Page 57 of Trusting Blake
I have never seen my mother act this way. What happened to not fighting fire with fire? She is always so caring and supportive, sweet and polite, but this person standing next to me now is. . . immature. Taunting and cruel. It’s so jarring, and this stand-off is straight-up embarrassing. It feels like I’m suddenly the parent and she’s the teenager, because I have to step in front of her and push her back, forcing her toward the car. Thank God we’re at the back of the parking lot and no one has witnessed this encounter. But I doubt LeAnne would have come near us if there was any possibility of witnesses.
“I’m sorry, LeAnne,” I say with a chagrined glance at Mom, and perhaps it’s the genuine feeling in my voice that finally cracks her indestructible demeanor.
LeAnne stares at me as I climb into the SUV with Mom, and then I catch her eye in the side mirror. She seems rather stunned that I may have just, however briefly, taken her side. It almost feels like a betrayal against my parents, and a niggle of guilt settles inside me as I pull on my seatbelt. LeAnne gathers herself and, as though nothing unusual has happened, struts off toward the store.
Mom, on the other hand, is livid. She grabs hold of the steering wheel and squeezes hard, her head tilted back as she glares out the panoramic sun roof to the blue skies above.
“How that womanevergot elected mayor is beyond me!” she mutters, exhaling slowly as she lowers her chin and starts the engine. “I can’t stand that superiority complex of hers. I don’t care if she was the damn president. I’d still think she was a bitch.”
With a reproachful look, I shake my head. “Remind me again what you were just saying about keeping calm when confronted?”
22
There’s a knock on my bedroom door as I’m getting ready for bed on Thursday evening. I continue massaging cream into my face as I skip toward the door, expecting it to be Mom checking in before she goes to sleep too, but my relatively upbeat mood diminishes at the sight of Ruben on the other side of the threshold.
“Oh,” I say. I immediately turn back around without another word and sit down on the edge of my bed, not making eye contact with him as I peacefully moisturize my forehead. Sometimes it’s easier to completely deny his existence, otherwise my blood pressure gets too high.
Ruben strides into my room and peers around. “Change of plan. It’s time to get this show on the road!”
“What?” I pretend to be surprised at his barking.
“I’ve booked us all a one-way ticket out of this God-forsaken town. Our flight is early tomorrow,” he explains. “I need you packed and ready to leave first thing.”
“Well,youcan board that flight, but I’m not leaving yet,” I tell him, unthreatened.
“I’m serious, Mila,” he insists. “Where’s your suitcase?”
When I stare expressionless at him, he has the nerve to march over to my closet. He finds my empty suitcase inside and drags it out, flinging it open on the floor.
Calmly, I wipe my hands together and remain perched on the end of my bed, like having Ruben storm around my room is perfectly normal. “What’s with the attitude?”
“Because I know you don’t want to go home and I know you’re going to argue with me, and quite frankly, I’m not here for your whining.” He places his hands on his hips and nods down at my suitcase. “So please just get going with it. I can’t have you holding things up tomorrow.”
“No.” I gesture to my sweatpants. “Can you leave my room? I need to change into my pajamas.”
“Mila,” he growls, fixing me with one of his infamous threatening looks that would have worked on me before. I never would have challenged Ruben’s authority and control, but I no longer take orders from him. “Just pack the damn case.”
“No,” I repeat. Keeping my temper in check, I act as though he’s not even in the room. I flip my head upside down, gather up my hair and secure it into a messy bun, refusing to let my nightly beauty routine be disrupted.
“Then I’ll damn well do it for you,” Ruben bristles, and starts yanking my clothes from their hangers. Recklessly, he tosses them into my suitcase in a messy heap. He pulls some shirts out so aggressively that he snaps a couple hangers, but still, I remain unflinching. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this yourself?” he asks, purposely scrunching up one of my blouses into a ball and aiming it into my suitcase like a basketball player shooting hoops.
I shrug, unconcerned. “Whatever. You think I care about a creased blouse?”
My lack of reaction only drives Ruben deeper into his rage. I’ve never seen him quite so rattled and it’s almost fun to watch.
“Agreeing to send you out here for the summer has been the worst decision I think I’ve ever made, and I can only hope that once we’re back home, you’ll lose this attitude and start acting like your normal self again.”
“And what was I like before, Ruben? A pushover? Easy to control?” I lean back on my hands and cross one leg over the other, knowing that my disinterested act is only making him more enraged, like he knows he’s losing his grip on me with each passing day. “You aren’tmymanager.”
Ruben starts grabbing pairs of my sneakers now, bundling them into the suitcase. “Your father doesn’t have time to deal with your teenage crap, Mila. He’s a busy man, with more than enough on his plate, and for what it’s worth, I do think you’re being incredibly selfish acting out the way you are.”
“You’re right, he doesn’t have time to deal with myteenagecrap,” I say, “because he’s busy dealing with his own shortcomings. Like, let me think, his affair.” Ruben glances up, eyes narrowed and sharp, and I blink innocently as though I’ve said nothing out of line. “You should be helping him make amends for that, but then again. . . Dad is a saint in your eyes, isn’t he? It’s just the rest of us – the ones he hurts with his crappy behavior – who you like to yell at.”
“That’s enough,” Ruben snaps, pushing my suitcase across the carpeted floor with his toe. He points a finger at me. “I’m serious, Mila. You’ll be on that flight home tomorrow.”
“But, Ruben—” I sit up straight and widen my eyes with a tiny lift of my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, but I believe my parents may have mislaid their ID cards.”
Ruben glowers down at me. “Mila.”
