Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

“Daddy, Rosie is her own person. You can’t tell her what to do,” Millie interfered, her voice like a soothing balm on my red-hot nerves. Mama sighed. Silverware clattered. I wet my lips, too taken aback to utter a word.

“You guys are always on her case, Daddy. Rosie is a grown-up.”

“She’s not like you, sweetheart. She’s a little reckless. We love our Rosie-bug exactly as she is, but things are changing. She gets weaker every year.”

“She is sick!” Mama bellowed, patting her nose with a linen napkin before bringing it to her eyes to do the same. I flinched. She kicked the conversation from first gear to fifth. “Look at her.” She pointed at me. “All skin and bones. Doesn’t she look thin to you?”

Millie sighed at me, apologetic, and shot Mama a look. “She’s always been thin.”

“Too thin,” Mama enunciated.

“Everyone is too thin in your opinion, Mama. Our family cat looked like a raccoon because you overfed it.” The same cat they had to give away when they found out I had cystic fibrosis. Jesus, I was as fun as having leprosy.

“That’s okay, guys.” I sniffed, hating that Vicious saw this exchange. “It’s not like I’m here or anything. Don’t let me get in your way of discussing my future.”

“We’re buying you a ticket back home. You should be spending your time with us, not running around in a big city looking for trouble.” Mama’s voice was dancing on the verge of panic.

“I’m staying in New York.”

“Paul,” she wailed. “Tell her.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I smiled. “Tell me.”

Paul LeBlanc wasn’t going to betray me. You could always count on Daddy to shut Mama up when it came to me. Millie tried to protect me, but didn’t have that kind of authority.

Daddy looked between Mama and me.

“I’m sorry, Rosie-bug.” He shook his head, and at first, I thought he was apologizing on behalf of his wife.

“But your mama is right. I worry for you out there, too.” He shifted in his seat. “But then, maybe we need to take into consideration you have Darren now.” Daddy scratched the ghost of his stubble, mulling this in his head. “He seems to be taking good care of her. Don’t you reckon, Charlene?”

Your father is not a misogynist, I tried to convince myself. He just sounded like one a second ago.

“About that.” I coughed, feeling my palms grow sweaty and my heart twirling like a hopeless drunk, stumbling its way out of my body to the nearest plate. Maybe someone would be kind enough to stab it. “Darren and I broke up.”

“What?!” Daddy roared, shooting up from his seat and slapping his palm on the hardwood table. He looked as shocked as I’d felt. Had he forgotten my love life was ultimately my business? I frowned, watching as Millie placed her hand over Mama’s, asking her wordlessly to stop. When I looked up, I realized that she was crying so hard her whole body was heaving.

“She has no one there. No one. And she is wasting away, dying.”

Yup. My family was kind of a bunch of drama llamas.

Daddy’s eyes still blazed, threatening to sear my skin with ugly scars.

“He moved out a few weeks ago.” I kept my voice neutral, flattening a palm over the white cloth napkin I didn’t even get to use yet. “He wanted to get married. Even went as far as proposing, with a ring and all. But as you know, I’m not interested in marriage. Especially considering my recent complications.” They knew exactly what Dr. Hasting, the expert Vicious had hired, told me last year, after she ran some thorough tests on me. “He will bounce back.” I found myself comforting them instead of the other way around. “I will, too. He deserved better than this life.”

There was silence. The kind that drips into your body and nibbles at your bones. I held my breath, ready for a physical blow that would send me flying to the other side of the room.

Vicious leaned back in his chair and played with Emilia’s hair. “We should excuse ourselves. Looks like your parents and sister have a lot to talk about.”

Millie’s inquiring eyes found mine from across the table. I shook my head.

“It’s our only family dinner before the rehearsal. Everyone stays.”

Mama cried harder and kept saying that her baby was dying. Fun time in the LeBlanc household. Stay tuned for the after-party.

“Mama.” I chuckled, feeling my face heating with embarrassment. “I’m not dying. I take very good care of myself.”

“Jesus Christ, Rose, what a load of baloney.” Daddy snorted, slapping the table again. It also didn’t escape me that he no longer referred to me as Rosie-bug. He pointed at me, his face twisting in disgust. “You talk about our family time like you give a damn about your sister. This was your chance to not be a burden on your mama and me. Your chance to finally excuse your sister of taking care of you. And, in classic Rosie fashion, you blew it,” he rebuked.