“Blake,” I said, giving him a weak smile. “Just in time to meet my parents. Blake Gaston, this is my mother, Charlotte Fowler, and my father, William. Mother and Daddy, this is Blake Gaston.”
“You’re dating someone?” my mother sniffed, as she looked Blake up and down.
“It’s so nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Fowler,” Blake smiled, as he extended his hand. My mother gave him a limp shake and a smile that did not reach her eyes. Blake turned to my father and did the same. “Mr. Fowler, it’s nice to meet you.”
My father started at the offered hand and then asked, “Are you on the faculty at Waltham University?”
“No, I’m a firefighter with the Waltham FD,” Blake replied.
“Oh, I see,” my father said, with obvious disdain.
“I’m sorry, sir, is there a problem?” Blake asked, as he shot me a confused look.
“Emily went to Brown University,” my mother sniffed, without elaborating.
“We’re just surprised, that’s all,” my father followed up, without looking at Blake.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just insulted me,” Blake said.
“Well, my grandfather used to say, if the shoe fits,” my father said, trailing off without finishing. He looked at my mother and said, “I believe it’s time we headed home, Charlotte.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Blake said, looking back and forth between my parents. “Are you seriously this rude to everyone, or is it just me?”
“Blake—” I said, trying to warn him off.
“No, don’t ‘Blake’ me as if I’m some child who needs to be reminded of his place with the adults,” Blake said, zeroing in on my father. “Sir, I don’t know what in the hell crawled up your ass and died, but your daughter is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, and I’m sure she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions about who to date, upbringing notwithstanding.”
“Listen here, young man,” my father said, pulling himself up to his full height and looking Blake in the eye. “I have no idea who you are or what your relationship with my daughter is, but I will tell you that since I’ve never once heard your name mentioned, I’m guessing it can’t be much.”
“Why you—” Blake seethed.
“Stop it!” I shouted. I was furious with Blake for attacking my parents, and furious with my parents for being here to begin with. I was dangerously close to completely breaking down and I wanted all of them out of the house. “Both of you! Just stop it! I’m not some herd of cattle that you two get to argue over!”
“Emily—” Blake and my father said in unison.
“No, stop it!” I shouted, close to tears. “I don’t want to hear anything from either of you! Get out! All of you, get out of my house!”
“Emily, you’re being horribly rude, young lady,” my mother said in a low voice. “I thought I raised you better than that.”
“Get out, Mother,” I said through clenched teeth. “Get. Out. All of you. OUT!”
Blake stared at me for a moment and then stormed toward the front door, flinging it wide open and marching down the walk to his truck. My parents quickly made their exit, and I slammed the door behind them. With everyone gone, I walked over to the bedroom and flung the door open before I leaned against the wall and slid down until I was sitting with my knees to my chest.
It was only then that I bowed my head and cried harder than I could ever remember. Howard sat next to me mewing softly and patting my arm with his paw, but nothing could soothe the humiliation and pain in my heart. I wanted to call Blake and apologize, but I didn’t dare.
Instead, I sat in the hallway and sobbed until there were no more tears left.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Blake
I’d driven home in a fit of rage and slammed pots and pans around the kitchen as I prepared dinner for Nina and me. She poked her head into the kitchen, but quickly ducked out without asking questions when she saw the mood I was in. A little while later, I called her to supper, and we ate in relative silence as I stewed over what had happened at Emily’s.
Nina kept quiet as she turned on a movie and we settled in to watch it. Driven by my feelings, I was too restless to sit still for long; I left Nina to watch the movie while I worked out my anger scrubbing the kitchen floor. I muttered to myself about Emily’s parents and their rudeness, and I tried to make sense of what Emily had shouted at us. Why had she been so angry at me?
I went to bed long after Nina had turned in, and tossed and turned all night. By morning, I found myself reaching for my phone to see if Emily had called. When I realized she hadn’t, I felt like the air had been let out of me. I thought about calling her, but quickly nixed the idea when I remembered how angry she’d been and how she’d ordered me out of her house.
If Emily wanted to talk to me, she was going to have to pick up the phone and call.