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His mouth opens.
I don’t let him get a word in as I project my voice, “I’m talking now.” Throwing my arm out toward the sidewalk, I reference the giant back pacing away. “That sweet man knows one word from him is all it would take to stop me from bothering with you ever again. Instead, because he knows I want my parents at my wedding, he’s putting up with your constant disrespect, negativity, and blatant insults of his lifestyle and character. Do you have a clue why?”
“Reconsider your tone with me, little girl,” my father sneers.
I bite my lip, inhale sharply, and smile brilliantly. “Trust me, Father. I have considered what tone I should take with you for a good long while, and I’m just now learning that if I want you to stop treating me like a little girl, I need to stop behaving like one. Now, are you going to answer my question, or am I going to fill in the gaps for you?”
My father’s fists tighten, so my mother fills her hands with one and says, “Tell us why.”
My father blurts, “Maris—”
She squeezes, and one look silences him.
So I unravel the great many secrets for those who appear unwilling to see them on their own. “Wynnter loves me and recognizes that you both also love me. That’s enough for him, because he’ll endure anything for my sake.” I stand tall. “He’ll endure anything, but this has got to end here. I’m an adult. Whatever choices I encounter, whatever mistakes I make, you must let me experience them for myself. For better or worse, I need to be allowed to live.”
My father’s nostrils flare as he seethes, “You’re allowed to live, but why would you want to make mistakes if we can stop them?”
“Who decided your opinion held the weight of the universe on its shoulders?” I ask. “How do you know I’m making a mistake?”
“We’re your parents!” Dad yells. “We have an entire lifetime on you. We have more experience than you can possibly fathom at your age. We’ve seen horror stories like these play out. We know how they’ll end. And, for the love of everything, Devina, we want to protect you from that pain.”
Tempering my breaths, I keep my voice perfectly level. “Let’s say you’re right then.”
“We are,” he grits.
I tighten my grip on the busted phone. “Yes, I just said, let’s say you are. It doesn’t matter. I am still old enough to hurt myself. What you want for me and what I want for myself are two different things, and I have outgrown your control issues. Furthermore, I am no longer going to tolerate this antagonistic behavior. You need to treat me like a grown woman and you need to treat the man who is going to be my husband as your equal. If you can’t do that, you are not welcome around me anymore, and that is final. I have respected you enough to give you countless chances. Now, I’m giving you a boundary.”
My father’s lips curl back from his teeth. “Devi—”
“This is not up for discussion. I have been patient and quiet my entire life. This time, it’s your turn to listen.” I swallow. “And, if you won’t, my boundary is in place, and we will no longer speak to each other.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” my father hisses. “This isn’t some new-age kids versus parents bull—” He cusses. “This is your future. Don’t treat us like we’re the bad guys because we don’t let you do whatever you want.”
Let me? I am well and beyond the age where my parents should be allowed to let me do anything. A muscle in my jaw bounces. “Fine. Until you’re ready to listen, I’m not talking to you anymore. That’s the boundary. I’ve set it; I’ve explained it; I’ve given you two chances. So now, here’s me—enforcing it.” With that, I turn, ignore my father snapping my name, and stomp away. Dodging other people on the sidewalk, I pick up the pace until I’m half running toward Wynnter’s broad, brown leather-clad back.
Breath saws through my chest, freezing my lungs and puffing from my lips in harried clouds when I finally catch up to him, grab his hand, and stop his abusively long legs.
Halting, he looks at me. “Baby?” His brow knits, and he peers down at our hands. “Why is there glass…”
I jerk back and look at my gloves scattered in tiny flecks of his busted phone. “I’m so sorry. I forgot. Are you okay? You’re not bleeding, right?”
He dusts his bare hands off. “Nah, my skin’s a bit tough. Give me that stupid thing.” Taking the broken device, he drops it into one of the pockets on his pants and begins assessing my gloves for stray shards. “Oh, babygirl…what were you thinking?”
“You probably need the data, right? If it can be saved?”
Slipping my glove off, he shakes it out, tedious in his assessment. “I’m glad you were wearing these.”
As he carefully pulls my glove back on and gets the other off to examine it, I sniffle.
“Things went bad?” he mumbles, picking a glass fleck shimmering in the Christmas lights out of my white gloves.
Half-choked, I say, “I’m not talking to my father anymore.”
He freezes. Then he swears. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Is there anything I can do?” Putting my other glove back on, he takes a mini candy cane out of his pocket. “Want this?”
“You didn’t eat it?”
“Nah.” A sour smile tugs up the corner of his mouth. “I was worried I’d suck it into a point and shank your father, so I put it in my pocket for later.”
