Emilia
Forty-five minutes. That's how long we waited in the car before my mother finally pulled into our driveway. Elegant as ever, with not a hair out of place, she gracefully exits her car before shooting a scowl in our direction. What she's angry at is anyone's guess. Never mind that we're the ones put out by her tardiness. Especially since she's who insisted that for appearance's sake, we walk into the Holt's BBQ together, as a family. Yet if her face is anything to go by, she'd rather be going to this thing with anyone but us.
Looking over at Dad, I notice his usual jovial smile is strained and there's tension hidden behind his eyes. It's obvious he's not happy with her either, but as usual, he's refusing to talk about it. Well, aside from reminding me she's my mother and his wife. Like that justifies why we're constantly giving in to her whims when she does nothing for the family unit she's so desperate to show off today.
I hated how sad he looked when he reminded me of her position in our family. It was a look of utter defeat and it only stoked the anger I feel toward the woman who birthed me. Not that I have the nerve to say anything to her about it, either. In that, I'm much like my father. My aversion to conflict, in addition to mom's ability to cut me down to nothing with only her words, is enough to keep me from wanting to upset her.
"You were supposed to wash the car," she chastises. "Now we look like a bunch of vagrants."
"Sorry, dear. It was a busy week." His tone is apologetic, but I don't miss how he swallows back what he really wants to say.
My muscles tense when she pulls down the visor to open the mirror. As I thought, her piercing gaze comes straight to me.
"Why would you wear that mess down without straightening it? And in this June humidity?" she leans down and reaches into her purse. "Swear to God, I've no idea where you came from. If I hadn't been there myself, I wouldn't believe you were mine." Reaching back, she hands me a black hair tie. "Here, pull that frizzy mop out of your face."
Without question, I do as she asks, schooling my features so she doesn't see how much her words hurt. I worked for over an hour and a half to tame my wavy hair into perfect curls. Separating the thick strands into small sections so I could pull the curling iron through them, just like she taught me. I'm such a fool. I wish I knew how to shut off that naïve part of me that yearns for her approval.
By the time we pull up to the Holt's, I've tuned my parents out entirely. That silent thread that connects Lucas and me sparks to life, pulling my attention to where he sits on the steps of his front porch. He's leaning forward on his elbows, looking downright mad, which sets me on edge. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen Lucas angry, and each of those times it had to do with football and the team. It's summer, so this can't be about that, as there's still another month before the season starts.
Unable to help myself, I take off my seatbelt in a rush, knowing I have to get to him to see what is wrong.
"Stop." Her one-word demand leaves no room for negotiation. "Don't you dare get out of this car to go chasing after that boy. You need to help your father. I'll go in first to let them know we're here."
After that, she gets out of the car. Through the rearview mirror, Dad sends me a silent apology, before he too steps out of the car. By the time I've rounded the trunk to take the dishes Dad is handing me, Lucas is at my side offering to help carry things as well. The frenetic energy coming off of him is unnerving, and though he hasn't said a word, it feels like his anger is directed at me.
The moment I set the dishes in the large kitchen, he takes my hand and yanks me away from the crowd and up the stairs to his room. The move has me speechless, as this looks to be another first for us. Never has he treated me this way. Angry. Almost possessive. Like he has every right to me, even above my mother, who he blatantly ignored as she protested my departure.
"Lucas. What are you doing?" I ask not because I have a problem with him taking charge of me this way, but because I can tell there is something seriously wrong.
"We need to talk." When he slams his bedroom door shut behind us, I flinch. My reaction must bother him, for he softens his stance as he looks down at me. "Did you tell Parker you're going to the bonfire with him?"
The bonfire?
That's what this is about?
"Well, no, not yet. He asked if I had a date and I said no. When he asked if I'd go with him, I told him I needed to talk to my dad first."
"So, are you going with him or not?" His question is clipped, leaving no doubt that he's super upset about this.
"What is this, Lucas? Why are you so mad?"
"Oh, I'm not mad Emb, I'm fucking pissed because I told every one of my asshole friends to stay the hell away from you." As if he didn't mean to say it, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair and his expression turns sheepish. Unfortunately for him, I heard him loud and clear.
"You told our friends to stay away from me? Why in the world would you do that?"
"Because they're not good for you, Emb. Especially fucking Parker. He's a womanizer who treats girls like crap, and I'll be damned if I allow him to do that to you."
"He's our friend, Lucas." I shake my head incredulously, both at his audacity in trying to control who I hang out with and at his assessment of Parker. "I've known him almost as long as you have, so I know exactly who he is and what he does. Don't you trust me to decide who is and isn't good for me?"
"No. Not if Parker is who you choose."
"Choose? This isn't a choice, Lucas. I had no one to go with, and he asked if I'd go with him. What exactly would I be choosing if I said yes to his invitation?"
At this, he steps into my space. His face peering down at me almost threateningly, except that when I look into those sea-green orbs, what I see is raw, unadulterated hurt.
"Don't you get it? It would be like you're choosing him over me, and after what I told you last week, how am I supposed to take that?"
Stunned, I stand there with my mouth agape.
Last week?
"What, when you told me that nothing could happen between us? When you decided we should table our feelings until after college? You're the one who asked for that, Lucas. I agreed because there is nothing I wouldn't do for you, but it was your choice. Me going to the bonfire with Parker isn't me choosing him over you. In fact, it has nothing to do with you at all."
I'm not a yeller. Nor am I someone who gets angry, but after the way my mom treated me earlier, in addition to the anger he's throwing my way, I'm at my limit.
"If I say yes to Parker, it's because, for once, I'd like to go out and have a little fun. I can't keep skipping out on experiences to hang out with you, Lucas, because after next year you'll be off to college and I'll have no one. This isn't me choosing Parker over you, it's me choosing myself over everybody else."
My fury must catch him by surprise, for he just stands there, his hands on his hips. When he goes to speak, a knock at the door interrupts.
"What?" he yells at whoever is knocking, frustration evident in his tone.
"Lucas? It's me, Becca. Your dad said I could find you up here."
I watch his face closely as he processes Becca's words. At first, I don't know what I'm searching for, but based on the gaping hole in the pit of my stomach, I must have found it. It's in that instant that a look of acceptance washes over him, while the anger that was there seconds ago melts away and disappears.
I've lost him. Whatever this moment was about, whatever doubts had crept in over the decisions he made on our rock that day, it's all gone. With it, my opportunity to prove to him that maybe, just maybe, this thing between us is worth exploring.
When he steps away to get the door, my heart sinks.
When he opens said door and pulls Becca into his arms, it's like a punch to the gut.
When he looks at me with an arm wrapped around her and tells me, "You're right. You deserve to do what is best for you. Whatever you decide, maybe we'll see you and Parker there." It feels like I've died a thousand deaths.
Heartbroken and confused, it takes far too many seconds for my brain to process that I've been dismissed. It's the intense burn behind my eyes that pushes me to move before either of them can see me break.
Humiliated, I walk away from him without so much as a second glance. I credit the sounds of the guests downstairs for helping me keep it together. The time to break into tears needs to come later when I'm in the safety of my bedroom. For now, I need to hold my head high and channel my frustration toward proving he doesn't control me.
Steeling my shoulders, I march right out the back door, to where all the guests are. With little effort, my eyes zero in on the one person I need, and with determination like I've never known, my feet take me straight toward my target.
Ignoring all the familiar faces as they say hello, I don't stop until I'm standing right in front of him. A lock of blonde hair hangs limply over his hopeful eyes as he looks down at me. Parker is a flirt. A guy who can sweet talk his way into any girl's bed, but who has always treated me with the utmost respect. Something I'm willing to bet won't change after one little date.
"Parker."
"Yes, Emilia." His brow lifts in amusement.
"Still need a date for the bonfire?"
"Why, yes. I do."
"I'll go with you." Taking his hand, I give it a gentle squeeze. "And if Lucas gives you a hard time about it at any point, you need to tell me."
"Ah, okay. I'm guessing you told him?" Judging by the smirk on his face, that Lucas knows pleases him immensely.
"No, I didn't. He already knew and was more than happy to express his displeasure but get this Parker. He doesn't own me. No one does, so the only person who gets to decide where I go and who I go with is me. You got that?"
His lips curve into a smug grin as he intertwines our fingers. "I hear you, beautiful. Message received."
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