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18
Jezebelle held onto her dad for a moment longer than she normally did. No words were spoken between them yet besides ‘Hi, pumpkin’ and ‘Hey, Dad.’ The moment she let go, she’d have to do the hard talking and she wasn’t ready. Her dad had other plans.
He pulled away, smiled at her, and then gestured at the table. He had requested a table in the back of the restaurant for privacy. Her father didn’t raise his voice, but he could get his point across with the sharp tip of his tongue.
“How was the week with your mother?”
She barely resisted rolling her eyes. “That’s what you’re starting with?”
“I’ve heard her version. I want to hear yours.”
The waitress came by, and since she hadn’t had a chance to look at the menu, they ordered drinks and asked her to give them a few minutes. Maybe she shouldn’t have, but she ordered a mimosa. She hoped it was more Prosecco than orange juice.
“It was a nice week.”
Her father’s brow rose with skepticism.
“Besides the parts where Mom wants me to do everything I don’t want to do, it was fine. Oh, and her bringing Bradley and trying to ruin my relationship. Totally nice week.”
“Your mother only wants what’s best for you.”
How did she say this without hurting his feelings?
It wasn’t possible.
“I won’t be happy at the law firm, Dad.”
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “I know, pumpkin. I thought I’d let your mother do her thing, but I know. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”
Ugh. He didn’t realize it, but he was digging in a knife and twisting and turning and hurting her with his words. Why did he have to be so understanding? It made her feel worse inside for rushing and jumping into marriage without telling them.
“Your mother will come to understand that as well.”
This time she did roll her eyes. “I highly doubt that.”
Before her dad could respond, the waitress came back with their drinks. Her first sip went down smooth. That woman would be getting a huge tip from her because the mimosa was just how she wanted it. A touch of orange juice with a glass full of Prosecco. Very intuitive woman to know what Jezebelle wanted without saying so.
“Who is this man you married? Your mother didn’t have many nice things to say about him.”
Of course she didn’t. Jezebelle knew even before her mother met him she wouldn’t like him. Because he wasn’t part of her crowd. Money, prestige, clean-cut like Bradley.
She took another sip, trying to get a hold of her emotions. They were suddenly doing somersaults and cartwheels, making her dizzy and close to losing her balance. Her tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip, then her lip wobbled.
“Pumpkin…”
A lone tear slid down before she could prevent it. She wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry I did what I did. It was just…”
How did she explain it felt so right? That, in the moment, when she teased Brick about getting married it had more to do with pissing off her mother than wanting to get married so soon. Yet, as soon as he warmed to the idea and they decided to do it, it felt nothing but the right thing to do. She loved him. She knew she’d always love him, and why wait when you loved someone so much?
“You’ve always had a free spirit, Jezebelle, more so than your siblings. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m proud of you and what you’ve accomplished.”
She wiped another random tear away and produced a small smile. Words she loved hearing, and her dad was good about that. Her mother, on the other hand, never said she was proud of her. Always wanting more. Always wanting the unattainable. It was exhausting trying to get her approval.
“Yet you’re disappointed in me.”
He tilted his head as if trying to find the right words. “I’m sad I missed such a momentous moment in your life.”
She was sad, too. Having her family there hadn’t crossed her mind because she knew if her mother would’ve gotten wind of it, she would’ve stopped it. Being married to Brick was one of the best things she had ever done, even if it had been an impulsive decision.
