Mind and Matter

28 | Emerson

I wasn't usually one to sneak behind my parents' backs.

I'd never felt the need to when I'd been younger—really until before this year— because I'd led a rather mellow social life. I had nowhere to go.

It didn't help that the one guy I'd ever been interested in also lived four houses away. It was a hardly three-minute walk to his house, one I could complete in secret quite easily.

At least I had an excuse this time since we were partners for a project—a partnership I didn't even know about until around ten minutes ago. But I had no desire to stay in my room with Mason popping his little head in every few seconds anymore.

"You'll be fine, Mase," I told him for the third time as I pulled on a blue cardigan over my loose tank top. "Go ask Max if you can play video games with him in his room." I could hear the sound effects all the way from down the hall. "You're too young to care about Mom and Dad's problems."

"Well, I want to be sure it's not about me."

"It's not about you. You're their favorite child, trust me."

"Really?" He smiled smugly.

"Nah, it's actually me." I ruffled his hair and pulled my bag over my shoulder. "Now go."

He ran out of my room and down the hallway to Max's, not questioning me anymore. I crouched at the top of the stairs and could hear my parents more clearly.

"I swear, from the day I married you it's always been about you. What you want. What makes you happy. Have you ever considered my wishes?"

"Isabella, I told you I would reconsider moving—"

"This isn't about moving, David! It's about our whole marriage. What it's based on. On Friday, I was worried sick about wherever Max even was because you were in charge of picking him up, only to find him come home before you even did because you were at what? A bar?

A bar? I had never seen my dad drink in my life.

"It was for work—"

"Really? Until eleven at night?"

"Why do women always love making small things huge deals? It's not our fault Max's been acting up. Maybe we shouldn't have sent him to that damn school with Emerson. I thought he would be as mature and studious as his sister, but I guess I was wrong."

The sound effects from Max's room grew louder, and I winced, knowing he'd heard what our dad had said. Realizing this argument wasn't going to wrap up soon, I quietly descended the stairs and was left with the shock that my parents weren't talking in the kitchen but in the dining room.

Which meant they both turned their heads my way the moment my foot hit the hardwood floor.

"Where are you going?" my mother snapped.