Messy strokes wrecked ro.., p.15
Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates), page 15
He rolls his eyes. “You’re surprised?”
“I mean…kind of.” I drag my finger along his covered left forearm. “You have a tattoo of a hand giving the bird right here. Since when do you care what people think?”
Exiting the freeway, he mutters, “I’m the father of their grandchild. And since my parents are shit, and I’d like Peanut to know at least one set of grandparents, it’s on me to play nice. Recognizing I’m not their cup of tea and coming to terms with the fact I’ll never be able to be myself around them while still keeping their respect? It’s hard. But like I said, it’s on me. Not you.”
My eyes burn, but I blink the pain away and touch my lips, resting my fingertips against them. The fact he cares means a lot. More than I can even process.
He glances at me with furrowed brows. “What? Is it so wrong?”
“Not at all.” I drop my hand back to my lap. “I can’t guarantee they’re going to like you. But that’s on them. Not you. You’re an amazing guy, Milo. And you’re the best father I could’ve ever asked for, for Penny.”
“You sure?”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Trust me. It’s the only thing I’m sure of these days.”
“And you’re not embarrassed by me?”
With a frown, I murmur, “Are you asking me this because I told you they might be offended by your tattoos?”
His grunt in response tugs at my guilt as he pulls into the parking lot and puts his car into park.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach over the center console and squeeze his hand. “If I’m embarrassed by anyone, it’s them. Not you. They simply don’t get it. And I’m not sure they ever will. But thank you. For your patience. And for coming with me, even though it definitely isn’t what you signed up for.” I bite my lip. “None of this is what you signed up for. Me. Penny. My crappy parents.”
I don’t deserve him.
I need to tell him the truth.
“Listen…,” I start, but I can’t make the stupid words come out of my mouth. My stomach rolls, and I rub beneath my nose with the back of my hand. “I, uh…” I drop my chin to my chest. Unable to look at him. Unable to even look at myself.
Breathe, Mads.
“Sh…,” Milo croons as he tugs on my wrist and pulls me into his chest. The center console separates us from a really nice, much-needed hug, barely allowing my face to be pressed against his chest, let alone the rest of me. Still, I’ll take what I can get, even when I know I don’t deserve it.
I close my eyes and soak up his warmth. His woodsy scent. The feel of his strong heart beating beneath my cheek, terrified it’ll be the last time. It’s funny. If I could create the perfect concoction to bring me a sense of serenity, it would be this. The smell of him. The feel of him. His heat. His quiet promises to keep me safe. To look out for me.
But it isn’t his job.
Not when I’m hiding so much from him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my words nothing but a breath against his crisp shirt.
“Sh…” His chest rumbles while he rubs his hand up and down my back.
“I don’t deserve you,” I admit as if my confession can wash away the tangled web of lies I’ve created, even when I know it’s impossible. “As a friend. As Penny’s father. I’m so sorry––”
“Stop apologizing.”
I burrow deeper against him. “It’s true, though.”
“You’re used to being the strong one, Mads. But you don’t have to be,” he murmurs against the crown of my head, his warm breath tickling the wisps of hair lying across my forehead as he reads my thoughts for the thousandth time. “Not with me.”
Bullshit, I want to scream.
It’s not how this works.
If I didn’t have to be the strong one around Milo, I could tell him about Marty. I could tell him I still love him, and he wouldn’t throw it back in my face. I could let myself fall for him without crashing to the ground. I could tell him Penny might not be his blood, but I still want him to be her dad.
I could do and say a lot of things if I didn’t have to be the strong one.
But I can’t.
And I’m slowly crumbling from the weight of it all.
And this dinner? It might be the final load pushing me over the edge.
But I’m not about to tell Milo.
Hell, I can’t tell Milo.
Isn’t that the problem, though?
Later.
I’ll tell him later.
“Come on.” Milo releases me. “Let’s get this over with. Penny will need another feeding soon.”
Confused, I tell him, “I can nurse her inside––”
“No.”
“You don’t like me nursing in public?” I ask, hovering between annoyed and amused.
“Penny’s the one who doesn’t like nursing in public,” he grunts. “And you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t want your perfect tits on display for the rest of the restaurant.”
“Perfect tits?” I balk. “Pretty sure they’re more like deflated balloons.”
He shakes his head. “Pretty sure I’ve looked, remember?”
“Pretty sure the shower didn’t count. My boobs were still engorged and stuff, so they looked perkier than normal.”
“Who says I was talking about the shower?” he challenges, his eyes shining with mirth.
“You’ve looked other than the shower?” The laugh bubbling out of me feels good. Great, actually. Foreign and misplaced, definitely. But great. “When?”
With a smirk, he opens the driver’s side door and unlatches Penny’s car seat from the back while I try to keep myself from grinning like a loon.
When the back door closes, he taps his knuckles against my window. “Chop, chop.”
20
Maddie
There are cream and gold couches along the walls in the waiting area, but every single one is taken as I scan the open restaurant for my parents. The place is packed, which makes sense since my mouth started watering as soon as the scents of garlic and parmesan hit me when I stepped through the front door. If only my stomach weren’t in knots, I might’ve been able to enjoy a solid meal tonight.
“Madelyn,” a familiar voice calls.
I turn to find my dad waving at me from a small square table behind the hostess stand. The awkward hand movement must be genetic because Dove does the same thing anytime she’s feeling uncomfortable. I’d laugh if the feeling wasn’t mutual. I, too, am uncomfortable as hell.
“Here we go,” I mutter under my breath, touching Milo’s forearm to get his attention. “They’re over here.”
After weaving between a few groups of people, we reach my parents’ brown lacquered table and take a seat side by side.
When I finally found the courage to call them, we didn’t talk much. We barely said hi. I figured it would give us plenty to catch up on tonight, but right now, I feel like I’m looking at a pair of strangers, and I have no clue what to say or how to dissipate the awkwardness settling over our table like a heavy blanket.
“Madelyn? Would you, uh…?” my mother’s voice trails off as her gaze darts to Milo.
Remembering my manners, albeit grudgingly, I clear my throat and motion from one person to the next as I make the proper introductions. “Milo, this is Rosie and Peter Walker. Mom, Dad”––the sentiments taste foreign on my tongue as I force them out––“this is Milo.”
“And who’s this?” my mother asks, her attention dropping to the covered car seat Milo had tucked beneath the table seconds ago.
Milo pulls it out a few inches and carefully lifts the edge of Penny’s giraffe blankie to give my mom a better view.
“This is Penny,” he murmurs.
“She’s sleeping,” I add. “But if you want me to get her out…”
“It’s fine, Madelyn,” my dad replies, his voice surprisingly warm. “Let her rest while we catch up.”
“Yes,” my mom agrees. She touches her pearl necklace. “If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll be fussy soon enough.”
“Rosie,” my dad warns.
“I only meant––”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt.
“No, Madelyn,” my mom clarifies. “I meant––”
“So, what’s new with you guys?” I ask, cutting her off again.
She sighs. “Nothing out of the ordinary. How are you? How was Penny’s birth? Are you healing all right? Getting used to the gift of motherhood?”
“Gift?” A scoff slips out of me before I can help it.
“Pardon?”
“I’m surprised you called it a gift,” I note, reaching for my butter knife.
Milo clears his throat beside me.
I take a deep breath and rest my hand on the cream-colored table cloth. It’s not like I would actually stab her. I just need something to throttle.
“You wouldn’t call motherhood a gift?” she asks, oblivious to how close I am to snapping. I’m not surprised, though. She’s never been good at reading me.
With a syrupy sweet smile, I explain, “When I showed up on your front porch a little while ago, you were singing a bit of a different tune.”
Milo grips my knee beneath the table and squeezes softly. Hell, I can almost hear the silent warning as his calloused fingers brush against my bare skin.
Warning. Warning. Careful. Careful.
I take another slow, steady breath, praying it’ll be enough to keep me grounded, though I doubt it’ll work for long. They’re probably already anticipating a temper tantrum from me. Hell, maybe they even made a bet to see how long I’d last until I caused a scene.
Or maybe I’m being unfair.
Honestly, I don’t even know anymore. I’m still pent-up with guilt and adrenaline from the car, which is not so great for my nerves. Throw in my overbearing, overly-critical parents, and I’m ready for World War III.
The worst part is, I know I should be used to this by now. But I’m not. I want them to like me. I want them to like Milo. I want their approval. I want Penny to have grandparents who love her.
I want a lot of things.
And I hate how I’m too weak for the truth.
I’ll never have any of those things.
“You’re right,” my mother whispers, her quiet voice breaking the silence, her face ghostly pale. “We were wrong, Madelyn. We’re so sorry for making you feel like you didn’t have our support.”
“Making me feel like I didn’t have your support?” I counter.
Screw Milo’s silent warning to tread lightly.
“I didn’t have your support. Period.”
“You’re right,” she agrees, her hands raised in defense. “You’re completely right, Madelyn. You didn’t, and it’s on us. Isn’t it, Peter?” With glassy eyes, my mother turns to her right and looks at my dad as a gorgeous waitress with a pen and pad of paper approaches the table.
“Hi. I’m Lainey. I’ll be your waitress for the evening. What can I get you?”
“We’ll both have water,” my dad returns, waving his finger between him and my mom.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll have a Diet Coke, please,” I add, though I don’t bother to pretend I’m enjoying this moment, unlike the people sitting across from me.
Heaven forbid we don’t keep up the façade of a happy little family.
Milo rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers in front of him, and asks, “Do you have anything on tap?”
My gaze darts to my parents, their expressions paling. They don’t drink alcohol. Hell, they’re never even exposed to alcohol. So this? This douses gasoline on an already precarious situation, and I have no idea how to get out of it.
Lainey walks away a few seconds later, though I must’ve missed Milo’s order while I was staving off my inevitable panic attack. It doesn’t stop my heart rate from climbing with each passing moment as the already familiar awkward silence settles over the table. Again.
Why are we doing this?
Why can’t we all agree this relationship isn’t salvageable and go our separate ways?
Why are we allowing ourselves to torture each other by simply being in the same room?
“So, Milo,” my dad speaks up, his voice almost cracking. “What do you do?”
There’s a slight tick in his jaw as Milo glances at me.
I shake my head slightly.
Clearing his throat, Milo mutters, “Nothing much.”
“Oh?” my mom squeaks. She reaches for her pearl necklace all over again, rolling the beads between her fingertips. “So, you’re not working? Or––”
“No, I have a job,” Milo clarifies. The man has the patience of a freaking saint. “Nothing special. A little of this and a little of that.”
“Oh?” my mother prods. “Are you a handyman or something?”
“No.” He chuckles, his gaze darting to me again before he looks back at my mom. “I’m a––”
“He’s an artist,” I interrupt.
My mom cocks her head to one side, carefully scrutinizing him from head to toe. “An artist?”
“Y-yes,” I stutter. “There’s, uh, there’s actually an exhibit––”
Milo grips my thigh again, a little higher this time and with way more force. With another tight, panicked smile, I open my mouth to backpedal when Lainey reappears, carrying a tray full of drinks.
Shit.
She sets a pale ale in a large glass in front of Milo, and my eyes widen as a fresh wave of panic settles into my bones. Without waiting for everyone to be served, Milo reaches for it like it’s a lifeline, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he chugs half the drink and sets it back down.
“So, an exhibit?” my dad prods, trying to act like everything is hunky-dory though it’s easy to see right through him.
“Yup,” I return.
This is a freaking disaster.
“Interesting,” my mom adds, unable to tear her gaze from Milo’s half-finished glass sitting in front of him.
Milo shifts in his chair, looking like he’s about to have a damn colonoscopy. “It’s really not.”
“Well, when is the exhibit?” She looks back up at him and pastes a tight smile across her face. “Maybe we can come––”
“That won’t be necessary,” he grits out. “Thank you, though.”
“Oh. Well. I think it sounds…really great, Milo,” my mom forces out, fiddling with her pearls. “And if you’re going to marry our daughter––”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt, the blood draining from my face.
“Well, we––”
“We’re not getting married.” My spine straightens, my embarrassment threatening to swallow me whole as my gaze bounces from one confused face to the next.
Like a fish out of water, my mom’s mouth opens and closes, speechless.
My dad puts his hand on top of my mom’s trembling one and interjects, “Well, maybe not right now––”
“Or ever,” I clarify. “Who said we’re even dating?”
My mom reaches for her glass and gulps down her water while my dad mutters, “We assumed…”
“Because we had a kid together, we have to get married?” I shriek.
This is ridiculous.
And embarrassing.
How dare they assume Milo and I are together. Especially when the bastard doesn’t want me in the first place.
“You brought him with you to meet us,” my mom returns as she sets her glass of water back on the table and motions to the man beside me. “And you’ve been very nice, by the way,” she adds with a nervous smile.
I roll my eyes, the last few days of emotional warfare finally catching up with me. “Just because I brought him with me doesn’t mean we’re together.”
“Mads,” he growls, his voice low but lethal, while his warning is louder than a damn blow horn.
Ignoring him, I turn back to my mom. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mom.”
“But, you slept with him,” she starts.
“I’ve slept with a lot of people!” I yell. “And guess what? None of them wanted me afterward, so congratulations. You were right. No one wants to buy the cow after they’ve gotten the milk for free, no matter how much the cow has made it clear she wants more. But thanks for the reminder.” My gaze shoots to Milo as my teeth dig into the inside of my cheek, hating how easily he can see right through me. How easily I could cry right now. How easily my mom stumbled into a no-win conversation within five minutes of us sitting down together.
With shaking hands, I tuck my hair behind my ear while attempting to avoid the stares from those around me, even though I feel like I’m underneath a freaking microscope. “This was a mistake.”
“Madelyn––”
“No. I’m done,” I inform them, pushing to my feet and grabbing Milo’s keys from the top of the table. His warm grip encompasses my wrist and doesn’t let me go as he stands with me and turns to my parents.
“Can you keep an eye on Penny while Madelyn and I talk for a second?”
“O-of course,” my mom replies, toying with her perfect pearl necklace while staring at me like I belong in a damn zoo.
My upper lip curls. “That won’t be––”
“Thanks.” Milo tugs me toward the exit without another word.
21
Maddie
When the cool air outside the restaurant hits my cheeks, I breathe in deep, convinced my numb legs will give out on me any moment.
“What the hell happened in there?” Milo demands, flailing his arm toward the restaurant’s entrance as soon as we’re out of view from everyone inside.
“Excuse me? Why did you drag me out here? Why did you leave Penny––”
“You completely lashed out at them!”
“You’re mad at me?” I jab my finger into my chest as my entire body vibrates with anger. “I was saving you!”
“From what?”
“From a lifetime of pressure to claim me when we both know it’s the last thing you’d ever want.”
“Bullshit.” He drags me around the corner of the building in search of a bit more privacy. “You were lashing out at them for no damn reason.”
“No damn reason?” I laugh dryly. “You’re joking, right?”
