Page 129 of This Could Be Us

“It’s exactly like Dad said,” Inez rushes on, her eyes narrowed on me accusingly.

“What do you mean?” Lupe frowns, looking between her sister and me. “You don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Judah Cross,” Inez cuts in, giving up all pretense of eating and shoving her untouched food away. “I caught her with him in the parking lot today.”

“Inez, you didn’t ‘catch’ me doing anything.” I clench my fingers tightly around my spoon like it’s a lifeline.

“Mom, just tell us,” Lupe says, a frown crinkling her brows.

“Girls, I don’t… We aren’t…” I go silent because it feels like a lie to say there isnothinggoing on, but I’m not telling my daughters,We’re just fucking.And even thinking that feels wrong—cheapens what’s happening between Judah and me. “It’s not like that.”

“But it’s like something?” Lupe persists. “With Judah Cross?”

“Yeah,” Inez says, hurt and anger bucking in her voice. “She’s dating the man who put Dad in prison.”

“I’m not dating anyone but myself. You know that. After all your father put me through, put us all through, I’m not sure I’m ready to jump back into a committed relationship yet, but I do like Judah Cross, yes.” I’m not sure those were the right words to say and want to take theadmission back immediately, but it’s done, and maybe it’s for the best. “And for the last time, Inez, Judah did not put him in prison. Your dad did that to himself.”

“But he was telling the truth when he said Judah Cross had a thing for you,” Inez fires back.

“Your father is the last person you should be thinking knows anything about the truth right now,” I say, brittle derision all up and through my statement.

“You said yourself that he’s not perfect,” Inez says, “but he’s still our dad.”

“That does not make him a good man,” I say, trying to keep my own anger tamped down. “Or someone you can trust.”

Inez stands and turns, then takes a few stomping steps away from the dining room table.

“Where are you going?” I demand.

“To my room,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“Sit. Down,” I say, the two words like shots fired across the dining room.

She doesn’t stop and almost reaches the stairs.

“Inez Ana Maria, I said sit down. Now.”

She stops in her tracks but doesn’t turn around. Does not sense how close I am to snatching her up and sitting her narrow butt down myself.

“I don’t care what you see your friends at Harrington doing,” I say, my voice snapping like a belt, “or how they treat their mothers, but you do not storm off in my house.¿Lo entiendes?”

Silence.

“I’m waiting for your answer, Inez. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turns to face me, her mouth set, but doesn’t move to take her seat.

“Then sit down.” I nod to her place at the table. “And finish your dinner.”

It’s quiet and tense for the rest of the meal, with only the sounds of silverware scraping plates and the occasional slurp of soup breaking the silence.

“Put the food away and wash the dishes, girls,” I tell them. “I’m going out to the shed to paint some before bed.”

“You want any help?” Lottie asks, flicking a glance between Inez and me. My girls are extremely close, and I hate that two of them feel like they have to take a side in this.

“I only want you to do your kitchen chores,” I say, cupping her head and kissing her cheek. “Make sure that kitchen floor is clean enough to eat off, okay? Do your homework and then go to bed.”

“Okay.” She grabs my hand when I turn to leave. “I love you, Mommy.”

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