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“Lost time! You don’t get to make up for lost time! Now I hear you’re taking drugs?”
“I’m not anymore!” he yells back at her. I want to cower behind Hardin, but right now I don’t know whose side he’s actually on. Landon’s eyes are focused on me, Hardin’s on my father and mother.
“Wanna go?” Landon mouths silently from across the room. I shake my head, silently declining, but hoping that my eyes can convey how thankful I am for his offer.
“Anymore? Anymore!” My mother must have worn her heaviest heels. I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll leave dents in the floor as she stomps across it.
“Yes, anymore! Look, I’m not perfect, okay?” His hands move over his short hair, and I freeze. The gesture is so familiar, it’s uncanny.
“Not perfect! Ha!” She laughs, her white teeth shining through the dim room. I want to turn a light on but can’t bring myself to move. I don’t know how to feel or what to think as I watch my parents scream at each other in the middle of the living room. I’m convinced this apartment is cursed; it has to be. “Not perfect is fine; doing drugs and dragging your daughter down the same path is deplorable!”
“I’m not dragging her down any path! I’m trying my hardest to make up for what I did to her . . . and to you!”
“No! You’re not! Your coming back around will only confuse her more! She’s already messed her life up enough!”
“She hasn’t messed up her life,” Hardin interrupts. My mother shoots him a fiery glare before turning her attention back to my father.
“This is your fault, Richard Young! All of this! If it weren’t for you, Theresa wouldn’t be in this toxic relationship with this boy!” She waves her hand toward Hardin. I knew it would only be a matter of time before she started in on him. “She never had a male example to show her how a woman should be treated; that’s why she’s shacked up here with him! Unmarried, living in sin, and Lord only knows what he’s doing! He’s probably taking the drugs with you!”
I recoil, my blood instantly boils, and the raging need to defend Hardin surfaces. “Don’t you dare bring Hardin into this! He’s been taking care of my father and providing him with somewhere to live to keep him off of the streets!” I hate the way my choice of words resembles my mother’s.
Hardin crosses the room and stands beside me. I know he’s going to warn me to stay out of it.
“It’s true, Carol. He’s a good man, and he loves her more than I’ve ever seen a man love a woman,” my father chimes in. My mother’s fists ball at her sides, and her perfectly blushed cheeks flare a deep red.
“Don’t you dare defend him! All of this—she waves one clenched fist through the thick air—“is because of him! She should be in Seattle, creating a life for herself, finding herself a suitable man . . .”
I can barely hear anything over the blood rushing and pumping through my head. In the midst of all of this, I feel terrible for Landon, who has kindly retreated to the bedroom to leave us alone, and for Hardin, who is, yet again, being used as my mother’s scapegoat.
“She is living in Seattle, she’s here visiting her father. I told you that on the phone.” Hardin’s voice breaks through the chaos; it’s barely controlled, and it sends a shiver over my body, raising the small hairs on my arms.
“Don’t think that just because you called me we’re suddenly friends,” she snaps. Hardin jerks me back by my arm, and I glare up at him, puzzled. I hadn’t even realized that I started toward her until he stopped me.
“Judgmental as always. You’ll never change, you’re still the same woman you were all those years ago.” My father shakes his head in disapproval. I’m thankful that he’s on Hardin’s side.
“Judgmental? Are you aware that this boy, the one you’re defending, weaseled his way between your daughter’s legs to win money in a bet he made with his friends?” My mother’s voice is cold—smug, even.
All of the air leaves the room, and I’m choking, gasping for a simple breath.
“That’s right! He was bragging around campus about his conquest. So don’t you defend him to me,” she hisses. My father’s eyes are wide. I can see the stormy currents gathering behind them as he looks at Hardin.
“What? Is this true?” My father is choking for breath, too.
“It’s not important! We’ve already passed it,” I tell him.
“See, she went and found herself someone exactly like you. Let us pray that he doesn’t get her pregnant and leave when times get tough.”
I can’t listen anymore. I can’t let Hardin be dragged through the mud by both of my parents. This is a disaster.
“And not to mention just three weekends ago, a man dropped her at my house unconscious because of his”—she points to Hardin—“friends! They nearly had their way with her!”
The reminder of that night pains me, but it’s the way my mother is blaming Hardin that bothers me the most. What happened that night was in no way his fault, and she knows it.
“You son of a bitch!” my father says through his teeth.
“Don’t,” Hardin calmly warns him. I pray that he listens.
“You had me fooled! Here I was thinking you just had a bad rep, some tattoos, and an attitude! I could deal with that. I’m the same way. But you used my daughter!” My father dashes toward Hardin, and I stand in front of him.