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21
Willow
“Change out of the uniform. We’re visiting Dad,” Hillary orders while the cool air from the refrigerator fans my face.
I pluck up a Greek yogurt and close the custom cabinet door. “Correction, you’re visiting, your dad.”
With a sigh, Hillary leans a hip against the marble water countertop. “This isn’t you, Willow. We are family first. Not alienating this one and estrangement from that one.”
I rummage around in the silverware drawer. “My problem wasn’t with you, Hillary. Remove your blinders and remember who has always been there. Yo momma. Not Daddy. Where we’re from, you love God, then yo momma, and then mold everyone else to your personal specification.”
“Dad made a mistake. If you’d just talk to him.”
I ignore the twinge in my heart. I once was a daddy’s girl. Although Momma and I had our best chats as we helped maintain each other’s dreadlocks. You don’t miss Daddy, Lolo.
My arms fold. “Remember the lights going out suspiciously and Mom having to come up with this, that, and the other. She created outlandish stories.” I smile despite myself. Though Momma fell in love with the first handsome toad to catch her eye, she still earned a PhD in creative writing. She’ll probably pay student loans for the rest of our natural-born lives too.
“Oh, you’re dredging up old, old problems. What’s next, Willow?” Hillary continues to lean against the marble waterfall. “Momma created Dad too? Are we putting her on a pedestal at his expense? If I decided to get an advanced education, will Thad have breathed life into me, too?”
“Dad doesn’t get to put alcohol over the ones he loves—he’s lost all of my respect.”
“Ugh, you just don’t . . . You’re doing an excellent job at playing God, Willow. Super judgmental. Yet, you’re also a bit self-destructive. How’s that going for you?”
If only she knew how destructive. I ignore that thought. “You can’t even get Thad to help move Momma into nicer digs, Hil.” I glance around. Copper pots hang above us. There is shiny shit galore and not to mention the tennis court and lap pool out back. “With all the room here, Momma could have Dr. Eaton, eh, any physician attend her. We could keep her safe.”
“Extremely expensive, Lolo.” Hillary sighs. “And what do you mean safe? Orange Blossom has security. It’s safe.”
I let out an exasperated huff but say nothing. Until I have proof, I can’t risk telling what I know. “Well, Mom put Dad through college after he gave up alcohol the first time. She, also, was paying his most recent gambling debt and setting aside money for my graduation and starting college.”
“Yes!” Hillary cuts in, pointing a bottle of pinot at me. “That’s the sister I know. Graduating from high school. Not setting fires to high school stadiums.”
That was an accident.
“I remember our last fight. You begged to get a job.” She smiles softly. “Me, Dad, Momma, we said focus on running and school.”
“All I’m saying is,” I fold my arms, “when someone loves you, there’s no extent to that love.”
She mutters under her breath. “Humph, let me introduce you to one of my favorite songstresses, Feist. She’s got a perfect one for me and the hubs, entitled, ‘Limit to Your Love.’ ”
I’m not here for my sister and her white-girl music. I shuffle around the expansive kitchen, deciding not to call bullshit.
“Anyway, Willow, Dad’s at physical therapy today. We’re meeting for dinner.”
“You, Dad, Thad.” I rhyme with a chuckle. “Me and Momma, we good.”
Hillary pours herself a copious amount of Pinot Noir. “Just me and Dad, I suppose. Need a ride? The eatery is near Orange Blossom.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I refrain from suggesting Hillary check on Momma. “Ahem, I’m researching for a new project. I’ll pass. But nice to know you’re willing to be my chauffeur.”
Snorting, she struts out of the kitchen, wine in hand.
I head upstairs to the guest bedroom. I see a text message from a random three-two-three phone number. Cam?
My heartbeat ricochets, but in the end, I’m let down like usual. I should’ve known Camdyn wouldn’t be persistent and get my number.
I glance over my father’s text message: Would love to see you.
I pull out my laptop to work for a while. Around eight at night, I sneak downstairs for nourishment. I’ve zapped one of Hillary’s specially crafted frozen dinners. When I turn around with the healthy entree, my stomach bottoms out.
