Page 22 of Drum Me Away
That reminded me, like Lucas, I needed to find something to wear to the funeral. The longer I talked to my mother, the shorter the hemline was becoming in my head.
Oh, I was fully aware that our animosity was two-sided.
“Just call me when the funeral arrangements have been made,” I said and disconnected the call before our conversation deteriorated into a screaming match. I didn’t bother to offer to help with anything. If she had suggested I do something, I would have done it wrong. Best not to waste anyone’s time.
The glass door behind me opened, and Lucas stepped out onto the deck carrying a wooden tray with two glasses of orange juice and two plates of scrambled eggs. He placed the tray on a small table situated between a set of matching rattan scoop chairs.
“Care to join me?” he asked, and oh God, was he going to bring up the girlfriend conversation?
Yes, I was curious as hell—why was he so insistent on breaking up our fake relationship if there wasn’t someone waiting in the wings?
But the knowledge that there was not, in fact, another woman was not something I needed to be aware of right now. Not after two weeks of public kissing that I really,reallyenjoyed. Not after the way he was taking such amazing care of me in my time of need.
Not now, when it seemed like the two of us being in a relationship—a real one—could actually work.
Which, of course, was all in my head. We’d been playacting for four years now; Lucas had become an expert at faking it. For that matter, so had I. I was becoming so adept at it that half the time I’d swear it was real.
“You’re so tense, I’m wondering if I should have made Bloody Marys instead of straight orange juice,” he said as he sat. “Who was on the phone?”
I dropped down next to him and took a slug of OJ. “My mother. Our conversations never go well. Luckily, they only happen once or twice a year these days.”
“Want to talk about it?” He took a bite of eggs.
“Not really.” I shoveled a couple of forkfuls into my mouth. After swallowing, I sighed. “She is high society in Roma—which, by the way, isn’t saying much—and does not appreciate the fact that I am not a picture-perfect daughter.”
“Your personality or your actual looks?” His gaze bounced to my multicolored hair.
I touched the end of my braid. “Both.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. I started rebelling against all her ridiculous expectations when I was super young. And it didn’t help that I’ve wanted to be in a rock band ever since my elementary school choir director told me I had a voice that could make me famous someday.”
Lucas finished off his breakfast. “Have you ever talked to her about this?”
“One does not speak to my mother about her shortcomings. Because as far as she is concerned, they do not exist.”
His brow furrowed. “What about your father?”
I glanced at my nearly empty glass of juice. I still wasn’t ready to talk about all this. To be honest, I’d thought I might never have to.
“My parents are married, although their relationship is anything but affectionate.” That sort of emotion simply did not exist in the household I grew up in. “My father works—all day, all night. Okay, maybe not that much, but other than at dinner a few times a week, I barely saw the man when I was a kid. I’m not even sure I’d recognize him if I passed him on the street.”
I’d come home once since I left for college, fourteen years ago. My parents did not come to my graduation. I did not invite them to any of my concerts. I knew it would have been a waste of time.
“I can’t even imagine,” Lucas said.
“I’m sure you can’t,” I muttered.
“Maybe you just need to talk to them,” he suggested. If I had to guess, that was probably his parents’ solution to family issues:let’s talk about it.
“Trust me, Lucas, what works in a perfect little family unit would not work in mine. Just drop it.” It was harsh, but I didn’t take it back. This was one reason I never brought up my family life, because someone who hadn’t grown up the way I did wouldn’t understand, and I wasn’t articulate enough to explain it properly.
That probably was because I spent so much time avoiding it, but whatever. Avoidance had gotten me this far in life.
Lucas’s irritation hit me like a slap. I deliberately stared off into the distance instead of glancing over and meeting his gaze, which I knew was stormy. His lips were probably pursed, too, as he struggled not to say whatever was on his mind.
“The band is going to want to be here for the funeral,” he finally said, the words sharp, like he was biting each one off as it tumbled over his lips. “And Gabe. And Dahlia.”
