Page 57 of No Rhyme or Roughing
Barely tasting the mashed potatoes, I shoveled theminto my mouth before washing them down with a giant gulp of wine. It went down the wrong pipe, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Coughs racked my body, and Teddy’s giant hand thundered on my back.
I wheezed, trying to catch my breath, and finally lifted my gaze to the table, where every eye was on me.
“She lives, ladies and gentlemen.” Teddy grinned.
“Theodore.” Mom glared at him. “This is not your home. Lower your voice.”
“Mina,” Dad muttered, rubbing his eyes.
“No. Don’t you chastise me, you son of a bitch.”
There it was.
The bitterness. The hate and anger that had taken the mom who once took me to the local coffee shop every Friday after school for a treat. The one who’d tucked me in and read to me. The one who’d stopped being my mother the moment I decided the truth was important.
Everyone froze, stunned, waiting.
“Mom,” Teddy’s brow creased. “Can we just?—”
One look from her cut him off.
“How you can invite that man to spend the holiday with you after what he did to our family…” She threw her napkin on her plate and stood. “I have tried to sit here like a polite guest, but I can’t anymore.”
I snorted at the thought of her being apolite guestwhen all she’d done was glare at everyone.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Do you have something to say, Sydney?”
I did. I wanted to. Instead, I shrank back into my seat.
“That’s what I thought. I guess you’re finally learning to keep that mouth shut when it’s not your business.”
I’d learned that a long time ago. I was prepared to go back to eating, to forget her words and try to get through the rest of the night. Teddy’s hand slid into mine, and I knew he was hoping for the same thing. That was what our family did—ignored the problems, blamed other people, and pushed through.
No one spoke for a long moment, not even Mrs. Cassidy, despite her many interventions when I was a kid. Sam and Frankie both stared intently at the table. Dad wouldn’t meet my eyes. He’d left me to her for so many years; it shouldn’t have been surprising he put me at her mercy now.
The scraping of a chair against the hardwood. A tall figure rose to his feet, the deep timbre of his voice directed at my mother.
“Are you finished?” Ryder asked, arms crossed over his chest.
“Son.” His mom shook her head.
“No, Mom. You taught me to stand up when someone is being bullied, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Dad surprised me by saying, “Bullied? Her mother is speaking to her, boy. Watch your words.”
I sank further into myself. Mom and Dad never agreed on anything—except the need to put me in my place, apparently.
Ryder reached for his wine glass and drained it in one gulp. He looked down at Sam. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to your Thanksgiving dinner.”
She nodded, urging him on.
Sullivan grunted. “Keep going.”
Me? I had no words, no voice. It had been taken from me many years ago.
Ryder sighed. “Okay, we’re doing this.” He pinned Dad with a look. “Sir, with no due respect, you two have been bullying Sydney since she was a child. I wasn’t around when it started, but I see the effects now. As a kid, she was so joyful. Loud, yes, and honest, but also free with her smiles, open with her words. And then, you made her do the unthinkable. She had to reveal that your family was broken. No, she didn’t break it.That was you.
“Youhad an affair, and you let your daughter be the one to reveal it. I know it hurt you, Mrs. Valentine, but frankly, right now, I don’t give a fuck. Your daughter is amazing, and you don’t see that. She’s kind and determined. Despite her shyness, she can tell grown rock stars how to dance. When she laughs, it’s hard won and worth every bit of effort.
