MESSED UP - completed!

40- Family Bond

"I don't care about her," I say. "If I wanted to come back—"

"When you want to come back," he corrects me.

"If," I emphasize, "I want to come back, it's only for you."

"What about Dad?" he asks. I say nothing.

His brows furrow. "We'll have lunch today. We want you to join us."

"You're talking like a cult leader."

"Mia!" He says, frustrated. I show him my legs. "Oh, my God," he says in shock.

"I know."

"Is that normal?"

"I don't know what's normal at this point. All I know is that my pregnancy's a sensitive one. I need to take care of myself, or I might—lose the baby..."

"Okay. What if we just come here for lunch?"

"Um..."

"You don't want us here?"

"You know what? Screw it. We'll order something."

"Great. I'll call Mom and Dad."

A few hours later, the doorbell rings. I can't tell if the reason for my nausea is the lunch with my family or my pregnancy. There are a few brief contractions that come and go. I don't want to ruin the dinner, so I don't mention the pain to Ian. I get the door. My father is holding flowers, and Linda is holding his arm. She is wearing red lipstick. I remember the blood that spilled from that woman's mouth in my dream. I shake my thoughts away and welcome them inside. My father hands me the flowers and takes his coat off.

"Nice to see you," I greet them. "Come on in."

"Hi. Where do I hang this?" my dad asks.

"My room," I say.

"Let me help with that," Ian says. He runs to my room.

"Wow," Linda says with a grin on her face.

I look around to find the reason why she's amazed. "What happened?" I ask.

"He doesn't even hang his clothes," she says. "It's odd."

"Why don't you sit?"

She sits by my old father. "What have you cooked, dear?" she asks.

I put a plate in front of her. "Nothing. I ordered."

"Oh. Nice. I just thought you would—cook," Linda says, looking disappointed.

I say nothing. Smith's words keep me in control; 'For Ian,' he said. Yeah, I will tolerate her for Ian. I can do that.

"She can't cook, mom. She doesn't feel good," Ian says, sitting across from my father.

"I know, sweetheart. I can see," Linda says, smiling at him. Now, we are all waiting for our food to arrive while sitting at the table.

"Have you started packin' yet?" My father unexpectedly asks. I gulp and shake my head. "We're leavin' tomorrow. You don't have much time," he informs.

"This soon? But you just came here," I say.

"We came to get you. There's no need to stay more."

"Packing is too hard for me, Dad. I can't even move."

"We'll help you pack."

"Really, Bob?" Linda says, cutting off our conversation. "You can't even walk properly."

"I walk perfectly fine," my dad says with a warning tone.

"Why don't you tell her you've been lying on the bed for a few months?" Linda says. "You barely stand straight."