My father lets out a grunt of rage, and I can hear my mother behind me, struggling to hold him back. I can’t see what’s going on behind me as I press my hands against Clay’s chest, pleading up at him with my eyes to back off. Clay doesn’t even look down at me.
“Sir, the only thing my wife wanted for Christmas this year was to spend it with her family, so here we are. It’s been ten long, hard years, and she’s missed you both very much. Don’t let anger make this any harder than it has to be.”
“You took her away from us!” he roars from over my mother’s shoulder.
Clay nods. “I did. But with all due respect, sir, you didn’t give her any other option.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and press my forehead against Clay’s chest. His heartbeat is strong and steady, the only one here who isn’t riled up. He wraps his arm around me and presses his hand against my head, pulling me closer to his chest. My rock.
I hear angry grumbles from my father, and that’s when my mother puts her foot down. “Enough!” she screeches. I’m sure the people in this neighborhood are getting a great show this holiday season, courtesy of us, I think to myself, and my mother continues. “Enough, John. Sophie is home,” she says, her voice softening, the anger turning to pleading. “Our daughter is home. I don’t care what happened when she left, and I don’t care if you’re still angry. My baby is back, and you won’t make her leave. So, if you can’t play nice, you can go somewhere else for Christmas dinner, do you hear me, John Winslow?”
Clay gives me another squeeze, then pushes me back gently, his eyes flicking over my shoulder to my parents. Getting the hint, I take a deep breath and turn, finally meeting my father’s eyes once more.
“I didn’t come to fight with you, Dad,” I manage to breathe out in a whisper. “I came because I missed you…both of you.”
His eyes fall closed, and he lets out a long, low sigh. I know the battle isn’t over, but at least he’s retreating a little. Without another word, he nods and walks back into the house. My mother watches him go, her eyes full of sadness, before she turns back to us.
“Come in, both of you! You must be freezing out there in the cold.” It’s really not that cold in Mississippi this time of year, but there is a slight chill in the air, and I’m thankful to step inside the warmth of the house.
Clay helps me take off my jacket, and we turn back to my mother, neither of us knowing what to say. This is more awkward than I thought it would be, and believe me, I knew it would be awkward.
“You got here at the perfect time. I was just putting the finishing touches on supper,” she says as she scurries off down the hall towards the kitchen. Her body seems to be buzzing with energy, and we follow along behind her, thankful for her hospitality and ability to diffuse the situation. When we pass the living room, I peek inside and see my father in his favorite wingback chair, his head in his hands, elbows on his knees.
I glance back at Clay and see he’s watching my father too. This isn’t what we wanted. The goal wasn’t to upset them. I just wanted us to be a family again. I move to step into the room, but Clay lays his hand on my arm, giving me a brief shake of his head before nodding in the direction my mother had disappeared to. He’s right, of course. We need to give him some time to wrap his head around this.
*
Eleven years ago
“Absolutely not,” my father declares, turning back to the paper he’s grading.
“Daddy!” I cry. “Why not? All of my friends are going!”
My father calmly places his pen down on the stack of papers and looks me in the eye. “You are sixteen years old, and you know my rules. You are not allowed to date until you’re eighteen. Going to the senior prom with a boy is considered a date, so my answer is no.”
Ugh! This is so unfair! Why do I have to be the one to have a father that parents with rules right out of the stone age? This particular rule is one that drives me up the wall. Who doesn’t let their daughter date until they’re eighteen? In what world is that normal?
What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been dating Clay for over a month now, and I knew my father would never approve. Clay’s not only two years older than me, but he’s not the type of boy my father would ever let me be around. He’s rough and tough, and his father is a member of the biggest motorcycle club in this state. I don’t know what he ever saw in me, a quiet little Christian girl who gets good grades, and is a member of the high school drama club, but when he’d started hanging around my locker between classes to talk to me, I’d fallen hard and fast. We really only see each other at school, but we spend every minute we can together. I can’t believe I have to turn down his invitation to the senior prom.
“This isn’t fair,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “You’re never fair!”
The mask of calm falls from his face, and I watch through narrowed eyes as he stands. I don’t want to fight with him about this, because even I know that throwing a fit is not the way to get what you want, but I’m so sick of him controlling every little thing I do. I don’t move a muscle as he stalks closer towards me.