She steeled herself as she went to the door. “I can’t do this right now.”
“You’re going to let us in right this minute,” her father replied in his stern, brook no argument voice. Her mother stood, literally, wringing her hands, as if this was no fault of hers.
Mel caved. She didn’t invite them to sit down. She was having trouble breathing; her thoughts were a blur.
They were angry. Mel knew that anger was bad. How could she stand up to them? It was such a risk to try and tell them how she really felt. They never understood the pain she was suffering. They had been no help then, during the awfulness, and they were less help now. Their expectations and confusion were exhausting.
In a panic driven tone, her mother explained how hurt they were. What Mel owed them. That Mel couldn’t say these things; couldn’t ask for space and time to heal. It wasn’t fair to them. As she railed, Mel’s mother kept backing her into a corner. The thought rushed in that Mel was going to have to throw her own parents out of her house to keep from losing her mind, and to protect her son from the fallout.
Mel took a deep breath and said, “I need you to leave. I can’t do this right now. I have a sick child to care for.” She sounded so calm and in control!
They turned and walked out. She watched them leave as the snow began to fall.
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