Chapter 20 Scott - Take on Me #2
“Mother. Daddy.” Michelle said it like she was greeting royalty, not the people who’d raised her… and threatened to disown her. Her gaze cut to her sister, and the frown that followed made it clear the betrayal ran deep. “Melanie.”
They all offered equally as formal hellos. Painfully awkward. I squirmed for them.
“Surprised to see you back from New York,” Michelle said in a clipped tone.
“I never left.”
“How convenient for you.”
Lydia put a stop to the passive-aggressive banter. “Michelle, thank goodness you’re home. I don’t appreciate you not taking my call. Over a week with no contact. That’s unacceptable.”
Michelle ignored the reprimand and stood tall. She looked every bit like where she came from, but there was nothing fragile in the way she held herself. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
She angled slightly toward me. “This is Scott McKallister, my boyfriend. And these are my parents, Lydia and…” Her eyes settled on her father, and after an uncomfortable pause, she added, “Bill. But you’ve already met, haven’t you?”
If the silence in that room got any tighter, it would’ve snapped in half. Lydia’s lips thinned. Bill’s jaw flexed. If I didn’t know better, I might’ve felt sorry for them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carver,” I managed, nodding like I hadn’t spent the past week and a half healing from their family’s version of hospitality. “And Melanie. Nice to finally meet you.”
“You too,” she replied, guilt flooding her eyes. “And… I’m sorry about—"
Lydia cut her off, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Scott. Yes. A pleasure.”
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
Michelle’s hand brushed my arm before she turned back to them, wearing a defiant smile that said the old rules no longer applied.
“Fifteen thousand dollars? Really, Daddy? Is that all I’m worth to you?”
“I’d have paid more, darling, but he caved faster than I expected.”
“I took it to get you out of my apartment,” I said in defense.
“The point, Scott,” Lydia said. “Is that you took the money.”
“He ripped it up, Mother.” Michelle reached into her purse and pulled out the evidence. “See—two bloody halves. So no, he didn’t take the money. Like me, you weren’t able to buy him.”
Lydia’s lips pursed. “Yes, darling, your integrity is truly inspiring. All that time you were sneaking around with the surf instructor, you were doing it on our dime. And you’d still be swiping our credit card if I hadn’t canceled it. So please—don’t try to impress me with your righteousness.”
If looks could kill. It was like watching the politest fireworks show ever, and Michelle, yeah, she was expertly containing her fuse.
“Yes, I used the credit card… to replace the broken items in Scott’s apartment and to cover the hospital costs of the beating you ordered.
A bill should be coming shortly. But it’s the least you can do, considering Scott chose not to report you to the authorities. ”
Bill was taken aback, more concerned about the money than the cops he could easily pay off. “How much was it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “And you owe Scott an apology.”
“I hardly think protecting our family needs an apology,” Lydia said, smoothly.
Michelle shut her down with a raised hand.
“Look at him, Mother. This is twelve days of healing. What you did wasn’t protecting the family.
It was brutality. So excuse me if I don’t care what you have to say anymore.
And you…” she turned to Melanie, her eyes narrowing.
“I told you about Scott in confidence. You’re supposed to be my sister.
My best friend. I was going back to New York for you.
I hope tattling to Daddy was worth it, because now this life is yours alone. I’m done.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lydia raised her voice. “No one is leaving this family.”
“Yes, actually, I am,” Michelle said, perfectly composed. “Just as soon as you write Scott another check.”
“What?” Bill bristled at the thought. “Absolutely not.”
“You will not see a dime.” Lydia dug in.
“Hmm, well, that’s going to be a problem,” Michelle said calmly. “Because I made a police report at the hospital. I didn’t give them your name, but if we don’t walk out of here with a check for Scott’s pain and suffering, you can expect a visit from the Venice Beach Police Department.”
The standoff was on.
Bill went still. Not angry. More like calculating. I watched it happen as the implications caught up with him: police at the door, questions he couldn’t control, a story tied to his name.
Lydia scoffed, but Bill didn’t look at her. He went to the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a checkbook. When he glanced at Michelle, I saw it then—fear, not of reprisal, but of losing her. He cleared his throat, then clicked the pen.
“Make it out to Scott McKallister,” she instructed, then spelled it out. “Capital M. Lowercase c. Capital K. Then a.l.l.i.s.t.e.r. Don’t forget, because it’s about to become my last name.”
The collective blinking was almost comical. With no way out, he put pen to paper, spelling my—our soon-to-be—last name correctly. As he was about to fill in the amount, Michelle stopped him.
“Oh, and Bill? Make it for thirty thousand, and we’ll call it even.”
“…I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
The words dropped with no fanfare, no music, no applause.
Just us. Our only witnesses were MGM, April, and the justice of the peace who would, in a few minutes, sign our names into the county record.
Somewhere down the hall, a typewriter clacked and a phone rang.
Real life kept on rolling while ours quietly changed.
Michelle looked up at me, her eyes bright but steady.
God, she was beautiful. Heaven sent—well, not quite, considering I’d just watched her shake thirty grand out of her father like it was pocket change.
I knew before we walked in what she was planning to do: get back the check I’d torn up.
I’d earned it in blood. Yeah, I had no problem with the blackmail.
I just hadn’t known my girl was going to ad-lib the final amount.
And now here she was, marrying the guy with absolutely no pedigree.
The kid who watched his mom die at ten and figured that was his warning—don’t get too close, don’t hold on too tight, because everything you love disappears.
I’d lived by that rule for years, until Michelle came along and made me want to risk it.
With her, I wasn’t afraid of losing. I was afraid of missing out.
“You may kiss the bride,” the justice said, already reaching for the next stack of papers.
Michelle’s fingers curled against the back of my neck. I cupped her cheeks, and we kissed for the first time as husband and wife. Sparks flew.
When we finally pulled apart, the justice gave us a polite, almost bored smile. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. McKallister.”
I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Capital M. Lower case c. Capital K. Then a.l.l.i.s.t.e.r. Don’t forget—it’s now your last name.” She laughed, and we kissed again.
It was going to be a great life.
After the no-frills ceremony, April snapped a few Polaroids to mark the day, including one with MGM between us, getting a kiss on each cheek. I caught the look of acceptance in April’s eyes and tucked it away. She’d been mildly supportive of our union, and that was all I could ask of her.
Once she headed out with the baby, Michelle and I sat on the steps of City Hall, taking in the moment, just the two of us.
Husband and wife. Against all odds, against every bruise and warning and dollar of her father’s hush money, we’d made it—married seven weeks after meeting.
Impulsive? Sure. Stupid? Possibly. But she loved me, I loved her, and that felt like enough to build a future on.
We both leaned back on the steps, propped on our sides with our elbows. Our eyes locked, her grin widening in sync with mine, and I said, casual as ever, “Now what?”