I’m not about to admit that I nearly got murdered at the wedding and fed a dickhead to a bunch of pigs.
But it’s good to know my gran stands behind me if I choose to pursue Maggie. Assuming she’d even be interested after I asked her to be a secret.
I wouldn’t blame her if she slammed her door in my face.
37
MAGGIE
My pulse could power a small village by the time I push Dad’s office door open.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw him, dancing with Priscilla and looking loved up at his wedding. I’ve vowed to be more present while he undergoes his treatment, and I’m sticking to my guns. The fact that I haven’t eaten anything that doesn’t come in a plastic wrapper, and that my family have a private chef, may have motivated me enough to get out of bed.
Seeing him isn’t what has me all in a tizzy, though.
It’s what I’m about to do.
Dad looks up from his desk as I burst in. He slides his glasses low on his nose and smiles when he sees me. He’s looking a little thinner, and my resolve wavers.
‘Maggie, you’re back so soon.’
‘I am.’
He takes off his glasses, folds them, and puts them on the polished desk. ‘And to what do we owe the pleasure?’
I still feel as small standing in front of him as I did when I was five. The years might have passed, but I’d never learned to take up more space around him. I feel just as helpless as I did then.
It’s time to remedy that. Time to take up some motherfucking space in this family.
‘I’m not doing it,’ I say.
The words come out steadier than I expect.
‘Not doing what, love?’
‘Any more of this. I’m not stepping into the business. I’m not putting up with being forced into becoming someone I don’t want to be. Listening to you all making fun of me at every goddamned family event because I’m different. I can’t do it any more.’
My dad watches me, his face unreadable as sweat coats the back of my neck.
‘I’ve given you almost thirty years, and I’m not giving you the next thirty. Not for murder.’
My hands curl into fists at my sides as I use up my last ounce of rebellion.
‘Fuck tradition,’ I say. ‘Fuck your rules.I don’t want this.’
I’ve played this moment out in my head a hundred times. It’s never gone well. Sometimes he stands up and shoots me clean through the head. Other times he locks me away like Rapunzel, left to wither alone. I’m not convinced my dad will be quite that drastic, because I know he loves me, in his way.
I brace for disaster.
‘Is this about Eddie?’ he asks.
‘No. It’s about me. It’s about always feeling like I’m failing at something I never signed up for. About being scared that if I don’t fall into line, you’ll… well, I don’t know… force me to become someone I hate.’
My voice wobbles despite my best efforts to suck it up and act tough. I can’t even make it through a sad dog video, who was I kidding?
‘I want to be part of this family.’ My words rush out. ‘I do. I need you all. I even like this draughty old house and the crow who haunts it. But I can’t be part of the business. I won’t.’
My chest tightens as I wait for a response. When it doesn’t come, I walk over and slam my hands on the desk, sending a pot of pens flying. It takes everything not to apologise and start picking them up.
