“You have to call me once a week.”
“To tell you what I’ve spent the money on?”
“No.” Dad laughs. “I just want to say hello and catch up. No money talk.”
I think I could live with that.
“I can do that.”
“I’ll have the money wired into your account by the end of the day.”
“Thank you,” I say to him.
He steps aside to let me by. I take the stairs two at a time.
I can’t believe he’s going to give me my college fund. There’s a lot of money in there. Not as much as my trust fund, but there’s more thanenough to cover rent and Wilder’s first two semesters at NYU.
I can’t believe it.
I’m going to New York.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Major Confrontation
Ingrid
Jason and Jill Winthrop sit across from me at the dining room table, neither of them speaking.
I remember the first time I realized my parents were pushovers. I was in sixth grade preparing for the Spring Fling dance. I was going with a group of girls in my class. It was 1950’s-themed. Jill had planned a whole day. Dress shopping. Shoe shopping. New haircut.
But then Isla found out.
Isla, who had been to numerous dances.
Isla, who had done these kinds of days with Jill many times.
Isla, who is a selfish, self-serving psychopath.
Somehow, she convinced Jill that I didn’t need a new dress, that I could borrow one of her dresses. That she was the one who really needed a new dress.
And shoes.
And the haircut.
So, I dressed in a black and white polka dot dress that was a little too big, red flats that were a size too small, and Isla went on a date in her brand-new dress.
Anyway, she’s pregnant with her professor’s baby.
And I’m moving to New York.
“What did you want to talk about?” Mom asks, her voice quiet and shaky.
I scoff. “You’re joking, I hope.”
“Don’t use that tone with your mother,” Dad warns.
My eyes narrow as I glare at my father. “Were you aware that I, your youngest child, have no home?”
