Home > Did I Mention I Miss You (The DIMILY Trilogy #3)(8)

Did I Mention I Miss You (The DIMILY Trilogy #3)(8)
Author: Estelle Maskame

Trying my utmost hardest not to roll my eyes, I walk around my car and then motion down to my attire. It’s difficult to hide the contempt in my voice when I bitterly point out, “I’m in my pajamas.” Reaching for the car door, I pull it open and immediately Jamie and the gross bucket emerge from the backseat. “And for the record,” I say, eyes on Dad as I close the door again, “I was picking him up. You know, since he got kicked out of a party for being way too drunk.”

“God, Jamie!” Ella groans, burying her face into her hands before she comes rushing across the lawn to fetch him.

My eyes are still on Dad’s, my glare even as I fold my arms across my chest. He’s watching in extreme disapproval as Jamie trips all over the lawn while Ella tries to steady him. Once she has a firm hold on her son and is keeping him upright, his intoxicated mind decides to yell, “Eden was totally tryna kiss me!”

Taken aback, my eyes fly to Jamie and I scrunch my face up. Shaking my head in disbelief, I can’t stop myself from raising my hand and flipping him off. “Seriously, fuck you, Jamie,” I hiss back at him, and Ella fixes me with a twisted frown at the same time as Dad puffs out his chest and opens his mouth.

“Eden Olivia Munro,” he says in low voice, and I know immediately by the use of my full name that he’s preparing to rip me to shreds. “Give me your car keys. Right now.” He doesn’t move an inch, only extends his arm and holds up his hand, palm facing upward.


“Because you think it’s acceptable to sneak out and curse like that. Keys,” he says again, this time much firmer. I can see his glower deepening with each second that passes.

I glance down to the set of keys in my hand and I tighten my grip around them even harder, and then I look back up and shake my head. “So he can stay out past curfew and come home drunk and I’m the one who gets punished?” I look over at Jamie and Ella again, and although he may be excessively drunk, Jamie still manages to snicker. Gritting my teeth, I move my eyes back to Dad. “For what? For giving him a ride home?”

“Give me the damn keys,” Dad orders once more through stiff lips, jaw clenched, and I laugh. I can’t stop myself. It’s so typical of him. Every single time I’ve come home to Santa Monica over the past year, Dad has always found a reason to be harsh. It’s not difficult to guess why: He’s still punishing me for getting involved with Tyler, for falling in love with my stepbrother.

“Dave,” Ella murmurs, and I notice the way she gives Dad a small shake of her head as she’s dragging Jamie over to the front door. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Dad ignores her, like always, because Ella apparently no longer gets a say in how he parents his kid, yet he always has the final say in how she parents hers. Growing aggravated by my defiance, he starts to move, storming across the lawn toward me as though he’s prepared to yank the keys straight out of my hands.

Before he has the chance to do so, I dart back around to the driver’s side, pulling open my car door and stepping one foot inside. “Screw this,” I say before I slide in. It may be Dad’s turn to have me for the week, but there’s absolutely no way in hell I’m staying here. “I’m going home.”

“This is your home!” Dad pathetically tries to yell across the roof of the car to me, but even I can hear the strain in his voice as he says it. He knows it’s a lie. He doesn’t want this to be my home, because, quite honestly, he’s made it clear over the past year that he doesn’t even want me in the family.

“Well,” I mutter, “it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.” Sliding behind the wheel, I slam the car door shut behind me and quickly start up the engine before Dad can attempt to stop me. But he doesn’t. I think he’s glad, actually.

As I drive off, heading up Deidre Avenue toward my mom’s house, I watch them all in my rearview mirror. Chase is at the front door, confused as always and half asleep. Dad and Ella have started yelling at one another, their hands moving with angry gestures, and I realize then, as I’m driving off and leaving them all behind, that whatever our family is, it’s far from perfect.

The truth is, it’s been broken for a year.




On Thursday, I spend my morning the same way I usually start any other day: with a jog along the beachfront to Venice and back again, before stopping by the Refinery halfway back to the house. It’s the routine I’ve gotten myself into ever since I got home for the summer. I’ve been slacking off on my running for the past year while eating whatever the hell I want to, gaining pounds here and there without caring about it for the first time in my life, but enough is enough, and now I’m desperately trying to lose the weight again before I head back to college in the fall. As for the trips to the Refinery, I’ve simply missed their to-die-for coffee.

I’m sipping on my vanilla latte by the glass windows, studying the people of Santa Monica Boulevard as they stream past endlessly. Sometimes Rachael meets me here, but she’s already left for Glendale to visit her grandparents, so today I’m alone. I don’t mind. To start with, that is.

It doesn’t take long for someone to notice me huddled over in the corner, the girl who apparently dated her stepbrother. I’ve got one earphone in, so I don’t know how I even manage to hear them, but I do. They’re a group of four girls, younger than me, leaving the Refinery. One of them murmurs something, and the only reason my attention is drawn to them is because I faintly hear the word “stepbrother”. When I glance up I see that they’re already looking at me, but they quickly stop snickering and glance away before they disappear through the door.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and move my other earphone to my ear, blocking out everything else around me by listening to La Breve Vita on full volume. The band broke up last summer, so all I have left is the music they once made. I linger in the Refinery for another five minutes or so, finishing the remainder of my latte and enjoying being out of the sun for a while. When it’s hot as hell outside and you throw running into the equation, it’s enough to make you pass out, so I’m always grateful for a mid-run break.

It’s only when I’m getting to my feet and switching playlists before heading back out that my phone starts to ring in my hand. It’s Ella, so I don’t decline the call, like I would if it was Dad. Instead, I pull out my earphones and press my phone to my ear, asking her what’s up.

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