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It’s probably just Colt saying goodbye, so I ignore it and step under the scalding spray. It’s going to be a long couple of days if they hold me hostage. I love my parents, but they are about as overbearing as they come. Dictators to a point. Controlling for sure. And I’m sick of living under their thumb. I need to find a way to prove to them that I’m an adult and I can make my own choices.
That would require me to tell them that I’m no longer studying graphic design. That I have no intention of working for my father after I graduate in six months. And that even moving back to the city isn’t on my radar.
Any normal parents would praise their child for making that decision, for having a plan for their future. Mine are going to be pissed I didn’t follow the path they chose for me.
The entire ride to the restaurant to meet my father for brunch is clouded with uncomfortable silence. My mother hasn’t spoken a word to me since I stepped out of my room to find her waiting for me in the hallway, a disapproving glare on her face.
I guarantee it has to do with my choice in attire.
An outfit I purposely put together to get a rise out of her.
Ripped black skinny jeans. Sneakers— which I never wear but somehow ended up in my bag. I have a feeling I have Colt to thank for that. And an off the shoulder ivory sweater, which has my bra strap showing, in my favorite shade of green.
My hair is pulled into a messy ponytail.
My face is free of makeup with the exception of mascara and gloss that adds a hint of pink to my lips.
If my mother’s reaction is considered mild, my father is going to blow his top. Especially since we’re headed straight to his office after lunch.
I don’t care at this point. A blow-up, knock-down fight is the perfect excuse for me to head back to school early. Which is exactly what I had in mind.
An exit strategy.
A plan.
“Mrs. Newton,” the maître d’ coos as we approach. “How nice to see you. Your husband arrived a few moments ago.”
He gives me a onceover, pausing for a brief moment before turning and showing us to where my father is waiting. I realize there is a dress code for this restaurant, but I can’t bring myself to care. They’re not going to turn my parents away. Not after all the money they’ve spent here over the years.
“What the hell are you wearing?” My father’s words slap me across the face before I can even take my seat.
“Clothes, Father. Would you rather I have come naked?”
I’m not sure where my bravery comes from, but I lash out before I can sensor myself. Maybe it’s the buildup of the last week. Or the fact I feel like they still treat me like a child, controlling my life as if I can’t handle it myself.
Though, I have to confess, dressing like a teenager kind of emphasized their point.
I obviously didn’t think my plan through entirely.
Lowering his voice, my father leans across the table, and says “Watch your smart little mouth, young lady. I won’t have you talking to me like that.”
“Like what?” I feign innocence, batting my eyelashes at him. “Like I have a mind of my own? Like I’m an adult who can choose her clothing without asking for permission? Like I’m twenty-one years old—"
“That’s enough,” he states through gritted teeth. Had we been in the privacy of our own home, I can only imagine he would have yelled at the top of his lungs.
Since I’ve already started to act like a petulant child, I shrug my shoulders, pick up my menu, and zone out. My parents engage in a hushed conversation the entire meal, more than likely discussing me, as I pick at my food, pushing it around my plate.
As soon as we’re finished, my father takes me by the arm, his grip tighter than necessary, and leads me out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk toward his office building, my mother following behind us.
Pushing through the rotating glass carousel, we enter the building my father has called home for the last three months. It’s an upgrade from the previous building he occupied, both in location and style. Even I’m in awe of the grand lobby, and shiny things don’t usually catch my attention.
The elevator arrives, and my father escorts me inside. When a younger gentleman tries to join us in the car, my father kindly asks him to take the next one. But that’s where his gentle demeanor ends because as the elevator rises to the top floor, I’m graced with a top-notch lecture.
About my wardrobe, disrespect, and acting my age.
But my favorite part… I’ve disgraced the Newton name.
All because I wore an outfit they didn’t approve of.
