“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots, old man.” I scoff at him, leaning back in my seat and leveling him with a snotty glare. “I’m an adult. Try to smack me, and I’ll press charges.”
Dad’s bushy brows raise so far up on his forehead that it looks like they’re trying to mesh with his hairline. His red-faced anger evaporates in the course of a moment, and that’s how I know I really made a misstep. Goddamnit, it’s not an argumentanymore. Now it’s a battle of wills, and he’s the only person I know who’s as stubborn as I am.
“Well, then,” he says tightly, forcing a smile to his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Maggie, you’ve always been my baby, and I keep forgetting you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re an adult, right?”
I narrow my eyes in distrust at his reasonable tone, not liking the shine in his eyes. Time to backpedal before I get myself into real trouble.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Dad,” I say, sweetly. Kissing his ass like this is something I hate, but I know better than to keep pushing when Dad changes his mind. “I’m grateful for the trust fund, really. I’m not trying to take it for granted, but I don’t want it to go to waste.”
“Ah, well, I’m glad you don’t want to fight,” he says, just as sweet. “It’s silly for us to argue like this when you’re an adult, don’t you think?”
I glance over at Mom, suspicious of Dad’s sudden change of heart, but her face is totally blank as she looks at her laptop. I don’t trust it, but maybe Dad truly just doesn’t want to fight. It wouldn’t be the first time he jumped ship when things got too heated between us, but it’s the first time he’s been so amenable about it.
“Yeah,” I say, hesitantly. “I’m glad you understand, Dad.”
He smiles brightly, and my gut drops at the amusement glittering in his eyes as he reaches out to clap a hand over my shoulder.
“Me too, Magnolia. I thought we’d never see eye to eye.”
“Thanks for agreeing,” I say, still glancing between him and my mom. I feel like I’m digging myself deeper into a hole, but I have no clue what the glint in Dad’s eyes means. “So I can have my trust and go to California?”
Dad laughs loudly, a hand over his gut. He tosses his head back as he chuckles, his bushy facial hair quivering with his laughter.
“Your trust?” he asks through a wide grin. “Magnolia, you just said you’re an adult! You can handle yourself, can’t you? What would you need that trust fund for?”
My stomach drops straight through the floor. Dad shares an amused glance with Mom when she looks up from her laptop, and my slim hope that she’ll put a stop to this crumbles away like dust.
“Since you’re grown, you can get a job and start working!” he says, clapping me on the shoulder so hard it rocks me in my seat. “Or you can even go to school, apply yourself. That’s whatgrown folksdo.”
He doesn’t call me a little shit, but it rings loud and clear in the expression of triumph on his face. He can’t be serious.
It’s my turn to gape at him like a fish out of water. An awful squeak of utter terror escapes my mouth as I stare at him, hoping against hope that he’s joking. Sure, I pushed more than I should’ve, but this iswaytoo far.
“Wait, Dad, I?—”
“That sounds like a good idea to me. Don’t you think, honey?” he asks Mom.
I watch, devastated, as Mom’s lips twitch in amusement.
“I think it might be good for her,” she agrees.
“I’m right here!” I screech. “You’re acting insane! Why would I work when I have a trust fund? That’s crazy!”
“A trust fund?” Dad muses, scratching lazily through his beard. “No, I don’t think that’s on the table. I’ll just change that so you don’t have access until you’re twenty-five. It’ll give you some time to prove you’re such a grownup.”
Horror rockets through me at the very thought. Twenty-five? I’m only barely nineteen now. I can’t wait that long to get astart on my life. Besides, what the hell am I supposed to do in bumfuck, Montana for six more years?
Lucky me, Dad has an answer to that.
“You can either go to school and apply yourself, or get a job,” he says, sounding far too happy with himself. “I don’t care what you go to school for, and I’ll even give you a small allowance while you’re in classes. I’ll monitor your spending, but you’ll be able to do what you want for the most part.”
I try to argue, absolutely aghast at the suggestion, but he talks right over me.
“If you choose to work, I’m willing to find you a spot on the ranch.” He smiles vindictively at the ghostly look of dread that settles on my face at the very idea. “Or you’re always welcome to find a job for yourself, if that’s not appealing.”
I look to Mom for support, but she’s pointedly buried nose deep in her laptop, offering no help at all. That tiny grin still tugs at her lips. Oh, I’m so fucked. I want to gag at the thought of working on the ranch. Mud and dirt and cow shit? No fucking thank you.
“You can’t make me,” I say. It sounds weak, even to my own ears.
