Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4) by Sarah Brooks (reading rainbow books .txt) 📗

pay my bills, I have a house, a business—all in all I think I’m pretty successful. Aren’t those all hallmarks of a woman who has her shit together?” I couldn’t stop the anger from bleeding into my words. No one could push my buttons quite like Lorelai Murphy.

“Watch your mouth, Skylar. You shouldn’t curse at your mother.”

“I wasn’t cursing at you—”

“I called to tell you that a bunch of letters showed up here for you. You need to come and get them. And when are you going to put in a change of address since you decided to move out and away from me? I still don’t know why you insisted on moving to the other side of town. I never see you now.” My mom’s tone changed on a dime. Now she was sad and morose as if she were barely holding back tears. She was a master at using emotions to get what she wanted from people. Her particular brand of toxicity would be almost awe-inspiring if it wasn’t so horrible.

“I live a whopping fifteen minutes from you and Dad. It’s not like I’ve gone to Timbuktu.” Edgar nudged me with his wet nose, letting me know he needed to go out. With my phone propped between my shoulder and my ear, I got out of bed and put on my robe, heading out to the kitchen. I was going to need a strong cup of coffee after that rude awakening.

“Are you coming to get your mail or not?” There was a pause. “And maybe you could stay for dinner? Spend some time with your mom and dad?”

Even after all these years, the stuff my mother said still had the power to render me speechless. It amazed me how she could call me out, rip me a new one, then casually ask me to stay for dinner. Conversation with my mother was a never-ending see-saw and I had thought I was finally off the ride. Unfortunately, life circumstances had me getting back on.

“I’ll come and get my mail, but I can’t stay for dinner. I’ll be having a late night. Lots of work for that job I don’t get out of bed for in the morning.” I couldn’t help myself. My sarcasm knew no limits and the target was too convenient.

“No need to have an attitude, Skylar,” Mom snapped. “If you’re coming by, make sure it’s this morning. I have a physical therapy appointment this afternoon. Nice of you to ask how my ankle’s doing.” Ah, so we had officially entered the guilt phase of our conversation. Which was my cue to shut it down or I’d be stuck hearing about the ankle she broke a year ago for the next forty minutes. And I had other things to do with my day.

“I’ll be by in the next hour or so, Mom. So, I’ll see you then,” I interrupted, knowing I’d hear about my rudeness when I saw her. I hung up the phone before she could say anything else.

Well, that just went and ruined my whole day. With a deep sigh, I finished making my coffee and went to get a shower. No sense putting off the horrible inevitability of getting my butt chewed out for being an ungrateful daughter.

**

“Double espresso, please. Oh, and one of those chocolate chip muffins. And you know what? Two of the macadamia nut cookies. To go please.” I handed over my debit card and waited for the barista to ring up my order.

The coffee shop in downtown Southport was busy. It seemed everyone in town needed their caffeine fix at the same time. After putting in my order I stepped to the side to wait. I pulled out my phone to check my email. I was waiting to hear back from one of my clients who I had sent some work over to have him sign off on. I was feeling edgy. The quick visit to my parents’ house had been as unpleasant as I expected. Even though I anticipated the level of bullshit I’d receive, it didn’t get any easier to be on the receiving end of it.

I had never had what most would deem a “healthy” relationship with my parents. I carried a lot of baggage as a result of how they lived their lives. I was an only child, which was probably a good thing. One of my earliest memories was of my parents having a screaming match over who misplaced the TV remote. I remembered crying when my mother would walk out of the house with a bag of stuff, saying she was never coming back. I would cling to her skirt, begging her to stay. She would simply disentangle me from her leg and without a word to me, she’d march to her car and drive off.

The first few times she did it had been emotionally devastating. But as I grew older and the pattern became firmly entrenched, I barely blinked when she would pack her suitcase. My dad would retreat to his office and close the door, pretending that nothing had happened. And when a few weeks later, Mom came back and she and dad entered the lovey-dovey reconciliation stage, they never acknowledged the impact their behavior had on their only kid.

I grew up not believing in permanence. Not believing in long-lasting love and companionship. Because my only role models were selfish asshats.

And they were crappy parents on top of being crappy spouses to each other. I learned that lesson very early. Yet despite that, they were all the family I had and as a result, I felt a tie to them was uncomfortable and at times downright painful.

Mom was the queen of passive-aggressive guilt trips. She was a master manipulator who knew exactly what angle to play to get exactly what she wanted. She had been playing my dad like a fiddle for long enough to become a master at psychological warfare.

And my dad, he could have been a decent guy if