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It doesn’t. Not even close. “I’m your daughter’s girlfriend. Someone important in her life that looks out for her. And right now, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Don’t push me, Mrs. Lemieux. Bryce is worth protecting.”

“She doesn’t need protection from me! I’m only looking out for her as a mother should.”

“You’re not looking out for her, though. You’re hurting her.”

The apples of her full cheeks glow with a flaming red. Knuckles white from her grip on the island, she knots her eyebrows.

“You know nothing.Rien du tout.”

“I know more than you think. And I can confidently say that you continuing to disregard her sexuality and preferences has broken her trust in you. There’s strain on your relationship that’s obvious to everyone. Even a stranger looking in. And it won’t go away until you leave your ideologies at the door and embrace her for who she is and what she wants,” I say, unashamed of how loud I’ve gotten.

She turns her nose up at me, completely disregarding everything I’ve said. I don’t know why I was hoping she would take my advice into consideration when clearly, she’s too stuck in her own ways and beliefs to care at all about Bryce’s.

I swallow my frustration before adding, “You may think that by not telling her you wish she would just like men, that you’re being supportive of her bisexuality, but in all honesty, Mrs. Lemieux, you’re not. What she needs to hear from you is thatshe’s accepted the way she is, regardless of who she wants to love. And if you can’t do that, then you need to leave her be. Setting her up on blind dates with men when she’s been vocal about not being interested in a straight relationship is not allyship, and it certainly isn’t parental support.”

My chest rises and falls quickly, every inhale shaky and exhale confident. It’s a lot to drop on your fake girlfriend’s mother upon first meeting, but I couldn’t hold it back any longer. This is the reason I’m here right now, and while I’m playing the part of Bryce’s girlfriend, not a word I just spoke wasn’t true.

Regardless of what our relationship may be, Bryce is someone who’s important to me. And I’ll always take care of those who matter, even if they don’t quite know that yet.

When Claudine turns away from me and a reply doesn’t come, I leave the kitchen. She isn’t my priority right now.

Her daughter is, and I refuse to be another person in her life who lets her down when she needs them.

After what feels like ages,I step back into Bryce’s room with my arms full of items. Pill bottles, a new cool cloth, a bottle of water I stole from the mini fridge in the living room, and a bucket to rest beside the bed.

My hair is up messily on the top of my head to keep it out of my face, and I shrug out of my cardigan before draping it over the black velvet chair in the corner of the room.

It’s obvious that this is Bryce’s old room, even if her parents have scrubbed most of her out of it. Whether on purpose or purely just to turn the space into something impersonal for guests, they’ve stripped all of her personality from the décor.

After living with Bryce and snooping around in her room, I know what to expect from any space where she’s spent long periods of time. Dark vibes with some hidden pops of mutedcolour. Graphic artwork, loud patterns, and sleek furniture. She’s completely her own person with a unique style, and it feels like a loss to sit in here and see how bare it is.

Everything may reek like lavender, covering the spicy scent of Bryce’s perfume, but my gut tells me that this used to be her space. Even stripped of personality, they’ve left nail holes in the wall and the black furniture. Even the bedding is still dark. Not black, but a deep purple. The small collection of guitar picks in a glass dish on the long dresser draws my attention.

In a beat, I’m in front of the dresser, staring down at the collection. I dig through the different shapes and styles before pinching the smallest of them all, a bright yellow one.

“I thought she gave up guitar,” I whisper.

“I did.”

With a gasp, I have the guitar pick smushed to my chest and am whirling around. Bryce watches me from the bed, eyes cracked open just enough for the blue to appear amongst a whole lot of red. Her lips are nearly as pale as her face, and I abandon the guitar pick where I found it.

“How are you feeling?”

Her tired gaze tracks me across the room as I go to her side and perch on the edge of the bed.

“Like shit.”

“Here, sit up.” I reach for the items I left on the floor and grab all the pills she needs before cracking open the bottle of water and bringing it to her lips. “Take these and drink some water.”

“I don’t need all this,” she argues, brows furrowing even as she pushes up on the pillows as much as possible.

“You do. So shut up and take your medicine.”

Her lips part, eyes blowing wide. “You just told me to shut up.”

My lips twitch with the threat of a smile, but I keep firm. “I’ll do it again unless you listen.”

“I liked it.”