“But why?”
“Can you let us inside please?” Her mother fanned herself. “It’s hot as hell out here.”
“Right. Sure.”
Myome led everyone to her front door and nervously fumbled with her keys.
Their entire interaction was weird to me. I expected more from parents who apparently didn’t see their child often.
When we walked inside, Myome's mom pushed past me and walked straight to the kitchen. Myome’s nails dug into my hand. I gave her a little squeeze back. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed her mom, dragging me along with her.
That shoulder checking me shit was strike one for Mama’s ass.
“So what are y’all here for?” Myome asked.
“Well your father has been going on and on about seeing you.” Her mom waved a dismissive hand as she peered into the fridge. “And then all the tabloids started. We were off in Asia enjoying our retirement, and every time we spoke to your brothers, they told us about this PR nightmare you were a part of—from a drunk marriage thing, to being cheated on and headed to divorce in that sham marriage within a few months, to that fall you took at the bar.” She whistled. “We decided we’d drop in, get eyes on you, and make sure you were functioning somewhat properly.”
The fact they spoke to her brothers frequently to get updates on Myome but not Myome herself? Strike two. The fact that she called Myome’s health scare just a fall. Strike three. The fact they knew she’d taken that fucking “fall” and were just now checking on her? Strike, strike, and fucking strike.
Both of her parents had me fucked up.
My entire body language must have shifted because Myome looked up at me while I clenched my jaw. I knew how I felt about my family so I wasn’t going to immediately snap on her people, but I wasn’t against it. Shit. I’d started off not liking them fromwhat Myome had told me about her childhood but meeting them in person reaffirmed that shit for me.
“I’m functioning just fine,” Myome said tightly and looked toward her mom. “And my marriage isn’t a sham. It was a misunderstanding and this”—she gestured to me—“is said husband.”
Her mother stood, closed the fridge, and looked at me. Her eyes trailed up and down my body.
“Oh. So you decided against divorce?”
“We never said we were divorcing”—Myome forced a smile—“But his name is Drix. Drix, these are my parents, Joyce and Ralph.”
I didn’t make a move to shake anyone’s hand until Ralph offered his. I shook it and nodded once.
“Nice to meet you,” he offered.
“Nice to meet you,” I echoed.
“So, you stayed married and what about the fall? How are you healing from that? Are you going to be able to tour if your little group gets the opportunity?”
Little group?
“I was dehydrated. I’m fine. I go back to practice tomorrow for our tour that’s already planned.”
“Mm.” Joyce looked between us. “So, how is the album coming along?”
“All the songs are done. We’re just deciding which ones to put out and we’ve already started doing interviews and locking in promo.”
“Good. Anything good?”
“All of it is good,” I interjected.
“Mm.” Her mom lifted an eyebrow. “You would think that.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “When you love someone, you think everything they put out is amazing.” She rolled her eyes.
“Then you should think it’s all good too then, right?”
Joyce’s fake smile fell. “Can we have a moment with our daughter?”
“Nah.”