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It’s not about me at all.
25
LUCAS
“Why do you have to be so cruel?” I say while watching Rachel practically run away from our table. I jerk my attentions back to my parents, glaring at both of them.
Mom stares back at me with wide eyes, looking confused, as if she doesn’t know that she is being mean to Rachel. Dad crosses his arms while leaning further back in his chair.
“We weren’t being cruel,” says Dad, his gaze hardening on me. “We were being realistic.”
“How can anyone make a living with an art degree?” Mom asks while gesturing towards Rachel’s empty chair. “She needs to know the truth.”
“Turning down Samuel’s help wasn’t the smartest choice.”
My hands fist and my glare darkens. “She already made a commitment to her program. She’s honest, dedicated, and sees things through.”
Dad scoffs, tossing back his head while Mom shakes her head.
“Honest doesn’t pay the bills,” says Dad.
“If she was smart, she would have dumped the program and worked with Samuel,” adds Mom. “You know how he opens doors. Look what he’s done for you.”
I groan and shake my head. “Samuel has done shit for me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mom asks, her voice shrill. She glances at Dad before turning back to me. Her hand rests on mine, but I jerk it away, not wanting to be touched right now. I can’t believe I just witnessed both my parents pretty much attacking Rachel. They were the ones who invited her.
It’s completely uncalled for.
“Honey,” says Mom, her voice uneasy while she turns towards me, “Samuel really is a great way to enter this field. And then after, when you graduate, you will be better prepared to help your father in Manhattan.”
“I don’t want to help Dad,” I rush out, my eyes widening when I realize I just uttered those words. Am I really doing this? My gaze lifts, landing on my father scowling at me. I take in his greying hair, his beer gut, his pristinely ironed suit and realize he’s not so terrifying.
He’s just a man.
“I didn’t come here to work with Samuel,” I say, holding my ground.
Dad sighs, straightening before taking a sip from his glass. “I know,” he says darkly.
My heart stops, plummets into my stomach. “You know?” I breathe.
I hear Mom sigh and turn toward her. “Why else do you think we came?”
My eyes widen. “All this time, you knew I came here to fuck around.”
“Language!” Dad shouts.
Mom bobs her head up and down, her gaze remaining on the table. “We were planning on taking you home, but when we spoke with Samuel, we thought you had finally realized what is best for you.”
“That’s until we met your new play thing.”
“She’s not a play thing!” I shout while slamming my fist on the table. “Her name is Rachel, andshe’s a wonderful person. She’s the only one who makes me feel like I- like I-”
“Like what?” Dad asks, tilting his head to the side, a bitter gleam flashing at me. “Is she the sun in the sky? Does she make butterflies flutter in your stomach? Your heart twitter?”
I jut out my chin. “Yes. That’s exactly what she does.”
Dad scoffs. “All of that is pathetic nonsense. It doesn’t mean anything.”
