Page 161 of Untying the Knot
I dab at my eyes with the tissue that’s crumbled in my hand and nod. “Yeah, just lots of emotional stuff is all. I don’t want to bore you with it.”
“You never bore me, Myla.”
I try to smile, but it falls flat.
He clears his throat and turns back toward the steering wheel. “We’re going to your mom’s?”
I shake my head. “No, a legal office, which is actually ten minutes away. I plugged it into my phone for you.” I hand him my phone, and he sets it on his lap.
“Okay.” He puts the car in drive and once he gets on the road, he says, “So what’s the plan?”
I clench my hands together and answer, “Um, to act like we’re still together. I know that’s asking a lot from you, and I really shouldn’t be asking since, well, you know, since how things went down. But I can’t show up alone. She’ll make a comment about how I’m unlovable, and I just don’t think I can go through the mental anguish of dealing with her today, not alone.”
“Babe,” he says softly, placing his hand on my leg. “You know I’d do anything for you. I wouldn’t want you to do this alone either.”
“Thank you, Ryot.”
I stay quiet for the rest of the drive, unsure what else to say to him. But when we arrive and he parks, he tells me to wait in the car as he gets out. I watch him round the hood and then come to my door where he opens it for me. He holds his hand out like a gentleman and whispers, “Hold on to me for as long and as tight as you need. Okay?”
I press my lips together and nod as he helps me out of the car.
And I hold his hand. I hold it all the way into the building, up the elevator, down the hall, and when we reach the law offices, I grip him even tighter when I see my rigid mother sitting in one of the chairs, hands in her lap, waiting for the meeting to start.
“I got you,” Ryot whispers close to my ear.
My mom looks up and with a scowl so fierce, she says, “About time you showed up.” We are right on time, but anything but twenty minutes early isn’t acceptable to my mother. “We can start now.” She stands from her chair and walks up to reception. “The rest of the party is here.” She glances over her shoulder at me and Ryot and says, “Although, he’ll have to stay out here and wait for you.”
I grip him tighter, and he steps in before I can say anything. “Myla has made it quite clear that she will not be left alone with you. If you have a problem with that, we can speak to the authorities about how you used your fists and other objects to beat her after her father passed away.” Ryot’s voice is harsh, threatening, and thankfully, it works, because my mom turns her nose up and says to the receptionist, “Just show us to the conference room.”
Looking confused, the receptionist stands from her chair, offers us some drinks, and then leads us to a conference room in the middle of the law office. My mom sits on one side while Ryot and I sit across from her. When we are informed that Mr. Tarkin will be with us shortly and the door is shut, Mom wastes no time in starting to harp on me.
On us.
“Surprised you’re even here, Ryan.”
“It’s Ryot, but I understand your pathetic need to show dominance. Please, continue with whatever pointless drivel you need to feel a minuscule amount of importance.”
I nearly choke on the water I’m drinking as I set my bottle down and glance over at Ryot. His jaw is clenched, the veins in his neck are popping, and his gaze is unwavering as he stares my mom down. He resembles a wild beast, ready to take down anything and everything that crosses his path.
Mom’s eyes narrow, and a response is on the tip of her tongue, but before she can reply, the conference door opens and Mr. Tarkin walks in with a folder tucked inside his arm.
My mother might thrive on playing mental fuckery with people, but when in public, she holds herself to a higher standard. She just waits until we’re alone.
“Good afternoon. So sorry about the delay on all of this.” Mr. Tarkin takes a seat.
“I’m just a little confused,” Mom says. “Not sure why we have to meet at all. After all, this was my husband.”
Mr. Tarkin shifts uncomfortably and unfolds his folder. “Yes, well there were some alterations and stipulations made to Mr. Moore’s will a year ago.”
“Excuse me?” Mom proclaims as she sits taller. “What sort of alterations and stipulations?”
Mr. Tarkin flips over a piece of paper and says, “It will be easier if I read his letter out loud.” He clears his throat and says, “‘From the desk of Edward Moore. Myla, depending on when I pass, I may not have told you about Miranda and the boys. If that’s the case, forgive my cowardice in life. Sadly, I’m sure your mother would waste no time in telling you about them. It would be in her nature to do so. The older you’ve become, the more I’ve wanted to sit you down and tell you the truth. To meet with you one on one and be honest. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to tell you myself, but I need you to know, you weren’t the reason I split my time. It had everything to do with your mother. I pleaded, begged her for a divorce, told her I would take you with me and set her free to do what she wanted to do—focus on her career. But instead, she decided to make our lives miserable. I wasn’t the father I was supposed to be for you and for that, I am sorry. But my biggest regret is never pulling you out of a situation that you should have been pulled from.’” Tears spring to my eyes, and Ryot notices immediately and hands me a tissue from the center of the table before wrapping his arm around me. “‘You deserved better. So much better, and I just hope that you find someone in your life that will bring you joy. That you find peace. And that you spend the rest of your days searching out your very own happiness.’” Mr. Tarkin clears his throat and moves the paper he was reading to the back.
“Was that it?” Mom asks, her voice and expression remaining stoic.
“No, there’s more.” Mr. Tarkin shifts again, and from his body language, I can see that he doesn’t want to read what’s next. “‘Verna, you have made every person’s life who lived under my roof miserable, and I only wish that you were the one in the grave, not me.’” My eyes widen in shock. Dad wrote that? No way.
“How dare he,” Mom mutters.
