Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Not that it’s something I could ever bring up with my parents without causing an argument, which is definitely not something I’m looking to do right now. I’d rather not end every visit with a fight.
“Well,” Dad suddenly says, putting his phone down. “Let’s eat.”
I pick up my fork and knife and gladly cut into the meat, stuffing it into my mouth. God, I love Melvin’s steak and beans. It’s the perfect combination of salty and sweet.
“So … how’s work?” Mom asks, putting extra emphasis on the word “work” as if it’s some kind of fake job.
“Great,” I reply.
She takes a small bite. “Earning enough?”
Here we go again. “Yes, actually. I’m very happy.” I take another bite, trying to enjoy the taste instead.
“Really?” She looks up at me. “But you’re still in that small house?”
“Yes,” I say, wanting to roll my eyes. “I like small.”
“Okay …” Mom takes a breath and bites down on her steak. “So you’re not looking to upgrade?”
“Mom, I’m happy with my job.”
“They caused you to be late.”
“No, that was my fault.”
She frowns. “So you forgot?”
“No, Mom. I’m sorry.” I sigh. “I sometimes get a bit overenthusiastic. It happens. But I wouldn’t want to miss dinner with you guys.” I place a hand on her shoulder and smile. “I love you.”
“We love you too, honey,” Dad says as he stuffs the steak into his mouth.
“Fred.” Mom raises her brow at him.
“What?”
“I told you.” Now she turns toward me again. “Are you sure you like that job and house? Because there’s an opening at Clayton’s and—”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer, Mom,” I interject. I really don’t wanna hear this right now.
“Why not? What’s wrong with being a lawyer? You’d be helping people and get paid while doing it,” Mom says, taking a sip of her wine. “I honestly don’t understand why you stick with … that gossipy tabloid.”
“It’s more than gossip. We write articles about actual local news.”
“But you answer the reader’s questions too,” she says.
“Yes, but I’m also working on getting my own column.”
“Okay, but my point is, you can do so much better.” She places a hand on my hand. “I want better for you. A better job. A bigger house.” She shrugs, smiling. “Maybe even a great boyfriend.”
I almost choke on my food. “What?”
“Well, I do know some handsome young men who are still single. They frequently visit the men’s club your dad often goes to on the weekend.”
Wow. I really did not need that information. At all.
She swirls the wine around in the glass. “So does that mean you’re seeing someone?”
I can barely swallow the steak as I think about D and all the things we did. No way would I tell them. No way. Their sweet daughter doing all those raunchy things? They’d probably lose their minds. Or have a heart attack.
Besides, D isn’t exactly boyfriend material. We only had sex once, and we don’t even know each other’s real name. I doubt it’ll ever be more than that.
“I’m not seeing anyone right now,” I answer.
“Well, then why not meet the boys? I know at least one of them has a job as a finance director at a pharmaceutical company. He works hard, and he’s looking to settle. Maybe you’ll end up liking him.”
My eyes widen, and I immediately pull my hand back. “Mom …”
“What? I’m just saying.”
“Meredith,” Dad interjects, gazing at her with intent. “Please …”
She gives him a stern look. “I’m not the enemy here. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know, but she needs to be happy on her own terms,” Dad says.
I’m glad he’s on my side with this one.
“No, that’s just you trying to make up for something,” she says, leaning back in the chair while putting down her fork and knife. “You don’t want to get involved.”
Now they’re staring at each other, and I’m left in the middle, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Mom, I’m not looking for a job … or a man.” I gaze at Dad now. “And thank you, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“See?” Dad says, raising his brow at Mom.
Mom dabs her lips with the napkin and tosses it on her plate. “Fine.”
I continue eating in silence, trying not to look at either of them because they’re seething. I don’t know what it is they’re mad about, but this usually happens. Mom and Dad disagree a lot. Mostly over me.
“Meredith, please, stop,” Dad begs. “Can’t we just enjoy dinner, for once?”
“We could, if you’d allow me to help our daughter get a better job and maybe even finally settle down. Instead, our lives revolve around you trying to make it as easy as you can on yourself.”
“Mom …” I put down my fork. “What is this about?”
“Nothing,” she says, turning her head away. “Obviously, nothing.”
I narrow my eyes and gaze at Dad, trying to let it sink in. Dad has always been … busy. It’s what he does, what he’s best at. During my entire life growing up in their home, I’ve experienced my mom mostly getting frustrated over me not being where I was supposed to be, not getting the grades I should’ve had, and going out with boys who weren’t good enough in her eyes, but Dad? He was never involved enough to care.