I don’t bother stopping her or making another suggestion. Palmer will do whatever she wants because she’s just that way. Same as me. I’m stubborn. So is Palmer. So is our father. One lovely trait we got from him.
I wander into my bedroom and flop onto the bed, grateful for my old, fluffy comforter Dad got me when I turned sixteen. We didn’t go live with Mom in the divorce. She went back to New York, where she’s from, and Palmer and I both balked when she tried to get us to go with her. We didn’t want to leave our school, our friends. Dad hired a cutthroat attorney when they were fighting over us and money, and Mom didn’t stand a chance. We used to go visit her, but once I graduated high school, I stopped going. So did Palmer. She refused to go if I wouldn’t go with her.
Now we get Christmas and birthday cards in the mail, but that’s about it. She’s too busy traveling with her various lovers, spending my dad’s money.
This is why I said ‘love is for pussies’ to Tony. I still can’t believe those words dropped from my mouth to a guy I only just met. And I sort of felt bad for offending that woman sitting in the waiting area with us, but it was also incredibly liberating. To finally admit my feelings about love. Because that’s really how I feel.
Love sucks.
My best friend Gracie says this is why I can’t commit to guys. We’ve been in college for two years together, clicking right away when we were roommates in the dorms our freshman year. Talk about getting lucky. We’re also both liberal arts majors, and we have a lot of classes together. We joke how miserable we would be if we hated each other.
Because we so would be.
I know Gracie’s right. I don’t like serious relationships because I never believe it’ll work out. Look at my parents. The last three years they were together, they despised each other. The fighting was so out of control. Mom called the cops on Dad three times. Dad put Palmer and I into therapy. It was a mess.
Life is messy. Love is even messier. I like things clean and orderly. Pretty, even. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to Tony earlier. He is flat-out pretty.
Not that he’s feminine. He’s just the personification of male beauty. All that unruly black hair that fell into those dark, mysterious eyes. His sculpted lips. If my memory serves, he even had a tiny dent in his chin.
I bet it’s kissable, that dent.
Suddenly feeling restless, I head downstairs to talk to Dad about what we’re doing tonight.
“Country club dinner, Hay,” is what he tells me when I find him in his study, sitting in front of his giant iMac and nursing what looks like a scotch on the rocks. “This evening I want to show off all my girls.”
I make a face behind him, and somehow, he spots me. “Don’t look like that. It’ll be fun.”
My gaze drifts, locking on the window where I can see my own reflection. I roll my eyes at myself and Dad smiles. He’s watching the window too.
“I’m twenty years old,” I remind him. “You don’t need to show me off to your cronies.”
“I show off Lauri and Palmer all the time. Since you’re never around anymore, you’re the one I want to show off the most.” He smiles. Rattles the ice in his glass before he takes a sip, his gaze locking on mine in the window’s reflection. “Despite the fact that you want to be a teacher.”
I reach over and tug on the ends of his hair, making him yelp. “Being a teacher is a noble profession.”
“Being a teacher is a thankless job. Snot-nosed kids hanging all over you all day and ungrateful parents complaining to you how you just don’t understand Johnny when he bullies all the other kids.” Dad shakes his head, setting his glass down before he whirls around in his office chair to face me. “All for approximately fifty thousand dollars a year, and that’s if you’re lucky. How a
re you going to live on a wage like that?”
“I know I won’t be living around here.” The housing market in San Francisco and the Bay Area is ridiculously expensive. “Besides, I have you to help me,” I say smugly.
Deep down, I don’t mean it. I want to survive on my own, without Daddy’s money. I want to be independent, unlike my mother, who is still on Dad’s bankroll despite the fact she hasn’t been married to him for years.
I refuse to live that way. Before I marry a guy—if I ever marry one because my views on love don’t romanticize that situation whatsoever—I want to make sure I’m completely independent and can take care of myself.
I don’t need a man. Not now.
Not ever.
“Looks like I’ll be cutting you off at twenty-one,” he says lightly, but I can tell by the darkness of his eyes that he halfway means it.
“And I’m totally kidding.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive. I should’ve never said I have him to help me. “I can make my own way.”
He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sure you can. You’ll find some pretty boy at the country club tonight and end up marrying him. He’ll be rich as hell thanks to his father, and you’ll both be set for life. That’s my prediction.”
Anger makes my blood run hot and I drop my arms, clenching my hands into fists. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to marry some rich, sexist asshole, especially because I don’t plan on ever getting married.”
“Uh huh.” Dad’s smug expression sort of makes me want to sock him in the face. “Just watch. I know how this goes.”