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A few minutes later, he sat beside me with a jelly-slathered snack of his own. “I’m going to ask your mother if she would be open to seeing a therapist.”
I jerked my gaze his way, slowly chewing.
“But telling you is going to be our little secret, okay?” He shoved a huge bite into his mouth.
I nodded and swallowed. “She’s going to explode on you when you suggest it.”
He smiled around his bagel, not speaking until he finished. “I’m hoping she won’t, but if she does, I’m determined to be patient and loving and do what I can to create a happier home for us.”
“That might take manipulation on your part,” I muttered and stuck the last bite of bagel between my lips.
“All I want is for us to be happy,” Lloyd stated quietly. “And I’ll climb mountains if that’s what it takes.”
I got up and washed my plate, knowing the housekeeper would tell Mother if anything was misplaced or sitting where she hadn’t put it before leaving for the night.
Lloyd stood too, and I held out my hand for his plate, washing it up for him.
He leaned against the counter beside me and crossed his arms, pulling his t-shirt tight over his chest. “I can’t promise I’ll get your cell back to you within twenty-four hours like last time you two fought, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Now get back to bed and I’ll make sure to erase the video from the house’s cameras showing our midnight rendezvous.”
Oh shit. I’d forgotten about that.
I paused from leaving the kitchen and turned back toward him, taking two steps to throw my arms around his waist.
Lloyd wasn’t so bad after all.
“Go on.” He squeezed me tight then tugged on my hair. “Hit the sack. Things will be better in the morning.”
Trusting his promise, I headed up the stairs and burrowed beneath my blankets, breathing out a steady, cleansing sigh.
Mother’s husband wanted us to be happy, he wanted to help. With how much he loved her, I found a seed of hope to cling to that things might actually get better, exactly as he’d stated.
Sleep came easier.
Gideon, thankfully, kept his distance as we all tiptoed around each other the next couple of days.
Good thing, too, seeing as how I dreamed about snuggling against him every. Damn. Night. His lap had offered the kind of strength I’d been missing my whole life. Pulling away had physically hurt my heart, but I didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust my hormones to not give in to what he always teased me about.
I hadn’t meant to bash him with my knee, and the hole he’d left in my bedroom wall?
I felt compelled to move the painting beside it enough to hide the damage his anger had caused—since I’d been the responsible one. Why I wanted to protect him from Mother’s wrath, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps because he’d held me and given comfort when I’d needed it most. Or perhaps I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else having to deal with her making them feel small and worthless.
She drank more than was healthy, her eyes red beneath all her makeup. Lloyd doted on her, coddling her like a baby while I was left to fend for myself emotionally.
Chin lifted, I feigned a strength I didn’t feel. At least Mother didn’t confront me over our major altercation. I guess she didn’t know how to handle our outburst any more than I did. Anger continued to grip my stomach tight, making eating difficult. I couldn’t look at her without my heart getting stabbed all over again.
Lloyd must have suggested she see a therapist a few nights after our little snack time together. Even through their bedroom door, I could make out her raised voice and harsh words over being perfectly fine, thank you very much. She didn’t need some head doctor to tell her how to raise her daughter.
Locking myself in the bathroom for a long bath had rid me of their voices, but I noticed Mother began to drink heavily afterward, her eyes glassy and more often than not seeking me out to glare in silent accusation.
Twice in the following two weeks, Gideon and I arrived home from school to find her already returned from work. Smelling of booze. Sprawled in her yellow-everything parlor that did nothing to liven her sallow colored cheeks.
Gideon and I exchanged looks when she slurred her words at dinner time but brushed that shit under the bed.
He’d shared personal things while holding me, giving me a better understanding of both him and his father, but I couldn’t be bothered with empathy. I had enough shit on my plate to worry about.
