Mickey was not of the same mind as me.

“Ash,” he said low with warning.

“It’s true,” she muttered. “It’s just that the rest of us aren’t the cool clique. Which some people should learn isn’t death by high school.”

Again, Pippa looked whipped.

“Ash,” I called. “Will you come with me a second?” She appeared afraid of this idea so I hastened to add, “It’s okay, honey. Just want a word in private. If you want your dad and brother with you, though, they can come with us.”

She hesitated then moved to me, saying, “I’ll come with you.”

“Mom,” Auden called. “About Dad—”

“We’ll deal with that in a second,” I told him, moving to Aisling then guiding her down the hall to my room.

When she got into it, she said, “Wow. Awesome room.”

“Thanks, blossom.”

I closed the door.

She looked to me and I went for it.

“This is not a lie, cross my heart,” I did the motions that went with my words, “your decision will have no ramifications. You mean a lot to me, honey, and I want you comfortable with me and in my home. Pippa’s apologized. She had a tough time out there she deserved. But if you’re not okay with having Thanksgiving with her, then her father takes her home. And,” I grabbed her hand when her eyes blanked against me, “I’m being serious. This is serious and Pippa has to learn that. I’m not putting you on the spot. If you want to leave and be safe at home, that’s your choice. If you want Pip to leave and be here with your dad and brother and my brother and me, that’s your choice too. If this is too big of a decision for you, I’ll make the choice and I’ll send my kids home.”

“It’s not her,” she stated.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“She helped make school suck, but it’s not her. She told the truth. She never said anything. Cill’s right, she did laugh, but she never said anything. So it’s not her who did it. Not fun, going to school and having them make it suck. It was more not fun going home when we were with Mom and watching her drink until she was passed out on the couch. Getting her to bed. Trying not to let Cill see it or hear it. And when we were with Dad, it was just a week away, going back to that. It’s not Pippa. It’s Mom and it’s you.”

“Me?” I whispered, again my stomach twisting, at all her words, including the last one.

“We messed up and told Mom about you. It got worse. I didn’t wanna make Cillian feel bad because he didn’t get it so he kept talking about you. So I know why she missed Cillian’s birthday and got caught drunk driving. Because of you.”

“I…don’t know—” I started.

She waved her hand, appearing flustered. “It’s not you. I don’t mean it’s you.” She looked into my eyes. “But it’s you.” She seemed intent on my answer when she asked, “Do you get what I mean?”