“So that’s how you’ve decided to treat your own mother? And is that why you’re trying to marry a girl who won’t speak up for her either?”
Jesus. Did Mom complain about Jo too? Then I remember the expectant look Mom kept shooting at her. Did Mom hope she would intervene on her behalf? “Leave Jo out of this.”
“Even though she isn’t from our social class, I thought she was a reasonably well-bred girl,” Dad says. “I expected better!”
“Yes, well… I guess you’re just destined for disappointment,” I say, suddenly too bitter to care.
He knows he’s being illogical, but he’s doing this anyway because he wants to maintain the right appearance. Husband and pillar of the community backing his mate. He also wants Mom back and wants me to be happy about it. Not because she’s done anything to deserve a place in our lives again, but simply because he loves her.
Fuck love.
“And I’ll tell you something. Jo is perfect, precisely because I’ll never love her. Ever.” I’ll never let myself be blind and stupid like you.
A loud gasp comes from the doorway. My entire body freezes as horror shoves icy fingers into my gut.
Jo’s standing there, her complexion so white that it almost looks gray. Her lips are stark red with lipstick; they look like a bloodstain on her colorless face. She sways a little.
I jump to my feet to catch her.
But she puts one hand on the doorframe for balance, then pushes the other out in my direction as though I’m some kind of evil she has to ward off.
“Stay away,” she croaks.
“Jo.” I know I have to fix this. Say something to put the color back in her face. Make her smile.
But my mind is blank. Words jumble in my head, but won’t line up to create a convincing argument to let her know that what I said wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
But my damned mind, which gave me “Jo is perfect, precisely because I’ll never love her. Ever” is struggling to come up with the perfect line to fix it.
Assuming it can be fixed.
Dad’s still booming in my ears, yammering about the family legacy, my responsibility to the name, to the company, to all that we stand for.
And what do we stand for, except misery? This terrible look on the mother of my child’s face?
“We’re done. I quit,” I say to Dad.
“What—”
I rip the earphones away and toss them on the desk before moving slowly toward Jo. She’s breathing too shallowly. I’m afraid she’s going to grow hysterical and pass out.
“Jo—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t. You’re such a liar.”
I don’t think I’ve lied to her. Even when I was at my most mindless during sex, I never promised I’d love her.
On the other hand, what she overheard has to seem like a betrayal to her. I need to address that, rather than arguing about whether I’ve lied or not.
“Let me explain,” I say, my voice tight and hoarse.
“What is there to explain? I heard every word. I’m perfect because you’ll never love me.”
Her voice breaks toward the end. The skin around her eyes is red, but she isn’t crying. She has too much pride.
It cuts me until I can’t breathe. The icy fingers are twisting in my gut.
I start to reach out, needing to hold her and comfort her.