what they wanted. But by then, Persey planned to have proven to them that she wasn’t useless or lazy or all the other horrible adjectives her dad had used for her over the years. By then, she was going to earn his respect.
And if not? She still had her West Valley theater crash pad.
Cold comfort.
It had taken Persey six whole days to find the right time (and gather enough courage) to talk to her dad. Things had been hectic at work and her parents hadn’t been around much, but when she’d gotten home from rehearsal to find that dinner had already been prepped on the table in covered dishes, Persey had decided to take the opportunity to discuss her plan with her parents.
The first warning sign Persey should have heeded was her mom’s intoxication level. The heavy clank of a glass bottle going into the recycling bin meant that an entire chardonnay had been poured, another already taking its place in the tabletop cooler sleeve. Considering that the sun wasn’t even down yet, this was a bad sign.
The second warning came from their housekeeper, in the form of her absence. During family dinner nights, she usually stayed until the meal was cleared, but tonight she was already gone, which meant one of two things: either Persey’s dad had dismissed her early because he was in a mood and didn’t want any witnesses, or he’d already managed to insult her and she’d left in a huff, swearing never (temporarily) to return.
Either of these two signs should have given Persey pause, but whether from a desperate need to get it over with or the deep-seated knowledge that her plan wasn’t going to work anyway, Persey plowed ahead, entering the dining room for pot roast, arugula salad, and to secure her future happiness.
“Hi, Mom!” she said with more perk than she thought herself capable of.
“Dahr-ling!” Her mom reached one hand out to her daughter, the other firmly grasping her wineglass, and grinned like a sleepy infant. “I’ve missed you so.”
Neither of us has gone anywhere. Persey took the outstretched hand and kissed it and, just for a moment, wondered if her mom thought it was her son who had joined them for dinner.
“Dad,” Persey said in a friendly, matter-of-fact way. No superfluous emotion. That’s the kind of greeting he appreciated.
True to his form over the last year, Persey’s dad ignored her. He held his phone in one hand, tabbing through pages with his thumb while he absently stabbed at a stray potato on his plate. His meal was two-thirds consumed already, despite the fact that Persey was five minutes early for dinner. His timing, she guessed, was intentional.
“You must be hungry, dahr-ling,” her mom said, gesturing to the poppy-red Le Creuset pot in the middle of the table. “You need to eat, eat, eat!”
You should take your own advice. Her mom’s plate was spotlessly clean. “You first, Mom.”
She waved Persey off, whipping her head back and forth with the motion. For a moment, Persey thought she might keel over. “I ate at the office.”
“When?”
“Earlier?”
Persey didn’t miss the inflection at the end. “Are you not sure when you ate last? Mom, I’m worried about you.”
“Imfine.” All one word, slurred together.
“But—”
“Your mother said she’s fine,” her dad said, sharp but not a yell. “Let it go.”
Persey took a deep, silent breath. He’d spoken to her. Broken the seal. It was practically an invitation to have a conversation.
“Okay,” she said, trying to sound cheerful in the face of her mom’s raging alcoholism. “I’m glad we’re having a family dinner tonight because there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“We already changed the will.” Her dad didn’t even look at her. “So don’t bother begging.”
His coldness was a slap in the face. She was used to his temper, his ability to hold a grudge, the lightning-quick flashes of anger and rage, but this disgust? This total detachment? This was new.
“I’m not asking you to change your mind,” she said. “Because I know you won’t.”
“Good.”
“But I wanted you to know that I do have a plan for after I graduate.”
“Gra-du-ate,” her mom said, languid and slow. “Columbia.”
Ugh. “No, Mom. That’s my brother. I’m still in high school.”
“And not going to college,” her dad said.
This was not going the way she’d hoped. “No, but honestly, Dad, it would be a waste of your money if I did, and besides, I have a plan that—”
“Don’t care.”
“That I think will be good for all of us. It will allow