Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
The front door is open, and there are loud voices from the hallway. Frowning, I walk over to see my mother talking to Gina, our chef.
“Mrs. Hadley, I’m so sorry for the delay,” Gina says. She throws me an apologetic glance over my mother’s shoulder. “Dinner will be ready very soon.”
“Very good,” my mother replies. She sounds as if she doesn’t have the energy for a fight, and I feel a sudden pang of pity for her. There are dark circles under her eyes and her brown hair is tied up in a bun to hide the greasy roots.
Gina gives me a brief nod before disappearing into the kitchen and leaving me with my mother.
“Emma, where have you been?”
Before I can answer, the loud sound of a door slamming makes me jump. I gasp and cover my mouth with both hands as my father strides into the foyer.
“I’m starving,” my father grumbles. “When the fuck are we eating?”
Mom bites her lip as her cheeks turn pale. “Gina is plating our food now,” she says. “I’m sure if we head into the dining room, dinner will be ready soon.”
My father frowns at the sight of me, as if seeing me for the first time. “Fine,” he snaps. Without waiting for a response from my mother or me, he turns on his heel and stalks into the dining room.
“He’s in a mood,” Mom says quietly under her breath. “Come on, Emma. You don’t want your food to get cold.”
I reluctantly follow her into the dining room and take my seat across from Mom and next to my father. Gina brings in a tray laden with dishes and sets it down.
“Here you are, Mr. Hadley,” Gina says as she places a steaming platter in front of my father. She serves my mother, then me before turning her attention back to my father. “Is there anything else that I can get for you sir?”
“Get out,” my father snaps. “I have personal matters to discuss with my family.”
Gina ducks her head and scoots out of the dining room. As soon as the kitchen door closes, my father turns to my mother.
“Ramona, I don’t like it when my household doesn’t run smoothly,” my father growls in a low voice. “Do I need to fire the staff?”
“No,” Mom says quickly. “I’m sorry, Jason. Today was very chaotic.”
Heavenly aromas float through the air, but I’m not hungry. All I can do is push my shrimp scampi around on the plate. My stomach is twisting and churning – being around my father always makes me feel anxious. He’s such a bully! Plus, I hate the way he talks to my mother.
“Emma, I hope your grades are better this semester,” my father says. He snorts rudely. “Emma?”
My head snaps up and I blink. “Oh, yes, they are,” I say quickly. “They’re much better, in fact. I’m getting a ‘B’ in Medieval Literature.”
My father stares at me for a moment without speaking. Just as I think he’s about to open his mouth to praise me, he narrows his eyes and glares.
“I hardly see how that’s an improvement,” he replies. “Medieval Literature? Why the hell would you even sign up for a class like that in the first place? It sounds like a goddamn waste of time.”
I pause, hurt.
“It’s for my major,” I say in a small voice. “I needed an elective.”
“Do you know how much I’m paying for your schooling?” My father snorts in disgust and shakes his head. “And you’re throwing it away on useless bullshit? Why the hell aren’t you taking business classes? Or something with a little more substance?”
“I’ll do better,” I say miserably as I look down at my untouched plate of shrimp and pasta. “I’m sorry.”
“You’d damn well better,” my father replies. He spears a huge forkful of shrimp and wolfs it down without even chewing. The sight is enough to make me queasy. Shrimp scampi has always been one of my favorite meals but watching the way my father eats is nauseating. He’s practically inhaling it like an alien getting a hit of blood.
“Emma?” I look up to see my mother glancing at me with concern. “Are you all right?”
I look down at my plate and suppress a powerful wave of nausea. “I’m not hungry,” I say. “Is it okay if I go upstairs? Finals are coming up and I need to study.”
“Let her go,” my father barks before Mom can answer. “It wouldn’t kill her to miss a meal or two seeing how round she is.”
My cheeks redden in embarrassment but honestly, I’m just glad to leave the table. I stand and walk out of the dining room before darting up the stairs and locking myself in my room. As soon as I’m alone, I flop down on the bed. I feel dizzy and breathless. Even though I’ve only been home for an hour or so, it feels like an eternity.