Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(65)

The server returns with our drinks and takes our orders. When she gets to Peyton, Karen speaks up. “She’ll have the grilled chicken and steamed vegetables.”

“But I want the chicken fingers and fries,” Peyton says, her gaze darting from her grandmother to me and back again.

“Those are deep-fried, honey.” Karen gives her a gentle smile.

“But Daddy said I could have whatever I wanted for lunch.”

Karen looks to me, with slight disapproval on her face. “Well, I suppose if your dad said, but you should get the carrots and cel ery instead of the fries. You need to have a vegetable with every meal.”

Peyton concedes to the carrots and celery. I want to argue, but she’s already ordered her meal and going back to change it seems passive-aggressive. And I don’t want to embarrass Karen in front of my parents and Harley, which seems likely given how sensitive she can be. If Peyton really wants some fries, she can pick off someone else’s plate. While I’m not sure that’s any less passive-aggressive, at least it saves me from having to call Karen out.

When the server reaches Harley, she orders the adult chicken fingers and fries and adds a side salad. I pinch her thigh under the table, and she blinks up innocently at me. I order a burger, which incidentally comes with fries—not in a bid to irk my mother-in-law, but because it’s one of the best things on the menu here.

The server sets a cup of crayons in front of Peyton, who immediately flips her menu over and plucks the pink one from the cup and begins coloring the rabbit in the center of the menu.

“Bunnies aren’t pink, honey.” Karen pulls the gray and brown crayons from the cup and sets them beside her.

“Not in real life, but they can be in my imagination,” Peyton tells her.

Karen harrumphs and purses her lips, turning her attention to my mother, who is seated on her other side. They start chatting, leaving Peyton to color her bunny whatever the fuck color she likes.

I’m uncomfortable with the way this lunch is going, and I don’t feel like I can say anything without creating more rather than less conflict. With one look at my mother, I can tell she too is biting her tongue. Karen is very used to being in charge, and it’s only now that I’m no longer living in Boulder, depending on her for support, that I can see exactly how much control she had over the way I parented Peyton.

Things go from bad to worse when Peyton reaches for her kid’s cup of milk and it’s not what she asked for.

“This isn’t chocolate milk, it’s white milk.”

“You’re already having chicken fingers, which aren’t healthy. White milk is good for you, and chocolate milk is full of sugar, especially at restaurants,” Karen chides.

“But Daddy said I could—”

“That’s enough whining, Peyton,” Karen snaps. “And you’re supposed to save your drink for dinner instead of filling up on sugary junk before you’ve even had your meal.”

“It’s just one meal, Karen. And she won an award,” my mom says.

“One meal quickly turns into every meal,” she gripes.

Harley’s nails dig into my thigh, and I can basically feel her biting her tongue. As it is, I’m struggling to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to deal with this situation without it exploding in my face. When we lived in Boulder, Peyton spent a lot of time with Karen and Kyle, and it seemed like allowing Karen to mother Peyton gave her back what she’d lost when Marcie died. But now she’s blatantly undermining me, and I can’t figure out what the point of it is, especially when all it’s accomplishing is causing friction between everyone.

Before I can figure out what to say and how to say it, Peyton bursts into tears and Karen huffs a sigh.

“What are these dramatics?” She gives me a withering look. “Obviously your parenting is getting lax if this is the kind of behavior you get at a restaurant.”





Eighteen


PULL THE PIN


HARLEY

I think my head is going to explode. It’s everything I can do to keep my mouth shut and not tell Karen where she can shove her white milk. Peyton only drinks white milk when she’s forced to. Like right now.

What is the point of her getting an award and being celebrated when someone is policing her entire meal? And why the hell is Gavin allowing it and not putting her in her place? I don’t know how to deal with this kind of … passive parenting. Not when he’s usually so great about balance with Peyton.

I push my chair back, needing to take a breather and collect myself before I lose my shit on Gavin’s mother-in-law. “Peyton, why don’t you come to the bathroom with me and wash your hands before lunch comes out.”

Her chair scrapes against the floor, and she practically flings herself out of the chair, tripping over her feet to get to me. She buries her face against my stomach, leaving wet marks on the fabric, probably a combination of tears and snot. I take her hand and guide her away from the table. My neck is hot and I’m practically shaking, I’m so angry.

This whole meal feels like a lot of posturing. Unnecessary posturing. The kind that makes me want to smack this woman upside the head. I’m not the enemy. I’m just a woman trying to navigate a relationship with a man who has a very complicated past, and a control freak, overbearing mother-in-law.