, she just looks at me. Not angry, not accusing. Just…tired.
"I worry about you," she says quietly. "That's all."
For the first time all week, she sounds like my mom. Not the woman who ambushed me, not the one who stood by while Dad tried to tried to pack my bag. Just mom."
"I know," I say gently. "But I'm okay. I promise.
She opens her mouth to respond--
A voice from the casing cuts her off. "You're not okay." Dad's arms are crossed, his jaw tight, looking suspiciously healthy. "You're making a mess of your life."
My whole body tenses. "Dad--"
"Rob," Mom warns, "the doctor said--"
"I don't care what the doctor said." He steps into the kitchen. There's nothing feeble about him now, his color high, his voice sharp. "She's my daughter. And she needs to hear this."
All week. All week I've been tiptoeing around him, afraid to say the wrong thing, terrified I'll stop his heart again. And here he is, red-faced and very much alive.
"Have you been eavesdropping the whole time?" I ask.
"Somebody has to talk sense into you. Your mother clearly won't."
"Dad, I want to leave because you don't need my help, and I don't live here anymore. I want to go home."
"This is home."
"Of course it is," I start impatiently. "But it's not my home. I have a job and a house and a life of my own, and I need to get back to it."
"And him."
"And him," I echo, since he needs to hear me say it.
"Of all the men you could choose--" he starts.
"He's the best of all of them. I don't want anyone else."
"You have no business being with a man that old, a man like him."
"You mean we don't look like whatever story you made up about what my life should be?
He doesn't look like whatever guy you created in your head that checks all your little boxes?
I don't know if you realize this, but that guy doesn't exist. The life you've dreamed up for me isn't the life I will likely end up choosing.
So all this--the pushing and control and fighting--is for nothing.
All it's doing is pushing me away. I regret coming here," I admit, turning to leave the kitchen. "I should have stayed home."
"That man is too old for you," Dad snaps from my heel. "He's violent. He's not what we want for you--"
"What you want," I shoot back. "You don't get to decide--"
"I'm your father!"
I whirl around. "But I'm not a child! I'm not a teenager. I'm a grown woman, and you're so angry that I'm making my own choices--"
"Rob, please--" Mom reaches for his arm, but he shakes her off.
"I don't need you to protect me!" I snap. "You've made every choice for me up until now, so I imagine it pisses you off that I don't even ask for your advice, but I don't want it. I don't need it."
"Molly!" Mom gasps.
But Dad talks over her. "You bought a house you can't handle, you're with a man who gets in fights--"
"Are you serious?" I'm shaking. "All week--all week--I've been terrified to say a single word because Mom said it could kill you. And here you are, screaming at me, totally fine."
Something flickers across his face. Guilt maybe. Or just annoyance at being caught.
"That's different--"
"It's not different. It's worse."
"You're too young to know what you want," Dad finishes. "Too naive to see what's right in front of you."
Whatever else he says is drowned under my fury. "That's it." My voice is deadly calm. "I love you, but that's it."
"What do you mean that's it?" Mom asks, following me to my room.
"I'm leaving." I throw my bag on the bed and start shoving things in.
"How? You don't have a car."
"Call an Uber. Rent a car. Because I'm old enough to rent a car. I think I can handle choosing who I date without your approval."
"Just wait, honey. We'll take you--"
"Even if I could stand being in the car with you right now, Dad doesn't need that."
"Can't you call a friend?"
"I could call Grey, but I don't think you want to see him, and I don't want to wait three hours. I want to go. Now." I snatch my bag and storm to the bathroom where I blindly throw more crap in.
"Please, Molly. Just take a breath--"
"No. Until you can have an actual conversation with me without--"
"There's something you need to know." Her voice cracks, and something in her tone stops me cold. She looks terrified. "Something we should have told you a long time ago."
I turn slowly. "What?"
Her mouth opens--
"Cate." Dad's voice is low, hard. A warning.
Mom freezes.
He steps into the doorway, his eyes locked on her. "Are you sure that's what you want?" His voice is calm, but something cold sits beneath it. "Are you sure you're ready for the consequences if you do?"
I watch my mother crumble. Her shoulders curve in, her eyes dropping to the floor. She shakes her head slowly.
"I didn't think so."
The silence is suffocating. I look between them--my father's hard stare, my mother's hollow defeat--and something clicks into place.
"What in the hell is going on?" My voice shakes. "What are you hiding from me?"
"Nothing." He says flatly.
"Bullshit." I step toward him. "Why won't you let her tell me? Why did you threaten her? You say you don't recognize me, but I've never met this version of you, Dad."
"Molly--" Mom warns.
"No. I see it now. I see how you control her, how you control everything." I'm shaking so hard I can barely stand. "There's a secret, something you've kept from me that's so bad, you can't stand the thought of me knowing."
Dad's jaw tightens. "You have no idea what you're talking about, young lady."
"Then tell me! Tell me what's so important that you'd rather lose me than tell me the truth!"
Silence. Mom won't look at me. Dad won't budge.
"Fine." I grab my bag "Keep your secrets. But I'm done."
I push past them, grab my purse off the hook, and reach for the door.
A hand closes around my arm, stopping me.
I pause. Look down at my father's fingers wrapped around my forearm, then meet his eyes.
"Let go." My voice is ice.
"You're making a mistake," he says through his teeth.
"Maybe I am. But it's mine to make."
His grip tightens. Mom's voice comes from behind us, shaky but firm.
"Rob. Let her go."
He doesn't move, his eyes wild, locked on mine.
"Rob." Louder now, steadier, commanding. "Let go of our daughter."
Something flickers across his face. His hand falls away.
I don't kiss him goodbye. I don't say I love you.
I open the door and walk out into the daylight.
And I don't look back.