The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

twenty-five years. It was time for a catch-up.” Bernice said this matter-of-factly. “And I dare say we all enjoyed it. Maybe we’ll invite them back sometime.”

“Ideally, less than twenty-five years from now,” Henry said.

“Well, I’m glad you all are growing up.” Dylan had forgotten her dad was a lightweight. Half a glass of wine, and he was probably feeling a happy buzz right now. The thought of her parents getting drunk with the Robinsons was too much, so she shoved it aside, sipping her cabernet.

“Besides, I hear Mike might be joining our family.”

If the wine had been anything other than delicious, Bernice’s words would have triggered her gag reflex. Of course Neale had told. She’d half expected her to. What she hadn’t expected was for her mother to completely ignore the boundary. A small piece of Dylan began reconstructing the wall she had neglected to erect when she’d walked in the door. Caught off guard by her parents’ normal behavior, she had nearly forgotten who they were. She did not feel like being ridiculed for this one. Was it unreasonable for her to want something other than an emotional disaster zone from her parents tonight?

Shaking her head, she said, “So much for sisterly secrets.”

“Oh, come on. You know Neale is a narc,” Bernice said, not unkindly.

“Well, if I didn’t before, I do now.” The smug look on her mother’s face faltered as Dylan took a drink of her wine with her feet flat on the floor, ready to bolt before her parents could start on whatever invasive line of questioning they were moving toward.

“For the record, your mom and I like Mike. Always have. Much better than that slick . . .” Henry let his words trail off into his wineglass at Bernice’s glare.

“Dylan, don’t be mad.”

“Mom, you two are privacy-invasion monsters. The anger ship done been sailed.” She tried to put jokes behind her words, but Bernice wasn’t fooled. She raised an eyebrow at her daughter and looked about ready to say something when her father jumped in.

“Fair point. This is your business. But we claim parental supervisorial port authority.” Henry laughed at his half-baked metaphor.

“What your father is trying to say is that while it is hard for us, we can respect your privacy as you work out whatever is going on with the boy across the street.” Bernice waved a hand at the front window before shifting the moment away from the levity Henry had managed to infuse. “But we do want to talk about Nicolas.”

Dylan snapped, “Mom, honestly. Knowing everything else that is happening right now, do you think he is on my mind?”

“Is he top of your mind? No. But that man is treating you poorly, and he never needs to be top of anyone’s mind again.”

A feeling of vertigo came over Dylan as her mother’s truth settled itself more firmly in her mind.

“You have always been so independent. Even when you were small, you’d get up early, and I mean very early”—Bernice laughed at the memory in this small digression, then continued—“just to iron your clothes and make sure your lunch was appropriately packed. If your sisters left their things out, you’d iron theirs too.”

“You were seven going on forty-five,” Henry jumped in, warmth radiating from his smile.

“What we are getting at is that, for better or worse, your father and I tend not to worry about you taking care of yourself, because you always have. Until this trip home, we worried about you having fun.” Bernice’s words were wrapped in a rare kindness, so unexpected Dylan was unsure how to react. A small part of her thought she could relax, while the larger part shouted that little voice down.

“It can be hard when you have a child whose orientation is so different from your own. And parenting adults has its own special set of challenges.” Bernice paused, letting her head roll gently to one side, studying Dylan as she searched for the words she wanted. When she found them, she righted her posture before starting again. “Often, we aren’t sure what to do with you grown girls. Since our personal ethos is to be left alone, we left you alone for too long.”

“You never really needed a parent to begin with. It seemed like the natural thing to do,” Henry added, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes on the rug. “But it doesn’t mean we don’t care about you and aren’t following your life as closely as you will let us. All three of you girls need different things. Neale requires an almost constant audience. Billie dips in and out of our safety net. But you’d rather operate without guardrails, and we want to respect that.”

“And that respect will pick up again tomorrow. Tonight, we are parenting,” Bernice jumped in, her tone losing its ethereal quality. “We love you. We don’t want this hanging over your head. Will you please put a proper end to Nicolas’s behavior tonight?”

Henry nodded vigorously at Bernice, as Dylan processed her parents’ request. She had always thought of being a Delacroix as a weird brick wall in an obstacle course. A sometimes fun but mostly exhausting element she needed to climb in order to get to where she was going. It had never occurred to her that the brick wall could be there for her to lean against when she needed rest.

Everything in the room felt so vulnerable, as if their careful familial bond were hanging by a spun-gold thread. Half of her wanted to stand up, walk out of the room, and break the bond. But the small part of her that advocated for her to stay was growing louder, demanding she engage. If her parents could admit they were lost, why couldn’t she? Was there so much left to lose in telling the truth?

“The thing is,” Dylan started, tucking herself back into the couch, “I thought I made myself clear. It’s like he isn’t taking me seriously.” Her shoulders rolled forward, collapsing in, as if her