Page 26 of Full Out Fiend

Daphne

Istepsoftlythroughthe side door in a futile attempt to enter the house undetected. Not that it’s any use. My parents have been waiting up to greet me (a.k.a. bamboozle me) every night since I called off the wedding.

I toe off my shoes and warily walk through the foyer. I’m almost certain of everyone’s location before I even go looking for them.

My parents will be in the living room, my dad reading a book while my mom watches something on TV. My little sister Tahlia is most likely holed up in her room, practicing TikTok dances while she keeps a book propped open on her bed, just in case my parents pop in to check on her.

From the outside, we look like the picture-perfect family.

The reality of life in this home is far more insidious.

“Daphne? Is that you?”

Her tone is sweet, almost caring. The words sound innocent enough. But she has a motion activation security alert on her phone, and I texted her before I left work to let her know I was on my way. She already knows it’s me.

“Hi, Mom. Dad,” I acknowledge, peeking my head around the corner but purposely not entering the living room.

My dad, Martin, gives a slight nod but doesn’t look up from his book. My mom makes a show of pausing the TV and sitting up straighter on the couch, clearly eager to chat.

“The harpist called to confirm things today,” she starts.

Thank God. I’ve had the hardest time getting a hold of her.

“Oh, okay. Did you talk to her, or do I need to call her back?”

She pulls a face, and I know we’re in for another spat. I inhale a slow, steady breath and remind myself to keep it together and not let her push my buttons.

“Of course you need to call her back. I don’t know what music you’ve selected for the ceremony!”

I meet her outraged expression with a pointed look.

“Mother…” I sigh.

“Daphne,” she snipes.

And here we are, once again. Right where we’ve been over and over again for the last several weeks. She tries a new angle every other day. Big crocodile tears, guilting me into submission, begging me to reconsider.

The wedding is off. I won’t be marrying Anthony.

And yet she’s completely disregarding and refusing to accept the truth of the situation.

Thankfully, I have experience dealing with her gaslighting and attempted manipulations. Experience and perspective. I’ve been out of this house and out of her clutches for years. I’ve grown. I’ve healed. I know it’s not worth my energy or my peace to argue with this woman. I love her. I always will. But I accepted a long time ago that she’s not so great at loving me.

“Did you get a good number where I can reach her?” I ask, rubbing at the tension headache developing between my eyebrows.

“If you cancel all these people, this wedding really won’t happen,” she hisses through clenched teeth.

I bite my tongue—hard—to stop myself from laughing. Or crying. Or both?

I’m admittedly an emotional mess. It’s the week of my now-canceled wedding, and being back in my parents’ house is messing with my emotions, too.

“I’m going to eat something, then head to bed,” I inform her. “Good night,” I add, not wanting to leave things too tense.

As soon as I turn, she’s on her feet, following me. “Daphne! We’re not done here. You can’t just throw away a relationship that spanned a decade over one disagreement!”

And there’s the rub.

Whether it’s because they not-so-secretly respect Anthony more than me, or because they just don’t believe me, my parents have struggled to match my disdain over the situation.