“Why don’t we all sit down and eat?” Dad suggests, breaking up the tension.
Thankfully, Mom listens, and she rounds the table to Dad’s side.
Yup, no hug.
No good to see you.
Just judgment about my weight, my career, and never visiting.
I wonder why?
Ryot pulls out my chair and helps me scoot in before he takes a seat. The minute he’s settled, his hand falls to my thigh, and he doesn’t move it once.
“So Ryot, you play for a baseball team?” Dad asks.
“Yes, sir. The Chicago Bobbies.”
“We don’t watch baseball in this house,” Mom says while she divvies up everyone’s allotted serving of food. I’ve warned Ryot that whatever she gives you, you eat.
Of course, Dad and Ryot get normal portions, whereas I get half as much. According to my mom, my thighs are too large, my arms are too fat, and she’s shocked I can fit my ass into my jeans.
“Shame,” Ryot says. “It’s a great sport.”
“Ryot is the starting third baseman,” I chime in for God knows what reason.
“I see.” Mom plops three pieces of broccoli on my plate. “So you have a steady income then?”
Here we go.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ryot answers.
“Is that why you’re with him?” Mom asks me. “Because of his paycheck?”
“No,” I answer. “I don’t even know how much he makes.”
“You’re not that dumb, Myla. He’s a professional athlete, a starter, no less. He’s making more than you would ever see in a lifetime serving lemonades to people.”
Clearing his throat, Dad says, “Have you done something different with your hair, Myla?”
I glance over at my mom and feel Ryot squeeze my leg, reminding me not to let her get to me. “Just curling it a lot lately.”
“It looks nice.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Better than the time she thought she looked good with bangs.” Mom picks up some chicken on her fork. “I was so embarrassed having her walk by my side with those things.”
“My forehead was too short,” I say, finding myself starting to turtle in.
“Or the time she permed her hair with Nichole. What a disaster. I don’t think she’s ever been uglier than with that perm.”
I push my broccoli around. “We left the solution in too long.”
Ryot squeezes my thigh again. “I bet you were adorable,” he whispers.
“What has Myla told you about us?” Mom asks, clearly fishing for incriminating evidence.
“What has she told me about you two? Well, that you were both very successful in the Air Force. Mr. Moore was an engineer and you, Mrs. Moore, were a therapist. That you’ve moved around a lot. Uh . . . oh, and she’d never had s’mores, which I thought was kind of funny—”
“Because she was overweight as a child, and we didn’t want to encourage her journey to obesity.”
“Mom,” I say, feeling so humiliated that my heart is nearly pounding out of my chest.
“Is it not true? Being a daughter of parents in the military, you’d think she’d have more control around a breadbasket.”
“That’s enough,” Dad says, finally speaking up. “We’re here to meet Ryot, not travel down memory lane.”
I want to throw my dad an appreciative smile for changing the topic, but I also think he should have stepped in sooner. I’m his daughter, after all. He shouldn’t let my mom sit there and berate me like that. He might not say anything, but his silence is just as bad. And that’s more prevalent than ever as I sit here with Ryot. When I’m alone with them, I let the insults just roll off me because what am I really going to do? But now that someone else hears what my mom has to say to me, it’s creating this overwhelming sense of deep-rooted anger that’s been there for years. But because I have no voice where they’re concerned, that anger rolls into a ball of humiliation for being unable to muster the confidence to stand up for myself.
After a few bouts of silence, Ryot says, “Dinner is very good, Mrs. Moore.”
“Thank you,” she says tersely, and I can only imagine the sort of wrath my dad is going to face when we leave.
“So where are you from?” Dad asks, trying to break the tension as well.
“Maine, a small town called Bright Harbor off the coast. Born and raised. I took Myla there over winter. It’s my favorite time of the year because the town makes it their mission to put you in the Christmas spirit.”
“Did you like it, Myla Bean?” Dad asks.
“It was beautiful. Like a town you’d find in a Lovemark movie.”
“You mean those unrealistic movies where bumbling women focus on finding love?” Mom asks as she cuts into one of her biscuits.
No one responds, so Ryot says, “Actually, the town next to ours is Port Snow, which is famous for a shop at the end of the harbor called The Lobster Landing. Many Lovemark movies have been shot there. When we visited, I took Myla around and showed her all the different landmarks movies have featured.”
“That must have been fun,” Dad says.
“It was,” I answer. “One of my favorite trips ever. Not to mention, the countryside during the winter was beautiful.” And how when I walked into his parents’ house, I was immediately enveloped in love.
“I’m sure,” Dad replies and then looks at Ryot. “Does that mean you’re a lobster man?”
Ryot chuckles. “It does. Until my dying day, I will always say that Maine lobster is the best lobster.”
“Did you have some when you were there?” Dad asks me.
“I did.” I smirk and glance at Ryot. “It was okay.”
“Okay?” Ryot asks, feigning insult.
I chuckle. “I preferred the baked bean sandwich.”
“What’s that?” Dad asks.
“A New England specialty,” I answer. “This one had baked beans, cheddar, apples, and mustard on it.”
“Horrendous way to pack fat on your hips,” Mom says as she stuffs a piece of broccoli in her mouth.
I glance away and dab my mouth with my napkin. Ryot smooths his hand over my thigh, reminding me that he’s still here with me.
“Did you meet Ryot’s family?” Dad asks.
“Yes,” I answer, knowing this will open the door for Mom to make a fuss out of something that she doesn’t need to make a fuss about. “I met his brother before going to Maine. Ryot and Banner share an apartment. But I met his sister, Nola, while we were in Bright Harbor as well as Mr. and Mrs. Bisley. Nola and I got along so well that I snagged her number before I left, and we’ve been keeping in touch.”
“You have?” Ryot asks, surprised.
I smile at him. “Yes. We talk a lot actually.”
“So you talk to Ryot’s sister a lot but visit us once a year?” Mom asks, and there it is. Took her long enough.
I don’t know what to say other than the truth, and the truth doesn’t sit well on my tongue, so instead, I stay silent.
“Well, I’m glad we’re here now,” Ryot says, and then silence falls.
It’s deathly quiet as forks clang against plates and glasses of milk are sipped. I can’t imagine what Ryot must be thinking. What must be going through his mind? When visiting his family during winter, it was warm and welcoming. There were no fights, there were no awkward encounters, and his parents never disparaged him. No, they loved on him, hugged him, welcomed me into the family, and made me feel like I was one of them.