Thomas brought a vat of spaghetti sauce over while Mom eyed me like a shrew. “Do you also remember how I showed her some of your work?”

“How could I forget?” I glanced at my tea, wishing it had liquor in it. Maybe even some meth at this point. Wait. Could meth be liquid? I’d have to ask Reece. But not right now, because he was eyeballing me as Dad plopped a huge pile of noodles on his plate.

Everyone sat, but Mom was like a pit bull. “She is still very interested.”

“Oh,” I murmured, scooping out the biggest meatball I could find. “You make the best meatballs,” I told Gordon. “Have I ever told you that before?”

Gordon smiled.

“Interested in what?” Reece asked.

“Nothing,” was my immediate response.

Mom shot me a chiding look. “I showed Miss Sponsito several of Roxy’s paintings a ­couple of months back. She’s interested in commissioning pieces. You know,” she said, looking at me. “You’d get paid doing something you love. Fancy idea. But Roxy hasn’t taken them up on it yet.”

I made a face as I twirled my spaghetti and then almost shrieked as a hand landed on my thigh. Looking at Reece, I raised my brows. He narrowed his eyes. “Why haven’t you done that?”

Good question. No easy answer. I shrugged. “I haven’t had time. I feel like . . . I need to give her something new, something great.”

“That’s why you should drop those damn classes,” Dad said, stabbing at his noodles.

“Dad, I’m trying to get an education. Isn’t that something every parent wants their kid to get?” I asked.

“Every parent wants their kid to be happy,” he corrected. “And you’re not going to be happy with some graphic design degree.”

I drew in a deep breath. “I am happy.”

No one looked like they believed me, and boy, was that kind of hard to swallow. I wanted to shout that I was happy . . . as much as I could be right now. I mean, hello, I had some dude taking pictures of me while I slept, and Henry was out, running around, a total free man, and Charlie . . .

Charlie wasn’t eating again.

I was no longer hungry.

Reece watched me closely, way too intently. “Everything I’ve seen of yours is great.”

“It’s true.” Megan smiled. “You did that painting for the baby’s room. The one with the teddy bear? Every time I go into the room, I’m blown away by how real it looks.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, uncomfortable. When I glanced at Reece, I could see the wheels churning in his head. I’d rather be talking about the stalker and my undies in the dishwasher.

But then, because it was my family, the convo turned even more awkward as dinner wrapped up.

“How’s your father doing?” my dad asked Reece.