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37
WALKER
My fingers twitch against my sides, wishing to reach out and throttle Scar’s dad for the way he talks to her, for the way he dismisses her so easily, and the way he dared to insinuate that because of my fight with Reid, that I may treat Scar the same way.
However Scar described her parents to me before, they’re definitely worse. I just can’t fathom how two people who made this person, their own flesh and blood, could be so completely dismissive of her. Hell, they didn’t even stand up and hug her when we arrived. After four fucking years.
Pieces of work, let me tell you.
It’s no wonder Scar had so many walls up when I first met her, guarding her heart so fiercely. I thought maybe she was just a standoffish person, not interested in getting to know people. But now I see why she needed to guard herself the way she did, how she came to have walls so high.
I’m also slightly amazed at how quickly this dinner has gone downhill. It’s one thing for Scar to warn me it might, but it’s another thing to see it actually blow up in our faces.
The poor bastard sitting next to me looks like he couldn’t be any more relieved that I’m here, taking the brunt of the attention from Phillip. Christopher sips on his Coke and sits back, not daring to interfere as Scar and I take bullets from the other side of the table.
At least Beth is attempting to smooth things over and I’m grateful to her for it.
And while Elizabeth isn’t saying a whole lot with words, her face speaks volumes, and I can tell she’s on the same page as her husband when it comes to me and Scar.
I adjust my collar discreetly, trying to get some cool air on my neck, but not wanting them to see me sweat.
Just in the nick of time, Ethan arrives with our food, eyes bouncing from person to person as he picks up on the strain between the group. He freezes for a moment, probably regretting walking over here, before he swiftly deposits each of our plates in front of us and scampering off without another word.
Probably not the best idea to arm everyone around the table with steak knives.
We all turn our attention to our food, forks and knives scraping against the plates in place of conversation.
This steak could very well be the best steak known to man, but it tastes like dust in my mouth and I have a hard time swallowing it. I peer out of the corner of my eye at Scar and see she’s feeling the same way.
“I know there is some unresolved tension between us,” Beth says, dotting her mouth with her napkin, the first words spoken since the food has arrived. “But I would love it if we could put that aside for tonight and enjoy a meal together ahead of celebrating Ruth’s big day tomorrow.”
Christopher sends a look of support to his wife across the table, and Scar nods her head in agreement. I can still feel her hostility toward her parents, but she’s willing to put it aside for Beth and Ruth’s sake.
I follow Scar’s lead, laying down the metaphorical weapons and preparing to hold my tongue for the next few hours to keep the peace.
But Elizabeth seems to have other plans as she opens her mouth, turning her attention to Scar.
“It may not be wise,” her mother says, and I hate the way I see Scar’s shoulders fall in my periphery. “I think it would be for the best if you and James don’t join us at the church tomorrow morning. We wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
My eyes bulge at her words. Is she seriously disinviting Scar from her own niece's baptism that Beth invited her to? After Scar took time to drive the couple of hours over here, found a hotel for the evening, and had so much anxiety over, only for her mother to say it would be best if she did not go tomorrow.
Scar clears her throat of the anger lodged in there. “Why, exactly, would it be wise if we didn’t go? We drove here for this, taking time away from our schedules for this.” Her hands shake holding her silverware, food forgotten.
“Well, unless something has changed since you left the congregation and you’ve found your way back, which by your display this evening, I don’t think you have. We want tomorrow to be a joyful moment for Ruth to be baptized into His kingdom, and I don’t think any of us would feel comfortable having someone like you standing there to witness such a glorious thing.”
Her mom’s voice is sickly sweet, as if she’s relaying a beloved story over tea and not disinviting her daughter from her own niece’s baptism because Scar isn’t a part of their church anymore.
“Someone like me?” Scar asks, voice cold with barely restrained anger.
Elizabeth shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I think it is fairly obvious based on your choices and lifestyle you’ve chosen to live, that you don’t follow His leadership. It’s a sacred moment happening tomorrow, and it should be treated with the respect it deserves, and I don’t believe you are capable of that.”
I’m almost too stunned to speak and Scar appears to be in the same boat. She stares at her mom, mouth opening and closing before she scoffs, pushing her chair back and throwing her napkin over her half-eaten plate.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she tells her mom as she stands and I can feel the eyes of surrounding tables looking at us. “You don’t know a single fucking thing because you haven’t bothered to try to talk to me since I moved out. You don’t know the absolute hell I have been through, the accomplishments I’ve had despite my life choices,” she spits out the last two words. “What do my beliefs have to do with Ruth’s day? And actually, let me stop there for a second. Have you ever even thought to ask what my beliefs are? What might my relationship with God look like?”
She pauses, waiting for Elizabeth to respond. She doesn’t.
“No, you haven’t. And for years I wondered if you ever thought about me, worried about me, cared about me.” She’s almost shouting now but I don’t lean in to tell her to keep her voice down or sit down. No, she deserves to get this out, to let her parents have it.
