Page 308 of Cross Checked
Then at my mother.
Then at the apartment.
“Whatever I prefer?” she repeated carefully, like the phrase might be a trap set by generational wealth.
“Yes,” my mother said. “It’s very neutral right now.”
“That is a kind way to say boring.”
My mother looked around, considered that, then nodded. “Accurate.”
Bliss’s eyes brightened despite herself.
I saw it happen.
The moral crisis lasted maybe four seconds.
“Okay, well, if we’re being honest, this room needs warmth. Like immediately. It’s giving divorced architect who thinks beige is an aesthetic choice.”
My father looked personally wounded. “The architect is not divorced.”
“Not yet, dear,” my mother murmured.
I laughed and regretted it instantly, pressing a hand carefully to my side. “Holy shit.”
Bliss whipped toward me. “Do not laugh. Your lung is on probation.”
“My lung enjoyed that.”
“Your lung is a liar.”
My father helped lower me into the chair, and I sank into it like it had personally saved my life. “Thank you,” I muttered to them both.
My father gave my shoulder a careful squeeze, the kind that still felt new between us. “Always.”
My mother opened the door for my very male nurse, Steve. Bliss had the poor guy vetted with the intensity of a federal background check. He stepped inside with a medical bag, kind eyes, and the good sense to look terrified of my girlfriend immediately.
Bliss pointed at him. “Shoes off or covers on. I don’t know where these sensible hospital shoes have been, Steve.”
Steve blinked. “Of course.”
My father watched her for a second, then said quietly, “She looks like a fairy and fights like a feral cat.”
I laughed again, softer this time, because yeah, that was exactly it.
Bliss was already across the room with my mother, discussing color palettes like she had not been morally opposed to luxury real estate thirty seconds earlier. Apparently being unserious about money stopped being a character flaw the second Elenore mentioned throw pillows, soft blankets, and “whatever would make Cade more comfortable.”
Traitor.
Beautiful, bossy little traitor.
I leaned back in the chair, exhausted enough that the edges of the room blurred, and watched her take over the apartment the same way she had taken over my parents. Not loudly. Not intentionally. Just by being herself. By caring too hard. By making people feel like loving out loud was not only allowed but expected.
I would be lying if I said she wasn’t the reason my parents had changed. Or maybe not changed and instead she had justfound the door in them nobody else had bothered knocking on hard enough.
Either way, she had them exactly where she had me.
Eating out of the palm of her hand.
