All Broke Down (Rusk University #2)(32)
Author: Cora Carmack

“His flight had a slight delay, but he should be here soon.”

I nod, grateful for the tiny reprieve to continue thinking about how best to approach the conversation of my arrest with him.

“Is the table already set?” I ask. It would be good to have something to do.

“It is. I’ll admit, I’ve been a little bored with your father gone. I actually set the table nearly an hour ago just to pass the time.”

I laugh because even though she’s not my birth mom, she might as well be. We’re alike in so many ways.

“Do you want to practice your speech on me?” she asks.

I pull my lips up into a smile that feels too frail. “No thanks. I’ve thought through it so many times that it’s kind of playing on a constant loop in my head.”

“Then we’ll talk about something else.” I love her. So much. Sure, she’s not the homey, coddling mom that I dreamed of having as a kid. She never snuggled beside me in bed or played board games with me or let me eat cookies before dinner. But she’s kind. And I’ve never met a more levelheaded, understanding person in all my life. All I ever wanted was to be like her, but if this week is any indication, levelheaded is going to take some work.

“How’s Henry?”

She is stubborn, though. Something I could live without.

“We haven’t spoken.”

“Oh, honey. You realize this is just a phase, don’t you? It happens in every relationship, especially ones that begin as young as yours did. He’s a man and he’s young and stupid, and he thinks he needs to see what’s out in the world in case he’s missing something. But he’ll see soon that there’s no one out there better for him than you.”

I don’t answer. He might decide I’m what’s best for him, but one of the few things I do know right now is that Henry breaking up with me was the best thing that could have happened. It’s not that Henry was bad. He’s a really nice guy, and I could certainly do far worse, but . . . he’s just Henry. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life with someone who is just anything.

“You’re handling it really well, darling. I’m proud of you. It shows how mature you really are.”

She’s not referring to the arrest, of course. Because that’s the opposite of handling anything really well. She means emotionally . . . or the lack of emotion anyway.

I was here when Henry broke up with me. He’d asked to come over and we’d sat on the wooden porch swing outside while he explained that he didn’t feel the same way about me as he used to. When it was over, I went inside and told Mom, and I think she expected me to lose it. To break down and sob right there in the foyer. Instead, I’d gone into the dining room to set the table like I always did when I stopped by for dinner.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but you can tell me if this protest business was about Henry. You’ve always been so mature for your age, and your father and I both understand that emotions can make people behave erratically.”

“It’s not about Henry,” I tell her.

He was just the catalyst, the first string to snap before all the rest followed. I wasn’t lying when I told her that my explanation was running on a loop in my head, but what I didn’t tell her is that there are other words I can’t get out of my head, words that keep drowning out that practiced speech.

I think you’re starting to suffocate.

I hear the front door open then, and the thump of my father’s briefcase being dropped by the door. Mom places a cool hand on my cheek and leans in to press a kiss against my forehead.

“You’ll be fine. You know your father loves you.”

As he enters the kitchen, he’s loosening a maroon tie. He’s old enough that his hair is silvering on the sides, but his face still looks young and healthy. I don’t know how he does it with all the stress from work. Nor do I really even have a great grasp on what “work” is. All I know is that he inherited money from his father, and then invested it in a number of places that paid off. I know he owns significant shares in a number of different companies, still invests in the occasional start-up, and serves on multiple boards, including the board of regents at Rusk.

He kisses Mom on the cheek and then says, “Dylan,” in a quiet greeting before kissing me on the forehead.

“How was New York?” Mom asks.

“Hot,” he answers. “Miserable, actually.”

She clucks her tongue and helps him remove his suit coat.

“You go get settled at the table. Dylan and I will bring in the food.”

She goes off to hang up his coat, and I grab a potholder to start removing the food from the oven. Mom is one of those women who won’t serve the food in the same container they make it in. Instead she lays it all out on nice plates and platters like every night is a dinner party.

Another thing I’ll never get used to. That’s just something else to wash when dinner is over, and for what? To look pretty for the two minutes before people start digging in? It’s not until after we do just that, ruining the presentation of Mom’s food, that Dad speaks up.

“Well, then, Dylan. Let’s hear your case.”

I take a deep breath and start in.

“I know you’re disappointed. I behaved in a way that didn’t reflect well on myself, this family, or the cause for which I was advocating. I’m not giving you excuses because I don’t have one. I made a mistake, a rash decision, and though I regret it, I’ve learned from it. I let frustration and impatience rule me rather than acting reasonably and intelligently. And I’m sorry.”

It comes out how I rehearsed it, to a T.

“That’s all well and good, sweetheart, but it doesn’t tell me why.”

My brows furrow, and I try not to frown. “I let frustration—”

“You’ve said your speech, Dylan. It was well thought out and respectful. Thank you for that. Now let go of the pretense and give me a real explanation.”

My lungs are filled with dust, I can’t seem to inhale or exhale. Having an incredibly intelligent and resolute businessman for a father really sucks sometimes.

“I don’t have one.” Or rather . . . I don’t have one that won’t make me sound like an ungrateful, spoiled brat. So what if being part of this family is a little suffocating? It’s still a family. It’s still something that wasn’t supposed to be in the cards for me, but somehow these two people who literally have enough money to have anything they want . . . somehow they wanted me. And I’m not going to drag that through the mud. Not after all they’ve done for me, the things they’ve given me that I could never have dreamed of having.