“If you’re not home, you set a bad precedent, showing others that they don’t have to respect me and my image if my own daughter can’t,” he continues, as if I didn’t laugh at his previous comment.
“I’m not moving back here,” I bite out, folding my arms across my chest.
“I think you are,” he challenges with wrinkles lining his forehead. “I know you’re struggling. Why else, out of the blue, would you call me? Money talks, honey. It’s screaming that something went wrong.” He brings his hands together and sets them on the table, something he wouldn’t ever do while eating. “You’re easy to read. Did you get fired? Is that why you called? You can’t afford rent with that lowlife? You’re just going to ask for money and run home to him, supporting his pot smoking and alcohol habits...?”
My tongue hurts as my teeth pinch the life out of it, holding back every bitter thing I want to say. As much as he’s callous toward me, threatening with words and belittling me, I can’t react. What choice do I have? But I can’t hold it in, not when his snide smirk comes through, all triumphant and golden, like he’s the man. He must forget that being the man isn’t the same as being a man.
“For your information,” I snap, “I left him. Caught him fucking a tramp on our bed. So, no, Dad. I’m not going home. I’ve been at my friend Gray’s house for the past two days, and that’s where I’ll stay.” He goes to say something, but I can tell where his confidence falters and his face falls with sadness, and I don’t allow him. “I came to you because you’re my dad. I needed someone to talk to, to help me, support me, and maybe even tell me it’s not my fault. I didn’t sign up for this. None of this.” By the end, the betraying tears leave my eyes, and my voice is hoarse with emotion. It’s not like I cry often. Or ever. But my dad and his words, all of it hurts me. This distance he’s put between us, the way he allows his wife to talk to me, and the way he now speaks to me as if I’m not his daughter.
It’s a mess.
I hate it.
I hate him.
Scooting my chair back, I leave without another word. His money is useless to me when he’s such a despicable man. I’m not even remotely okay with the way he behaves. And as he calls after me, chasing me out the door, I don’t stop.
Like the stand-up guy he is, he doesn’t follow me past the front door, saving whatever useless pride he has left when he lets me leave.
Goodbye, Dad. Don’t worry. I didn’t need you then, and I don’t need you now.
Chapter Nine
The Night Before
Joey
After the train wreck of a dinner—if you could call it that—I go back to Gray’s. She’s out with some girl from high school who begged to see her. Honestly, I need her here to talk, listen, or even just vent to so I’m not alone. Being alone is miserable. It’s one of my most troubling traits since Mom disappeared. Being abandoned is the other. Clinging onto things that matter seems to be my default setting.
I fell asleep right after taking a long bath in the Jacuzzi tub. Not sure how I didn’t spend every spare moment in that thing. It’s like a mini hot tub for my own pleasure. As I sit here, staring at the package I took that night, I bite my lip. Contemplation runs thick through me. It’s not my apron. Took me reading who it was from to tell me that it’s something bigger.
Much bigger.
Instead of dwelling, I open the box, wondering if hell froze over.
Inside sits a little four-by-six note. You’ve been cordially invited... Flipping it over, I read the back, shock slicing at me like a paper cut.
Dear Ms. Moore,
We were eager to see your application for Culinary Con. It’s not surprising to see your long list of accomplishments in your short life, but we’re proud to represent you on this new venture.
It brings us great pleasure to select you for the Raffle Chef Contest. Your donation was greatly appreciated, and we hope you find your dream career. All restaurants involved are hugely renowned for their service and etiquette. They’d be lucky to have a dedicated chef such as yourself.