Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MADISON

Jesus, I don’t want to do this. I pace the long hallway, biding time before facing the inevitable, my parents. I run my shaky hands along my skirt and take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders.

You’ve got this, girl.

With my head held high, I step to the dining room table and take my place. Stuffing and spice waft around me, creating an illusion of a peaceful, happy family. We’re anything but.

“You’re five minutes early,” Mom says as she sets the mashed potatoes and gravy boat on the table. Every year, she makes such a production of bringing the food to the table that one would think she cooked the meal herself. She didn’t. She never does.

“I’m ready to get started.” In more ways than you think. “Do you need help?”

“No. I have a couple of salads left to bring, and your father has the turkey.”

She skitters toward the kitchen. I sit in the throng of a chair and look around at the fancy place settings. The silverware gleams. The wine glasses sparkle. Even fresh flowers adorn the middle of the table. It’s a picture-perfect scene straight out of a home decor magazine. But it feels cold. Uncomfortable. I miss Amanda’s presence already.

Maybe I should’ve taken up Ryan’s offer to be here. Wouldn’t that have set off their minds? I almost laugh at the thought. If it wasn’t for the fear of retribution, I would’ve. But just his offering was enough to make me swoon. He hasn’t stepped foot in this house since his dad’s accident, and his willingness to be here proves he does care about me. A lot.

A pang of regret twists my stomach. At the beach, when he asked me what was wrong, I didn’t necessarily lie. I was worried about telling my parents, and still am, but that wasn’t the only thing bogging me down.

The fact that my best friend may move across the country doesn’t settle well with me. But I couldn’t tell Ryan that. I have to respect Amanda’s wishes and wait until she tells Blake. Yet another secret I have to keep. Secrets, secrets, and more secrets. It seems my life is full of them at the moment.

God, I don’t want her to go. But how can I tell her how much I’ll miss her without sounding selfish? She doesn’t even know about my relationship with Ryan.

Nobody does.

And that’s a shame because Ryan is the only good thing in my life right now.

My fingers run across the bulge in my pocket where the shell stays hidden. Calmness clashes with my nerves, edging out the win.

A small smile breaks across my face. The sincerity in his voice when he asked to be here made my chest tighten in a whole new way. I had to force myself to look away and focus on the waves crashing against the shore. Because the way Ryan looked at me was almost scarier than facing my parents. It was a look of determination and love. It was a look I could fall in love with.

If I’m honest, I already have.

“Here we go.” Dad places the turkey platter on the table, followed by Mom and her salads.

They sit on opposite ends of the formal dining table, with me in between. This arrangement always felt awkward and rigid.

“It’s a shame Amanda couldn’t join us this year,” Dad says, filling his plate.

“Yes, but it’s good that she visits her grandma. I suspect she doesn’t get that many chances,” Mom pipes in.

“No, she doesn’t.” I shift in my seat, delaying the inevitable.

“It’s nice that Blake has taken interest in her, but I can’t see the Morton’s putting up with that for long.” Dad’s statement is so matter of fact I choke.

“What does that mean?” He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. Can he?

“Honey, she’s hardly the pedigree of the Mortons. There comes a time when he’ll stop playing around and come to his senses. I do like Amanda, but she’s not a Morton.”

My fork drops. The turkey tastes like sandpaper as I process Dad’s words. How can he say that? They liked Amanda. Her work ethic. Her intelligence. They’ve done nothing but praise her. And this is what they think? That she’s not worthy of marrying someone with a bank account?

I rub the shell in my pocket, harnessing as much tranquility it’s willing to give.

If they think this about her, someone they liked, I have zero chance of ever pleasing them.

“I’ve decided to switch my major,” I say, letting the words hang in the air.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before the storm hits.

“What?” Mom’s voice is shrill, her face etched in disbelief. “But you’ve always wanted…”

“No, Mom,” I cut her off, needing her to understand. “Dentistry isn’t my passion. It’s yours.”

The accusation hangs in the air like a tangible thing. They draw back slightly.

“What field do you want to change to?” Dad asks after a moment of tense silence. His voice is calm, but his eyes are stormy.

I sit straighter, and with as much conviction as possible, I say, “Art.”

The veins on his neck bulge as he slams his fist on the table. “That drivel?”

There’s that word again. Reducing my talent to slander. But as the argument and the threats continued, I knew I had chosen the right path. Their disappointment is palpable, but so is my determination. I’ll never please them. So why try? I need to focus on myself. It’s my life to live, after all. I better embrace and make the most of it, or else I’ll end up with a life full of regrets.

“I can be an intelligent artist. Use that intelligence to make good business decisions.” It’s a compromise, but Dad doesn’t budge.

“There’s no way a daughter of mine is majoring in Art. That isn’t negotiable.”

“You’re right. It’s non-negotiable because it’s what I’m doing.” I rub the shell again, hoping to slow my quickened pulse.

“How do you think you’ll fund this adventure? How would you pay for your apartment?”

Tears spring to my eyes. I should’ve anticipated his threat to pull funding. It’s his only leverage. The apartment is paid for the year.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll make an Only Fans account to supplement tuition. Who knows? Maybe some of your club buddies may be clients.”

“Madison!” Mom exclaims, clutching her pearls.

“Don’t ever raise your voice to me again.”

“Or what? You’ll cut me from your will?” I shove my plate away. “Newsflash, I don’t want your money. I don’t want any of this.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Dad finally croaks out, his voice hoarse. He looks older suddenly, as if he had aged ten years in seconds.

“From me. The real me that you never bothered to know.”

Without another word, I push my chair back and stand up, my heart pounding as I make my way to the door.

I almost jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes with a text.

Ryan: How’s it going?

A strange fluttering overtakes my stomach. Ryan’s text feels like a lifeline I so desperately need.

Me: Need to see you. Meet me behind the mall in about twenty?

Nobody puts me first, and he just proved how much he cares.

“Where are you going? We’re not done.” Dad sets his fork down and steeples his fingers, but I’m halfway to the hallway.

“Out,” is all I say, and then I head straight to my room, grab my purse, and walk out the door. They can stew all they want. But I’ve had enough. I’m through with them telling me how to live my life.