Fate's Return (Twisted Fate, Book 2)

Chapter Four

My parents looked up in surprise when I barged through the front door of our home. They were already settled in to cuddle on the couch for movie night. When Tina moved away, I wondered what I would do if my parents divorced like hers had—no way could I choose one over the other. But, considering they still cuddled after twenty years of marriage, I doubted it would ever be an issue.

"Aly." My mom lifted her head from my father's shoulder and sat up under the blanket they shared. "Why are you home?"

They watched me like they were trying to gage if my hair-cutting skills had been an early sign of something worse. Everyone was scrutinizing what I did this week as though I was going to crack, and I was sick of it. I wouldn't shatter, freeze into an icicle and crumble into a zillion pieces like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my frozen form. I was strong now, not weak, and all their worrying just reminded me of the bad things they hoped I wouldn't think about.

"You sound like you don't want me here."

"No, no," she said, breathless. "I just—we thought..." She narrowed her eyes and looked to my father, and then back to me. "Is everything okay? Weren't you spending the evening with Suzie?"

"I'm fine." I sighed and braced myself with my hands against the doorframe to kick my shoes off and into the open closet to the right of the front door. "Just tired, you know?"

"Why don't you join us?"

"Yes, join us," my mother said, nodding as she agreed with my father. "We'll start it over from the beginning."

I looked to the TV in the left corner and then back to my parents lounging on our over-sized couch. Clearing my throat, I said, "I just want to go sink in the tub with a book and then go to bed. I'm sore, and Mike called to ask me to work in the morning." Rolling my eyes, I gestured to the screen. "Besides, I've seen Titanic like, a thousand times."

Not to mention I felt like a third wheel—with my parents—and my pathetic meter couldn't gage that high.

"Aly, we're just worried."

"I'm fine, Dad." How many times would they make me say that before they started to believe it? "Just tired." Sighing, I brought my hand up to play with my hair, but realized that it was no longer there, hanging over my shoulders. I twisted my fingers together. "Is it so wrong for me to want to spend time alone?"

They looked at one another in silent communication, and I darted my eyes around, impatient. A black area rug protected the hardwood floors from scuffs and two shiny black end tables flanked the couch on both ends to match the one centered in front of it.

I lifted my eyes and studied the painting above their heads, its length nearly long enough to run the entire span of the couch. The Last Supper. With no lamps in the room, the figures in the picture became shadows illuminated by the wall sconces my parents had set on low for their movie. I felt as though I could relate after losing Tina and David, like I'd had my last supper without realizing it for what it had been until it was too late.

"It's not wrong," my mother said at last, tearing her eyes from my dad to look at me.

"Okay, well, I'm fine." Forcing a smile, I tugged my bag higher and hooked my finger just under the strap to keep it from sliding down. "In fact, if you have to go to the bathroom, do it now. I plan on staying in the tub until my book has been read and I look like I've developed some sort of aging disease."

They didn't move or look away. I shrugged and began to inch away, keeping my palm pressed against the wall to guide me so I could hold their gaze without falling—my butt was now as sore as the rest of my body. When I reached the bottom step of the stairs, I pointed up, and said, "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. I'll put some TP outside the door so you can totally go outside if you can't hold it."