“Mmhmm. Meanwhile, back in Asshole Mill.”
“Right?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Between you and me? I’d just as soon tell them to go fuck themselves. If they weren’t lording their will over my sister and me—”
“Wait, what?”
Matt waved his hand. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say my mother’s figured out how to keep us both in line even now.”
Dara groaned. “I’m so not surprised.”
“Neither am I, to tell you the truth. Anyway, let’s do this.”
Dessert was consumed in tense silence. Afterward, he wasn’t at all shocked when his parents decided not to have a cup of coffee like they often did, and he didn’t lift a finger to encourage them to stay.
As Mom collected her purse, she turned to Dara. “Well, it was lovely to see you again.” Her tone was candy-coated poison.
“You too, Mrs. Coolidge.”
Mom just smiled and then headed for the foyer with Dad on her heels.
Matt and Dara exchanged glances and both grimaced.
This is going to be a fucking disaster, isn’t it?
Chapter Four
While Matt saw his parents out, Dara waited in the living room.
She couldn’t hear their parting conversation well enough to understand the words, but she caught the tone. Pleasant, but terse—the Coolidge way. If she and Matt hadn’t chickened out about telling them she was pregnant, that conversation would’ve been a hell of a lot more terse and not pleasant in the slightest.
I am so sorry, Matt.
Guilt threatened to eat her alive. She was already in some serious karmic debt to Matt. Between the sperm donation and the six months he’d taken off college to help her through her cancer treatment, he’d been eligible for sainthood since he was barely old enough to drink. And now, without a second thought, he was willing to step up and be the father he didn’t have to be, even though they both knew it would cause more strife within his family.
Grinding her teeth, she resisted the urge to march into the foyer and be the bitch his family had long ago decided she was. If the shoe fit, after all. And it wasn’t like she’d ever done anything to offend them besides being born into the family they would hate until the sun burned out. Well, okay, she had the mouth of a sailor, and she’d had an undeserved “reputation” through both high school and college, but it wasn’t like she’d ever robbed a bank or slapped Matt’s grandma.
Regardless of why they didn’t like her, though, it drove her crazy that they still tried to keep Matt on such a short leash. They should’ve been proud of him. What parent wouldn’t be proud of a son who’d been successful enough to retire in his thirties?
A Coolidge. Of course.
She rolled her eyes and gazed around at Matt’s living room, trying to tune out the hushed conversation in the foyer. Funny—even if she’d just walked in here off the street without knowing who lived here, she’d have guessed in an instant that it was Matt’s house. He’d always had two or three video game consoles, though back then, they’d been dusty secondhand systems in a particle-board TV stand from Walmart. The particle board would have been straining beneath one of those TVs that had a crappy medium-size screen but still weighed five hundred pounds.
Those days were over. Now he had a slick flat screen—probably one of those ultra-high-definition ones where you could see the fleas on the dogs in the background—and only the latest and greatest video game technology. He had both an Xbox 360 and an Xbox 1, and both a PS3 and a PS4. Just like she did. She suspected that if she looked through the neat stacks of games flanking the entertainment center that she’d find quite a few familiar titles.
She smiled to herself. Some things never changed.
On the wall behind the TV, there were framed photos from his younger rodeo days, and some that were more recent. He still had that photo from when he met Garth Brooks, and the one he’d treasure forever of him and George Strait. And judging by the pair of photos below those two, the lucky bastard had somehow managed to meet U2 and AC/DC. Jerk.
The air pressure in the house changed, and she shook herself just before the front door clicked shut. A second later, Matt walked into the living room.
“That went well.” He dropped onto the sofa, pressed his elbow into the armrest, and rubbed his hand over his face. “Fuck.”
Dara grimaced. “I’m sorry. Guess I should’ve known this would cause more tension between you and your mom.”
“What doesn’t cause more tension there?” he grumbled.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t have to have this kind of conversation with her very often, though.”