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I don’t know why it frustrates me so much that my dad isn’t on my side. I should be used to it by now—it’s all I know. But it gets under my skin every time he doesn’t think I’m doing the right thing.
I need to stop looking for his approval. I’ll never get it.
It’s better for me to focus on the restaurant and the success I want to make of it. It’s the only way I can prove to myself—and my dad—that I can do whatever I want. His opinion doesn’t matter in the end. I can do anything I set my mind to.
Even if no one’s on my side.
Chapter 8
Natalie
When I arrive at Michelle’s house, she calls for me to come in rather than coming to the door herself.
“Are you okay?” I ask when I find her on the couch, pale as a ghost with a thin sheen of sweat on her brow. Her freckles stand out on her pale skin that much more. A bucket sits on the floor next to her with fermenting contents in it and the room is stuffy and humid. “What’s going on?” I feel her head but she’s cool to the touch. At least she doesn’t have a fever.
“I’m okay,” she says in a hoarse voice that doesn’t sound okay at all. “I think it’s just a stomach bug. I hoped I would be better by now.” Her body twists as she retches and she grabs the bucket and throws up wildly. I hold back her hair and rub her back in circles as she gags and heaves.
When she’s done, I offer her a tissue. After she wipes her mouth, I pass her the bottle of water that stood next to the bucket on the floor. She only takes a small sip.
“You should stay hydrated, especially now,” I say. I’m worried about her. Her dark hair is plastered against her face and she collapses back on the couch.
“I can’t. I throw up anything I take in, even water.”
I shake my head. Should I take her to the doctor? But despite looking pale and worn out, her green eyes are bright.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and pick up the bucket.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” she says, but I’m a mother and my nurturing side kicks in. I walk to the kitchen and put on the kettle for tea while I rinse out the bucket. When the water boils, I rummage through the cabinets and find ginger tea.
When I walk back to the living room with the tea, I open two windows to let in fresh air.
“You’re a star,” Michelle says when I hand her the tea.
“The ginger will help with your nausea.”
“If I can keep it down,” she says, but she sips it anyway. “Did you add something to this? It’s sweet.”
“Honey for taste,” I say. “And it helps to get your sugar levels up a little, too.”
Michelle smiles. “You’re a saint. I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Anytime,” I say. “I heard a bug’s going around.” Hannah told me about it, worried that the kids might catch it, too.
“Yeah, I’m not too worried. If I am still ill this time tomorrow, I’ll go to a doctor. But…” she takes my hand. Her fingers are clammy and she closes her eyes for moment, swallows hard. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure,” I say. “How can I help?”
“Where’s Kylie?”
I frown, thrown off by the question. “I asked her sitter to pop in while I check on you. When you called, you sounded terrible.”
She nods. “Did you really have movies planned with her for tonight?”
“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You told me you and Kylie have a movie date tonight.”
I shake my head. “I can’t remember—”
