Page 130 of Wrong For Me

“I decided to become a musician,” he says. “I decided to leave your mom at home when we were eighteen. You think I didn’t feel guilty about that, when I found out what happened while I was gone? You think it didn’t destroy me to know that things were so bad that she tried to—”

His voice cracks and my mom reaches across me to take his hand. I watch as he squeezes it, breathing in deep, the two of them giving and taking strength from the other. The same way they always have.

“Any time something happens to one of you kids that wouldn’t have happened if your uncles and I had lived a more normal life—you think we don’t feel guilty? You think we don’t question our decisions? Wonder if it would have been better for you if we’d never started the band?”

“That’s silly,” I say. “If you never started the band your brothers wouldn’t have met their wives. I wouldn’t have all of my cousins.”

He smiles. “That doesn’t mean the guilt isn’t there. The whole point of being a parent is to try to give your kids more than you had. Of course we’re going to question our choices when things get rough. Every parent does that.” He looks deep into my eyes, like he wants to be sure I understand this. “That’s not unique to your mother because she survived a suicide attempt.”

She places a hand on my head, gently smoothing my hair, just the way she always did when I was little. “If something happens to one of my kids, I’m going to get upset, Rose. Especially if it’s something I can relate to. Some asshole betraying my daughter to a tabloid? Knowing firsthand how it feels to have your privacy invaded like that? Of course I felt awful. Of course I felt responsible. You’re mybaby.”

She cups my chin so I have to meet her eyes. “But you listen to me, Rose Ransome.I can take it. Do you understand me? I can take it. I don’t ever want to hear about you hiding shit from me because you’re afraid of how I’ll feel.” Her green eyes blaze. “I’m strong enough to handle it.”

Of course she is. She’s the strongest person I know. I’d been so stupid to think she needed protecting. “I love you, Mom,” I whisper, and she wraps an arm around me, my head going to rest on her shoulder.

“I love you too, Rosie girl.”

“Can I get in on this?” my dad asks. “I’m feeling a little left out.”

I let him put his arm around my other shoulder and we sit like that for a few minutes, rocking gently on the porch swing. It feels like a lot of weight has left my shoulders. But there are still things I need to say. And if they want me to be honest, I may as well start now.

I look at my dad. “I want you to know I’m so sorry for what I said at the house. I love being your daughter. You’re the best dad anyone could ever ask for and I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s.” He nods, eyes wet, but I think he can tell there’s more. “I’m still mad at you, Dad.”

He nods. “I know.”

I wait for him to apologize, to say he was wrong. When he just looks at me, I raise my eyebrows.

He sighs. “I’m always going to want to protect you, Rose.” His jaw tightens. “I couldn’t do it with that—what did your mom call him? Dick weasel?—I couldn’t do it with that dick weasel Brian.” He swallows, lips trembling a bit. “Just like I couldn’t protect your mom from the shit in her past. If I’m able to protect you now? Of course I’m going to do it.”

“I get that, Dad. But you can’t go behind my back. You can’t invade my privacy without even talking to me. All that does is make me feel like you don’t trust me.”

He looks shocked. “Of course I trust you. You’re a million times smarter than me, Rosie.”

My mom laughs. “So true.”

Dad looks truly shaken by my words. “I’m sorry, Rosie girl. I never wanted to make you feel like that. I respect the hell out of you, kid. You know that, right?”

A lump lodges in my throat. “Thank you for saying that,” I say, voice thick. “And I get you wanted to protect me. I really do. I just need you to talk to me about it, okay? I need you to tell me what steps you’re taking, not do it behind my back.”

“It sounds like we could use more talking about things all around,” my mom says.

Dad rolls his eyes at me. “Except for her. She’s all emotionally mature and shit.”

I laugh, feeling better than I have all day. Until my mom speaks again.

“Now let’s talk about the guy.”

My stomach twists so hard I have to grab my middle to ease the pain. Leo.

“You think he did it?’ she asks me bluntly.

I shrug. “Honestly? It hurts so bad to even think about him that I’ve been trying my best not to.”

She nods, looking thoughtful. “You know, the article didn’t say he was the source.”

My brow furrows with confusion. “Didn’t it?”

She shakes her head. “They said you confided to your boyfriend, and they named him, but they didn’t say he’s the one who shared the story.”