“Whowhat, Dad?”
He has the decency to hesitate, but not the decency to stop. “Who are built for it. You know what I mean. You’ve always been better with the physical work. The planning, the organizing, the politics of it all… That’s not you.”
That’s not youhas been the thesis statement of every conversation I’ve ever had with my father.
You’re not the academic one.
You’re not the focused one.
You’re not the one who sticks with things.
You’re not the kind of woman men take seriously.
You’re not built for more than what you already have, so stop reaching.
The worst part is how calm he is. He’s not yelling. He never yells. He states things like they’re facts. Like the sky is blue and his daughter isn’t capable. And then waits for you to agree.
I used to agree. Not out loud, but in the quiet, corrosive way that seeps into your bones. I’d hear his voice in my head every time I took on something new, every time I pushed past the lane he’d drawn for me.
That’s not you, Lizzie.
And I’d wonder if he was right. On the bad weeks—the PMDD weeks, when my brain is already telling me I’m worthless and the world would be easier to navigate without me in it—his voice and the disorder would harmonize into something I couldn’t argue with.
But I know my truth now. He can’t undo all the work I’ve done.
“The marina project is going to bring year-round revenue to this town,” I say, my voice shockingly firm. “I’m working with the bureau becauseyoubrought me in. Because I know this community, and I know construction, and I know what these buildings need. That’s not embarrassing, Dad. That’s called being good at my job.”
“You’re overcomplicating things now that you’re dreaming about what can be done with that Toronto fella’s money.” It’s a statement laced with condescension, which makes no sense because he was the one sidling up to Peter when they first met. “I’ve heard things about him, Lizzie. Some rich guy who bought a cottage and now thinks he can play small-town savior?—”
“This conversation is over.” Yeah, no. He’s not going to get to shit-talk the same person he originally thought would be on his side. This is so typical of him. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he attacks. Regardless of who it is.
“I’m trying to look out for you.”
“No, you’re not.” My words come out with a steadiness I’m proud of, even as my insides are shaking. “You’re trying to keep me in a box that makes sense to you. You’ve been doing it my whole life. I’m done making myself small enough to fit in it.”
He stares at me for a long moment, but the wheels are turning—the recalibration, the search for a different angle. I don’t give him one, though. I hold his gaze until he looks away. And when he turns to walk back to his truck, I don’t call after him.
Steph appears at my elbow the moment he pulls away. “You okay, boss?”
“Yep.” I climb the ladder, pick up where I left off, and pretend my hands aren’t trembling.
CHAPTER 37
IT HAD RAISINS. THAT’S A FRUIT SERVING.
BILLIE
He calls that night.
I’m on my couch, with a bowl of cereal that constitutes supper because I forgot to eat a real meal, and the thought of making a decision on what to eat is excruciating. ADHD tax, I call it. The cost of a brain that can hyperfocus on work for nine hours but can’t remember that food is a requirement for survival. And when his name lights up my phone, a delicious warmth inconveniently blooms in my chest.
“Hey.” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, muting the TV.
“Hey.” His voice sounds different. Not bad-different, just… displaced. Like he’s been speaking a language all day that isn’t quite his anymore. “How was your day?”
“Good. Busy. We’re ahead of schedule on the Bridgewater job. Neve is helping me with meeting prep this weekend, so that’ll be fun. How’s Toronto today? How’d the client meeting go?”
“It’s… still Toronto.” A pause. I can hear the city in the background—traffic, distant music, the ambient hum of a placethat never shuts up. How does he live like that? “The meeting went fine. It was weird being in the office. Everything looks the same, but it feels like someone else’s life.”
