Murphy's POV

"So, I just really wanted to tell you guys that Jason and I are engaged."

Those are the words that have changed my life forever… because they were said by my very own mother. She's engaged. Therefore, my life is ruined. How could she be so selfish? She didn't even discuss any of this beforehand with Aurora, Vaughn, or I. The worst part about when she said it was that she expected us to be happy for her. To say that I was angry about the announcement would be an understatement.

Let me tell you a little bit about Jason. He's a brown-haired, blue-eyed, pompous, selfish plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills. He and my mom met backstage at a wrestling live event two years ago. Apparently, he's a "huge fan" of the business. However, I find that extremely hard to believe. Since then, he bought a house in Greenwich to be closer to Mom.

And if you can't tell by now: I hate him. However, Aurora is obsessed with him just because he's got like a trillion dollars, and he's willing to spend every penny on her. Aurora's 14, so her basic necessities in life consist of make-up, shoes, clothes, etc. She adores anyone who can provide her with those things. Vaughn, my 10-year-old sister, is more like me. She isn't as open about her hatred towards Jason, but that doesn't mean she likes him either.

I'm still waiting to hear what my dad has to say about all this.

He and my mom got divorced a little over six years ago. They just started arguing and fighting about everything. They let business decisions affect their personal lives. My mom was always bitter and my dad didn't want to be around that. Long story short: They weren't happy anymore.

My mom was the one who called for divorce. When they tried to explain the whole concept to us and how it would work, my sisters and I just broke down completely. It was traumatizing. I didn't like the idea of my parents living separately. We would have to bounce around between their two houses. And that's just what they were. Houses. No longer would we live in a home. Because my home consists of both my parents, not one.

I've learned to adapt though. We spend every other weekend with Dad, but we're more than welcome to go to his house anytime we want. I choose to take full advantage of that, especially with Jason lurking around here so much. The last thing I want is to be stuck in a conversation with him.

So, here I am now, sitting on the front porch—just a few hours after Mom informed us of her engagement. She probably didn't even notice my reaction or Vaughn's for that matter. Much as I would expect, her and Aurora were too busy shrieking about wedding plans. Anyways, it's probably better for her sake that she didn't see how I reacted. Mom didn't have to see the look of disgust or rage that crossed my face.

"Hey Smurf," my mother says from behind me. Honestly, I don't want to acknowledge her at all.

"Don't call me that," I mutter in annoyance. I don't see her face, but I'm positive she's wearing a confused expression. I hear her sigh as she sits down on the top porch step beside me.

"I always used to call you that when you were little," Mom replies softly. I frown at her words. When I was little. When my parents were happily married. When they would both be at my bedside to tuck me in. When Aurora didn't care what people thought of her. When Vaughn would smile about everything. When there were no custody orders. When my mom still called me Smurf…

We sit there in silence for a moment. I wonder what Mom thinks about at times like these. Does she regret distancing herself from her children? Or maybe she's too oblivious to notice the space that's developed between us.

"Can I go to Dad's tonight?" I ask curiously. This conversation is always interesting.

"Honey, it's almost ten," she replies simply, leaning her head against my shoulder. I pull away, forcing her to look into my eyes. This is how I get what I want. I force her to look me in the eyes—the eyes which remind her so much of my father's. They're that deep hazel color that darkens in color when I'm upset.

"What's time got to do with this?" I ask rudely. Instead of reprimanding me, she sighs. Any normal parent would send me off to my room for such disrespectful behavior. But not Mom. She knows that if she were to do that, it would only make me resent her more.

"Nothing. It's just…your father's probably asleep by now," Mom says with a shrug. The look in my eyes tells her that I'm not buying her lame excuse. Even she knows that Dad doesn't go to bed until sometime around midnight. "Or he's trying to get work done."

"Okay…" I say, looking down at my feet. It's not worth arguing with Mom. I have a counter for everything she says. "If I call him and he says yes, then can I go?"

"Whatever."

Victory. I sprint back into the house, grab the phone, and lock myself in the bathroom. I dial random numbers and say a few short sentences just in case anyone's listening. After several minutes pass, I run back to the porch, where my mom's still sitting. Her head involuntarily spins around at the sound of my noisy footsteps.

"He said yes," I lie, as I always do.

"Get in the car." And like always, she believes me.

One good thing about my parents is that we all have two sets of everything—one at each house. It prevents us from having to constantly pack like most kids with divorced parents do.

The drive over to my dad's house is 11 minutes away—9 if we don't encounter any red lights. I know this because I've timed it many times before. The car rides to Dad's are usually pretty awkward when it's just me and Mom going over there. It usually means I'm mad about something she did. My mother may be oblivious, but I'm pretty sure she knows it's no coincidence that I take off after her "big announcement."

"So I guess you'll just spend the weekend with your father then, right?"

At least she pays attention to certain things. Whenever I go to Dad's on Friday night, then I just stay for the weekend—even if it's not the weekend he's supposed to have us there.

"I guess."

"Do you have your baseball stuff with you?" she asks. But it's not really the type of the question where she cares about my answer. Mom's just glad to be talking to me at all. In her mind, we're having a conversation. In my mind, we're just passing the time.

"It's in Dad's car." I breathe a sigh of relief as we pull up to his familiar driveway. To Mom, it's the only thing about his house that's familiar. In the six years that he's lived here, not once has she dared to step inside.

I open the car door and quickly step out.

"I love you," Mom says quietly. It's almost a whisper. She always does this. If I don't respond back to her, she'll just convince herself it was because I didn't hear her.

I love you, too.

I'm terrified to say those words to my mother. I don't want her to see through me—to see that I would speak those words with such little truth. Quite frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about Mom anymore. The distance between us is rapidly expanding. Don't get me wrong, I want to love her. I'm just not sure if I'm capable of that.

"Bye," I say, shutting the car door quietly. Dad's neighbors often complain about the noise that we kids make. I wave my hand in Mom's direction before eagerly running to the front door. Something about being here just makes me happy. I smirk to myself as I reach out to the doorbell and repeatedly press it until a light switches on.

The door opens and I automatically run into Dad's arms. He does the usual wave to Mom, as she starts the car engine back up.

"Murph, one of these days you're gonna break my damn doorbell," Dad teases, before pushing a lock of blonde hair out of his face.

"That's the plan," I reply arrogantly. He rubs his palm over the top of my head, intentionally messing my dark blond hair up.

I glance out to the street one more time before Dad closes the door. Mom already drove away. I wonder if it hurts her to see me with Dad—to see the type of relationship we have. Does she know that she and I will never be like that ever again? Does she even care?

Pushing thoughts of Mom and Jason aside, I follow my Dad into the kitchen. Carelessly, he pushes himself onto the countertop so he can sit. I pull out a chair from under the table, and sit on it so I'm facing him.

"Let me guess," he begins. "You told your mom that I knew you were coming."

"You know me too well," I say with a shrug.

"What happens when one of these days you show up and I'm not here?" Dad asks, raising an eyebrow. He's testing me. He wants to know how well I have this planned out.

"I'll let myself in with the key I never use, and then text Mom saying you were asleep, which is why you didn't answer the door." He shakes his head, impressed by my plan.

"So how was your day?" he asks.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I reply dryly. He narrows his eyes at me, obviously prompting me to go into further detail. "Like, I'm seriously trying to forget about it." He nods, shooting me that I-know-how-you-feel look.

That's the difference between Mom and Dad. Mom doesn't know my boundaries and she can't tell how I feel about something. About anything, actually. I physically have to spell things out for her. Dad just knows. It's as simple as that. He can look me in the eyes and read me like an open book. He knows when I want to drop the subject, he knows when I want to talk about something, and he knows when I just want to be held like a little girl.

I think now is one of those times I want to be held.

Because Dad's already standing in front of me, allowing me to bury my face in his chest while he wraps his arms around my back.

"I love you," he whispers.

Suddenly, everything's okay again. I'm safe in Dad's arms. No one can hurt me. Not even with some stupid engagement. I can count on him to always be there.

"I love you too." And I'm not terrified.