I apologized.
That was how the house worked.
Dad’s mood controlled the temperature of every room.
Even after I moved out, I still reacted the same way.
One disappointed look from him could make me feel twelve years old.
But he was not in my suite.
He could not order me out.
He could not control my card.
He could not make me pay.
I poured myself a glass of champagne.
My phone started ringing.
Dad.
I declined.
Then Mom.
Declined.
Then Lauren.
Declined.
Another call appeared.
Jason Reed.
Lauren’s boyfriend.
I had met Jason twice.
He had still somehow earned a fully paid cruise.
I declined that too.
Then came messages.
Dad.
COME DOWNSTAIRS.
Mom.
Please talk to us.
Lauren.
You’re seriously embarrassing everyone.
Dad again.
I PAID YOU BACK FOR THINGS BEFORE.
That one made me laugh.
Dad had once given me $300 after I covered a $14,000 business debt for him.
Apparently, that was repayment.
I switched the phone to silent.
Then I slept.
The next morning, I woke at six.
The ship was approaching Nassau.
The sunrise stretched across the ocean in bands of gold.
For years, vacations had meant managing everyone else.
Flight times.
Dinner reservations.
Medication.
Luggage.
Transportation.
Budgets.
Complaints.
I had never realized how little rest there was in traveling with people who expected me to solve every inconvenience.
That morning, I had coffee delivered to my balcony.
I ate fruit.
Eggs.
Warm pastries.
No one complained.
No one asked what time the excursion started.
No one wanted me to call the front desk.
It was quiet.
At eight, there was a knock.
I assumed room service had forgotten something.
It was Mom.
She looked exhausted.
Her hair was pulled back.
She wore one of the navy cruise shirts I had ordered.
MONROE FAMILY CRUISE.
I nearly laughed at the irony.
“Tessa.”
“How did you get up here?”
“I asked someone at guest services.”
“They shouldn’t have given you my room number.”
“They didn’t.”
“I waited by the elevators.”
Of course she did.
I stepped into the hallway.
I did not invite her inside.
Her eyes moved past me toward the suite.
She saw the balcony.
The living room.
The flowers.
The breakfast cart.
Her face tightened.
Then she looked at me.
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
Mom sighed.
“I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then come downstairs.”
“No.”
“Tessa.”
“Mom.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your father is furious.”
