Hopeless Hero

nbsp; Alicia Joppa was mine once again. Mission accomplished.

CHAPTER 20

Alicia

“That was delicious,” I said.

My mom smiled appreciatively and began clearing the table. I moved to help her, but she waved me away. “Go sit with your father,” she said. “The two of you have barely talked since you’ve been here.”

She was right, but it didn’t make sitting back down at the table any easier. My dad looked up at me impassively. I slid into my chair and smiled tentatively, waiting for him to speak.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat loudly, “how are things at work?”

“They’re good,” I said, grateful he chose such an easy subject. “I’m busier than ever and the partners seem to really trust me now.”

“Well, that’s something,” he said simply. He took a sip of his iced tea and leaned back in his chair.

“It is,” I agreed. “When I first started, I only had one or two cases every six months. But now, they throw almost everything my way! I’m so busy that they actually had to hire an assistant for me.”

“Your mother told me. Some young guy. Aaron something.”

“Adam,” I corrected. “He’s great, Dad. You would really like him.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

We fell silent and I glanced around the kitchen. My mother was putting food away and Elizabeth was sitting across from me shoveling pie into her mouth so fast I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Slow down, kid,” I told her. She glanced up at me with narrowed eyes, but slowed her pace nonetheless. To be so young, she was already developing an intense attitude, but it was part of what made me love her so much.

“Knows what she likes, that one,” my dad said with an approving smile. “I bet you don’t eat like this in New York, do you Lizzy?”

“She eats fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. This was exactly why I didn’t want to sit and talk with my father.

“I’m sure she does,” he said quickly. “I’m just saying, she doesn’t eat like this.”

“The pie at Anderson’s bakery on 101st street is way better than this. No offense, Grandma,” Elizabeth said.

I fought back a smile.

“None taken,” my mom said with a chuckle as she placed the last piece of Tupperware in the fridge. “I’m not a professional baker or anything.”

“You might as well be!” my dad said. “I’ve never tasted anything better than your cooking. Not in all my life.”

“Don’t listen to your grandpa, Lizzy,” my mom said. “He likes to tease me.”

“What I like is to watch the Pats,” he said roughly. He checked his watch and stood quickly, kissing my mother swiftly before hurrying into the living room. Shortly thereafter, we heard the TV turn on and his recliner creak as he sat down.

I rolled my eyes, “Nice talk, Dad,” I mumbled under my breath.

My mother patted my shoulder and moved to sit beside me. “Don’t let him get to you. That’s just your dad.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier,” I said as Elizabeth resumed working on her pie.

“He loves you,” my mom said as if that made everything okay.

“But he isn’t proud of me,” I argued.

“Sure, he is. He just doesn’t understand your life.”