Picturing Perfect (Meet the McIntyres Book 2)

by Rebecca Barber

Well, that fucking hurt.

  A lot.

  Finding my feet and my voice, I downed the rest of my drink in one long gulp. “Anything else you’d like to add?” Fuck, I was a sucker for punishment.

  Mum looked at me like I had two heads.

  I looked at her and didn’t recognise the woman sitting there. Inside my chest, my heart was breaking. She was my mother. The only one I’d ever have. The one who brought me into this world. The one person who was supposed to love me no matter what. She didn’t. She couldn’t. I’d fucked up my life so badly, my own mother couldn’t stand the sight of me. I wanted to fall apart. Cry, scream, and howl in pain. I thought having your heart broken by some douche bag who drove a station wagon was painful. It was a pin prick compared to figuring out after all these years just how much your own mother despises you. That was soul destroying.

  She looked at me with this annoyed, disgusted look on her face. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips pursed.

  I couldn’t stay.

  Not a minute longer.

  Without a word, I set my glass on the table, not giving a toss about using the coaster. I heard the hiss leave her lips but she said nothing. Thankfully. After kissing my stunned father on the top of his head, I grabbed my bag and stepped out the front door.

  I was back where I belonged.

  On the outside looking in.

  Wiping the tears from my bleary eyes, I hoisted my bag over my shoulder—it felt heavier than before—and stomped down the driveway. Reaching the street, I found my phone and called for a taxi. All I could think about was getting to the hotel, checking in, having an icy cold shower, and ordering a huge big plate of room service. I needed a big, juicy hamburger and ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.

  I walked a couple of houses down the street before collapsing on the concrete path.

  By the time I reached the hotel I was a hot mess. The steamy Sydney weather was oppressive and I remembered yet another reason why I left this shit hole. It wasn’t just my mother. As quick as I could, I got checked in and headed up to the room. When the concierge wished me a Merry Christmas, it took what little resolve I had not to grab him by his ugly fake bowtie, yank him over the counter, and suffocate him with his cheap Santa hat.

  Hayden: U OK

  “What the fuck?” I squealed as I threw my phone across the room, watching as it bounced on the bed before disappearing. I can’t remember the last time Hayden contacted me, let alone the last time he pretended to care about anyone or anything other than his dick.

  Having had already filled my drama quotient for the day, I jumped into bed and flicked off the light. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be. After all, it was Christmas.

  It didn’t get better.

  If anything, it got worse.

  I’d woken sometime around two, still cranky and upset, and ordered the chocolate ice cream I’d been craving. After eating more than I should, I fell asleep, or into a sugar coma, I’m not sure which. Now the sun was pouring through the blinds I’d forgotten to close and I was sweating. Not just a light sheen of sweat coating my body, either. But that disgusting, smelly, my clothes are sticking to me and the sheets are damp sort of sweat.

  Not giving a shit about, well, anything really, I stripped off my pyjamas and walked naked across my hotel room into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I regretted it instantly. My only saving grace was that I was completely alone right now…a thought that both filled me with relief and stung like a bitch. No one should have to see me looking like this. My skin was white and clammy. My lips were chapped and covered with dried blood. My eyes were red rimmed and blood shot. And my hair. Fuck me. I seriously gave consideration to shaving my head in an attempt to get the disaster under control.

  After a shower and another fortune spent on room service—including the additional public holiday surcharges—I started to feel better. Spying my phone lying upside down under the table, I knew at some point I’d have to pick it up and face it. Deciding to ignore it a little longer, I dug my iPad from my bag and started to read. For a couple of hours I got caught up in the distracting world of fiction, where the characters led more fucked up lives than I did. It made me feel infinitely better.

  When the book ended and I had to face the real world, I realised it was already mid-morning. Christmas morning. And I hadn’t heard from a soul. Was I that much of an outcast that no one cared? I would have at least put Payton down for an ass crack of dawn corny text message, complete with some stupid festive picture. Damn girl was obsessed with this holiday, she always had been, but this year she was taking it to a whole other level. I couldn’t wait to hear what Beau thought of his present. Or maybe I could. Yeah, I definitely didn’t want details. Knowing he was getting Christmas boxers with mistletoe on the crotch was more than enough.

  Feeling more lonely than ever, I reached down and picked up my phone. Turning it over, I was relieved to see I hadn’t cracked the screen. I was sick of replacing them. I’d done it so many times, my warranty was now voided almost every other month.

  Sighing heavily, I felt infinitely better when I saw the battery was dead. It wasn’t that no one was texting me, my phone had just gone flat. Grabbing the charger, I plugged it in, while I surfed Facebook on my iPad. I lasted exactly two minutes before I wanted to gag and turned it off. Everyone with their damn happy families. A happy family wasn’t something I could stomach right now. Part of me—the part still curled in the foetal position due to Mum’s hateful and hurtful outburst—wondered how much of what I was seeing was all fake. Photos staged. Smiles plastered on. Gifts already piled up ready to be returned.

  “It’s no wonder I’m alone,” I muttered miserably.

  Right now, right in this moment, completely alone in a generic hotel room, I’d never felt worse about myself. Maybe Mum was right. Maybe it was time I gave up on the photography thing. Put down some roots. Found a real job. Found a man. Built a life. A life others could understand. One they’d respect.

  My phone chirped and I pushed aside all thoughts that maybe Mum had a point. I loved being a photographer. It wasn’t just what I did. It was who I was. She just didn’t understand that. And what’s worse, she didn’t even pretend to try.

  Walking across to the table, I flipped my phone over, surprised to see a handful of messages. Surprise surprise. None were from my family. It was nearing midday on Christmas Day and not one, Merry fucking Christmas from my own fucked up family. Pushing aside my annoyance, I was shocked to see one of them.

  DrDolittle2.0: Fuck me families suck.

  I laughed out loud. I laughed so hard and so loud my stomach ached, and I was sure any second someone would start banging on the doors telling me to keep it down. I had no idea who DrDolittle2.0 was, but damn, did he make my day.

  ClickChick7: You have no idea.

  I can’t believe she actually showed. I mean, I’m not dumb, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew there was a possibility. Maybe I was just hoping she’d remember that little thing called human decency and decide that today wasn’t the best day to drop by.

  She stood in the doorway dressed like she was about to walk the catwalk at the Melbourne Cup Carnival. Her way too short burnt orange dress clung to her like a second skin. It was missing shoulder straps, and I could see more of her boobs than I wanted to. It looked like a dress Holly would wear. Hell, it was a dress Holly should wear. It would be perfect for her age. I watched as she folded her arms across her chest and couldn’t miss the shining silver talons on the tips of her fingers. Someone needed to tell this woman she was on the wrong side of fifty ASAP.

  “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?” Her words grated on me.

  Staying silent, I glanced around the table. Holly’s mouth gaped soundlessly open, something completely unusual for her. She hadn’t shut up since we sat down. In fact, part of me was concerned she hadn’t paused long enough to take a breath. Ryan looked like he wanted to slide off his seat and hide under the table until it was all over. Beau had
moved to Payton’s side, wrapping his arm protectively around her waist, anchoring her to him. He didn’t even seem to notice the glass plate Payton clutched in her trembling hands that was boasting the most magnificent looking Christmas pudding ever.

  It wasn’t until I saw Dad’s reaction that I realised I had to be the one to fight this battle. I was the one who had to get her out the door as quickly and as painlessly as possible. Dad couldn’t do it. I could feel the heat from the steam billowing from his ears already. Beau, who usually took every opportunity to tie on his cape and wear undies over his pants and act the hero, was surprisingly silent. Instead of throwing himself in the face of danger, or in this case in front of our mother’s sharp tongue, was playing the role of shield. Nothing would get through him. Payton was safe. At least that was just as it should be.

  Peeling the napkin from my lap, I pushed my chair back and left the table. I didn’t need to turn around to know everyone’s eyes were tracking my every move.

  Reaching her side, I wish I could say I was shocked to see the wicked gleam in her eye. She knew. The bitch knew. She’d shown up looking forward to the fact that her very appearance would cause unhappiness, and she was smiling at the situation. Sadistic bitch. I loved my mum, I really did. She was my mum, the only one I’d ever have, but right now I didn’t like her at all.

  “Merry Christmas, Mum!” I placed a kiss on her cold cheek. How someone’s skin could be cool to the touch was beyond me. Maybe she was just cold blooded. “Come on, Mum! Let’s go talk outside.” I tried to guide her out the door but she wasn’t budging.

  “No thank you, Gage. I’m quite happy here. In my home.” She was watching Dad, her eyes never wavering. She was staring at him, the corner of her overly plumped up lip quirked up.

  “This. Is. Not. Your. Home,” Dad spat out the words through clenched teeth.

  “Adrian! There’s no need to be like that. It’s Christmas!”

  Was she fucking delusional? How could she possibly think she was even welcome?

  Attempting to pull her back, I grabbed at her wrist and held her where she was. I was much bigger than her. She wasn’t going anywhere, not while I held her anyway. “Gage…”

  “Mum, please…”

  “Oh, stop whining like a baby. You always were a bit of a sook, Gage. Grow up.”

  I was too stunned to speak. Dropping my hands to my side, I looked at my brothers, and Connor looked like he was about to explode. Out of all of us, he was the one most likely to toss her over his shoulder and march her out the front door before dropping her on her ass in the mud, only to step back and laugh while she cried. I couldn’t blame him. I knew she was still our mother, but Connor had been the one here when the family as I knew it fell apart. I didn’t have all the details, and frankly, I was quite happy not to, the little I did know though, wasn’t pretty.

  As she tottered across the floor on her stupidly high silver shoes, I wondered what the fuck she was doing. Did she even know she was in the country right now? And supposedly in her own home? Well, at least according to her, it was her own home.

  No one moved.

  No one said a thing.

  She slipped silently down into the seat I’d just vacated at the table.

  I couldn’t fucking believe it! She actually thought she was welcome.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Ebony? Get out!” Dad boomed as he pushed away from the table violently, sending his chair clattering to the floor.

  With a dismissive wave of her hand, Mum ignored him. “So, are you going to get me a clean plate, or are you just going to stand there with your mouth open? Or are you just going to keep trying to hide behind my son, hoping I don’t see you over there?”

  Payton’s face fell. I wasn’t certain this was her first run in with the monster my mother had become, but I was willing to bet it was the last. Beau wouldn’t stand for this. Not for a second. As if right on cue, I couldn’t help but watch, fascinated, as Beau pulled himself to his full height, balled his fists at his side, sucked in a deep breath, and puffed out his chest. It was like watching a bull preparing for battle.

  “Don’t!” The word came out as a chilling warning. Exactly the way he’d intended.

  Ignoring Beau, Mum turned her attention to Holly. As soon as I saw her eyes narrow and Holly’s shoulders droop, I was tempted to do exactly the same as Beau. Jump in front of her and take the bullet. I just wasn’t quick enough.

  “Holly, what the hell is on your face?”

  As quick as she could, Holly grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth. I couldn’t see anything on her face, but I probably wouldn’t notice anyway.

  “Better?” Holly’s voice wavered. She was afraid. She should never be afraid. Not of anything. Of anyone. Especially her own mother.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t you know you should put some makeup on and cover up all those unsightly spots before you leave your room? People don’t need to see you looking like that.”

  That did it.

  That was enough.

  It was one thing to come in here and insult me, but to go after Holly like that. Nup! Not on my fucking watch.

  The only issue was I wasn’t quick enough.

  Connor moved before I even had a chance. Grabbing her roughly by her arm, Connor hauled her to her feet and marched her towards the front door. After what she’d just said to Holly, I was surprised to see Connor being so gentle.

  “Wh-what are you doing? Don’t be such a caveman, Connor! Let me go!”

  Holly had tears streaming down her cheeks. She was trying to remain silent and strong, but the urge to cry must have been too much for her. Before I had a chance to say anything, Ryan had her out of her chair and curled in his lap. I couldn’t help but feel lighter. When we were kids, the one thing Mum and Dad drummed into our heads over and over and over again was ‘protect Holly.’ We’d never get in trouble as long as we looked after her. No matter the cost. Holly came first. Always. I just never thought we’d have to protect her from the people who taught us that.

  “You do not ever speak to her like that!” Connor spat angrily in Mum’s face. I saw tiny bits of spittle fly from his angry mouth and land on Mum’s face. It would have been fucking hilarious if it wasn’t so damn sad.

  For a brief second, I think regret crossed her face. I couldn’t be sure though. One second it was there but I blinked and it was gone.

  Massaging my temples, I willed away the headache that was building. It was Christmas, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t want to deal with this shit. No one did. No one should have to. Not today, anyway. Feeling overwhelmingly exhausted, probably thanks to the huge quantity of food I’d eaten, I knew I needed to end this.

  “Mum, please!” I was begging now. I wanted nothing more than for her to get in her car and drive away quietly. “Please, just go.”

  She stopped fighting Connor’s grip and he let go. For a long moment there was silence. Stupidly, I thought I’d gotten through to her. Made her see sense. I was an idiot.

  “Please! You all think you’re so good. You let this…this trash into my house…” Mum is eerily calm as she waves her arms about, pointing directly at Payton. I didn’t miss her cringe as she shifts even further behind Beau.

  “Careful, Mum,” Beau growled.

  Payton sets the plate down on the counter top with a clunk. “That’s my good china! If you break it…”

  “Mum…” I couldn’t watch this a moment longer.

  Sheepishly, Payton ducks out from behind Beau and tucks herself under his arm. “I’m sorry if I overstepped…”

  “Don’t you dare apologise, Payton! That there was the best damn Christmas lunch I’ve ever had.”

  Holy fuck!

  Dad never said much. Even when we were kids, other than barking out chores or whipping our asses for our stupidity, he was pretty much a man of few words. So when he did speak, we tended to listen. But not once could I ever remember him showing this kind of love or affection to anyone. He was beaming
as he looked at Payton. He meant every word. Beau and I exchanged glances, and all I could offer him was a half-assed shrug. I wasn’t getting involved.

  “Best lunch, huh?”

  “The shortbread was awesome, Payton,” Ryan offered.

  “Nah, those gingerbread things were better,” Connor debated.

  “You two are idiots! Payton, those chocolate coconut things, I don’t know what the hell they were, but can you pretty please make me some to take back to school?”

  As they argued over which dish was best, the Payton we’d all come to know and love slowly but surely returned. She didn’t do compliments well, not even over her delicious cooking, so the blush burnt her neck and face. When she waved her hand to make it stop and buried her head in Beau’s shoulder, everyone fell about in a fit of laughter. Well, everyone but Mum. She just didn’t get it. This was why she wasn’t a part of it anymore. She should be the one here welcoming Payton into the family. It mightn’t be official, but from the look of that tiny box with a big silver bow under the tree, I was guessing she would be before long. Mum just couldn’t do it. She either couldn’t, or she didn’t want to. It was sad, really.

  “Stop arguing all of you. That pudding is going to win!”

  “Pudding?”

  “Yes, Ebony. Payton made one of those delicious fruit puddings. You know, the one you need to boil.” I had no idea what Dad was on about, but I was shocked. I’d never even seen him so much as cook a piece of toast, yet he knew that you boiled Christmas pudding.

  “We don’t eat Christmas pudding in this house! Where is the trifle?”

  “What trifle?” Payton squeaked. “Was I supposed to make trifle?”

  “No, sweetheart, you were not. Why don’t you heat up that custard?”

  I knew exactly what Beau was doing. He was about to blow a fuse, and he didn’t want Payton anywhere near the explosion. Hell, if I could have thought of an excuse, I’d be hiding in the kitchen with her.

  As soon as she was safely out of harm’s way, Beau turned to Mum, his face filled with pure hate. This was what I didn’t want. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew families fell apart all the time. I knew why mine had. Mum wanted the money and prestige, and not Dad. Not us. It stung. And more than once, while I sat in my dorm room, I’d guzzled bourbon trying to drown the pain. The problem with masking your pain with booze is eventually the booze wears off and you feel it all over again. On those nights, I hoped in time we’d find a way to be a family again. It wouldn’t be the same, I knew that, but I prayed with time and space, the hate would eventually fade and everyone could just play nice. That wasn’t today.