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“Really? Are you sure, darling?”
She’s fishing for something.
“What do you want, Mother?”
“Your father was out a few days ago with a friend. And he decided to visit the restaurant you work at with this friend. Imagine his surprise when he found that there was no restaurant there anymore. A fire, what a shame,” she says unsympathetically.
“Yes, Mom. My place of work burnt down.”
“And have you found new work since then?”
I grit my teeth. “No, I have not.”
“How sad. If you want, you can talk to your father. I’m sure he can pull some strings and find you a new job at a restaurant somewhere. Or you could stop this chef business and come work at his company instead. I’m sure you’ll find that the latter offer is much better.”
“No to both offers. I don’t need dad’s help finding new work. And I’m sure as hell not working for his company. That isn’t what I want to do with my life. I made that clear eight years ago when I walked out of your house, and I haven’t changed my mind since then.”
“I see you haven’t grown up.”
“I see you’re still living in denial,” I retort. “Tell me, Mom. This friend that dad wanted to bring to my restaurant, does she happen to be female? Blonde, fake boobs, too much make-up? I’ve seen tons of variations of them over the years, why haven’t you?”
“Don’t you dare, Juliette!” she says angrily.
“Don’t I dare what? It’s not anything I haven’t told you time and time again. I would say you deserve better but you quite like your situation. Spend all of his money and you’ll look away from all his infidelity. The two of you have no idea how much you’ve screwed me up, and yet you think you have any right, any say on what goes on in my life. I promise you, you don’t.”
She huffs. “I just wanted to have a civil conversation but you had to get all dramatic.”
“Yes, Mother. My trauma and problems are oh-so-dramatic. Anything else?”
“No. Goodbye.”
“Bye, Mom. Talk to you in three months. And greet Daddy dearest for me.”
I hang up and groan. Every conversation with her manages to rile my up in the worst way. A text from Lisabell distracts me.
Want to go to the Callahans’?
I text back an enthusiastic yes. I never in a million years would have thought that the name Callahan would be used in such a casual way in relation to me a plethora of times over the past few weeks. I hate to admit it, but I’ve grown extremely attached to the twins—and the free ice cream, of course.
I don’t see their dad often, and anytime I do, it feels like he’s putting up a lot of effort to keep his distance. He’s been civil, a little cold. The way I expected him to be before I even met him. But I’m not okay with the attitude. Maybe it’s because we had a conversation and it was great. Or maybe it’s because he promised me freaking swimming lessons and he hasn’t made good on that. And I was really looking forward to them.
The four of us are in the living room, watchingStranger Things, when Xander appears at the doorway. He’s in running shorts and a tank and my mouth damn near waters at the sight of him dressed so casually. There’s a bead of sweat running down his chest and my eyes zero on it.
How the hell does he look that hot after a run? If I tried to run, I would be a hot mess instead of just hot.
I’m distracted by Lisabell clearing her throat and jabbing her elbow into my side. Safe to say that pulls me out of my trance.
“Hey, Daddy,” the twins greet before turning their attention to their show.
“Good evening, Mr. Callahan,” Lisabell says. I give him a little wave because my throat is still a little dry at the sight of him.
He nods once before leaving.
“Holy hotness,” Lisabell states with a whistle.
Glad I’m not the only one that noticed.
“Are you talking about our daddy?” Madison questions.
