Our ride to my parents’house was as silent as the one to Josh and Jules’ over the weekend.
His confession about wanting me was the elephant in every room we were in together, but neither of us addressed it.
I didn’t know how to address it. Maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t want him too, but every time I tried to bring it up, my nerves got the better of me.
I snuck a peek at Christian. The air between us hummed with a hundred spoken words. They tightened my lungs and cut off the flow of oxygen until I grew lightheaded.
The air conditioning was on, but I cracked the window open and sucked in a small gasp of fresh air.
We stopped at a red light.
Christian didn’t say a word about the window, but the heat of his stare was like a brand against my skin.
I kept my eyes out the window and away from him until we arrived at my parents’ house, where bigger worries drowned out our tension.
As expected, my family greeted him the way they would any guest—polite and welcoming on the surface, but secretly sizing him up with every move he made and every word out of his mouth.
He’d brought a two-thousand-dollar vintage red from his extensive wine collection with us, which endeared him to my mother, but my dad was harder to impress.
“I’ve heard of you.” Jarvis’s tone suggested what he heard wasn’t particularly flattering for Christian. “Harper Security, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Christian passed me the bowl of mashed potatoes. He’d donned a more casual outfit than his usual suits for dinner, but somehow, the button-down shirt and jeans made him look even more intimidating, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A hint of challenge disguised as a smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. “I work with the government on occasion. I know Secretary Palmer well.”
My dad’s face settled into a mask of grim lines at the mention of his boss. “I’m sure you do.”
The clink of plates and glasses replaced conversation until the main course. The lull gave me a chance to rehearse my answer for our traditional sharing of accomplishments.
I finished the first piece of my fashion collection. Oh, did I forget to tell you? I’m starting a fashion brand. I have a—
“How’s your job at D.C. Style going?” Natalia’s question sliced through my inner musings.
I still hadn’t told my family I’d gotten fired. Every time I tried, the words made it halfway up my throat before they withered and died.
“It’s fine.” I raised my water glass to my lips and hoped no one detected the slight shake in my hand.
“Hmm.” The scrape of Natalia’s fork against her plate sounded like nails against a chalkboard. “You know what’s funny? I was in the neighborhood the other day. I had a meeting near your office, so I thought I’d drop by and say hi. But when I showed up, the receptionist said you don’t work there anymore. She said you haven’t worked there in almost two months.”
All movement stopped like she’d pressed pause on the scene. We were no longer people but wax statues of ourselves, frozen into a grotesque tableau of shock and denial.
Christian was the only one who showed a hint of life. His concerned warmth caressed my suddenly icy skin, and the even rise and fall of his chest steadied some of my nerves.
I’d thought his presence at dinner would throw me off-kilter, but it was doing the exact opposite.
I couldn’t say the same for my parents, though.
My father’s skin had leached of color, and my mother’s mouth formed a surprised red O. It took a lot to surprise Jarvis and Mika Alonso, and a crazy, inane part of me wanted to whip out my phone and record the moment for posterity.
“I told them it must be a mistake.” Natalia’s eyes pinned me like a bug to the ground. “There’s no way you got fired and didn’t tell us. Right, Stella?”
Regret coated the back of my tongue in the form of bile.
The urge to lie again was so great it almost dragged me under its spell, but I couldn’t keep up the charade forever. Eventually, they’d discover the truth.
It was time to stop hiding and own up to what happened.
“It wasn’t a mistake. I’m not working at D.C. Style anymore.” Every syllable scraped my throat on its way out. “I got fired in mid-February.”
Silence clung to the room for another beat before it exploded into curses and shouts.
“Mid-February! How could you keep this from us for so long?” my mother demanded in Japanese.
She grew up in Kyoto and reverted to her first language whenever she was upset.
“I was waiting for the right time to tell you,” I answered in English.
I hadn’t practiced Japanese in years, but its lilt was so familiar I felt like I was sitting in weekend school again. My parents had been too busy to teach me and Natalia the formalities, so they’d enrolled us in Spanish, German, and Japanese classes when we were children. They said it was to help us connect with our mixed heritage, but I suspected it had more to do with the fact foreign language proficiency looked good on college applications.
“And what have you been doing all this time?” The quiet rumble of my father’s anger seeped into every corner of the room. “You haven’t found a new job in two months?”
I twisted my necklace around my finger until it cut off my circulation.
Cool, calm, collected.
“I haven’t applied for another office job. I earn a lot of money from my blog, and I just signed a campaign deal with a big brand. Six figures. I’m earning a full-time income.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not a stable income.” Jarvis pressed his lips so tightly together they were nothing but a slash of white against his brown skin. “What happens when the deals dry up? Or if you lose your account? What about an emergency fund? How much do you have in savings?”
He fired the questions like bullets.
“I…” I glanced at Christian, who tipped his chin in a silent show of support. His expression was placid, but something turbulent lurked beneath his eyes. A shiver scampered down my spine before I faced the firing squad again.
“I don’t plan on becoming a full-time influencer. I actually…” Just say it. “I’m going to create my own designs. For a fashion line. And I have a bit of savings left, but I’ll replenish it once I get my next payment for the Delamonte campaign.”
A guillotine of silence hung suspended over the table before it sliced through the air and triggered another explosion.
“You cannot be serious!” Mika gripped her fork with a white-knuckled hand. “A fashion designer? Stella, you graduated from Thayer. You can be anything! Why in the world would you choose design?”
My father was stuck on the other part of my bombshell. “What do you mean, you have a bit of savings left? Where did the rest of it go?”
Sweat dampened the nape of my neck.
Go big or go home.
My parents were already pissed at me. I might as well rip the Band-Aid off my other secret and deal with the consequences all at once.
“I’ve been paying for Maura’s care at an assisted living facility.” I released my necklace and tucked my hands beneath my thighs to prevent them from shaking, but my right knee bounced with nerves.
It was a good thing my mom couldn’t see, or she’d yell at me for that too. According to Japanese superstitions, shaking one’s leg invited the ghosts of poverty or something like that. It was one of my mother’s biggest pet peeves.
“She has Alzheimer’s,” I continued. My hand curled around the edge of the chair for support. “I’ve been paying her room and board for the past few years. That’s where most of my money has gone.”
This time, the silence wasn’t a blade; it was a boa constrictor wrapping itself around my limbs and strangling me until my breaths puffed out in tiny bursts of air.
My mother paled until she resembled a paper cutout of herself. “Why would you do that?”
“Because she has no one else, Mom. She took care of me—”