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Sharp eyes meet mine as my mom looks at me with distaste. “We? Tate’s here? We thought he’d be off singing his songs. Although, we saw the news. It was only a matter of time until he turned to drugs.”
“They’re lies.” My response flies out of my mouth. “You can’t believe everything you read online.”
“Can’t we?” She purses her lips. “Well, where is he?”
“I’m here.” A warm arm curls around my waist, and I sag into his side in relief. “Melissa. Donald. What a surprise. It’s been too long.” Tate turns to me, smiling wide, a pizza box balanced in one hand as he leans down. He doesn’t kiss me, but brushes his cheek to mine while he whispers, “You okay?”
I nod once.
“Say the word, and I’ll fake an emergency.”
The anxiety from my parents’ surprise visit dissolves. Tate knows my insides are a wreck right now. He’s always done such a good job of diverting their attention from me.
He releases me, handing me the pizza, and herds them through the house. “How about a tour? Donald, let me take your bag.” With a wink over his shoulder, Tate gives me a moment to collect myself.
The front door is wide open. What I wouldn’t do to just run out of here and escape what I know is going to be an excruciating visit.
If Tate could put on a smile, so could I.
I close the door, sealing my fate, and follow them into the kitchen.
“How long are you in town for?” Tate asks while handing my parents bottles of water.
“Just the night,” my dad replies while my mom scans the backyard through the large glass doors leading outside, arms folded tight to her chest, face frozen in its usual prickly state.
“I’ll make up one of the guest rooms.” Shit. Out of the six bedrooms, two of them are being used by Tate and me, while the third is our old bedroom. The other three aren’t ready for guests, with some of the furniture still in its boxes.
“Where else would we sleep?” She turns to me. “We don’t have the money like the two of you to stay in a hotel.”
I grip the counter. “I don’t expect you to stay in a hotel.”
She huffs. “We’ll need to be close to a bathroom. You know your father struggles with his knee at night. Are we having pizza for dinner? The grease doesn’t agree with me, and I’d like to lie down first before we eat.”
This is all news to me, and maybe it makes me a bad daughter for not knowing about my parents’ ailments.
A pressure builds in my temples. One night. Hopefully, their flight home is early.
“How about this,” Tate starts. “We’ll get your room ready, and you sit out on the patio and enjoy the sunset. Talia and I can eat the pizza for lunch tomorrow. I’ll whip up one of my momma’s recipes. How does chicken-fried steak sound? I’ll go easy on the grease.”
Mom sniffs. “It’ll do.”
She traipses into the yard, my dad on her heels.
Without a word, Tate drags me through the house, up the stairs, and into his room.
“I am so sorry,” I blurt the second we’re alone. “I didn’t know they were visiting. You don’t have to be here for this. You know how my mom can be.”
With a firm grip on my shoulders, Tate exhales. “Breathe.”
A rush of air leaves me.
“Good girl, but you’re out of your mind if you think I’m leaving you to fend for yourself.” He cups the side of my neck. “It’ll be fine. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. How bad can it be?”
His question doesn’t warrant a response. It’ll be a catastrophe.
“What are we going to do about sleeping arrangements?”
We survey the bedroom. His guitar case and suitcase sit in the corner, bed unmade, clothes strewn across the floor. “I can tidy up in here while they’re outside.”
