A flash of hurt passes over his face before he nods. He doesn’t sit as he continues. “I just meant that I didn’t realize your mom would change so much after we agreed she should quit her job and stay home with you.”
Images of Mom these past couple of months flicker through my mind. She’s been so happy working at the art store and painting again. I can’t imagine herwantingto give up her job doing something she loved. “Did you both agree? Or did you make her quit her job?”
He scoffs. “Of course I didn’tmakeher. I just told her I thought it would be best ifyouwere her full-time job. Why should a nanny have raised you when your mom could contribute to our family in that way?”
“You can’t be serious right now.” I narrow my eyes at him.“Then why didn’tyoudo it? Why didn’t you give upyourcareer to raise me?”
Dad scoffs. “She worked at an art gallery, Ellis. She didn’t make enough money to support us. She barely made more than she did when she was selling her own artwork.”
“And let me guess, you made her give that up, too?”
“Again, I didn’tmakeher do anything. We both agreed that painting was more of a hobby, and it was important for her to get a real job. So she started working at the gallery—until we had you.”
I stare at him, suddenly feeling like a stranger to my own family. Like a spectator with a bird’s-eye view of my own life, seeing it from a whole new perspective, discovering the truth behind my parents’ dynamic.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Okay, so to be clear,” I say, “you made her give up everything that was important to her, everything that made her happy; then you decided you didn’t like who she became while she dedicated her entire self to raising me and supporting our family because you told her to;and thenyou started having an affair with a younger womanwitha career?”
The silence in our sterile apartment smothers me as the things I said to my mom swirl around in my head. I wasawfulto her.
“Ellie Belly…” Dad steps toward me.
“No. I’ve looked up to you my whole life, Dad. When you were too busy working when I was little, I became interested in whatyouwere interested in so you’d acknowledge me. I’ve beendesperatefor your attention for as long as I can remember. Striving to make you proud of me. Trying to be just like you.” I let my tears fallbecause I’m tired of trying to not be emotional for his sake. “I’m yourdaughter, and yet as soon as we were gone, you treated me like a client. Hell, if Iwerea client, I probably would have gotten a phone call that was longer than three minutes. And the worst part is that I became nothing but a nuisance to you because you were so wrapped up in yourgirlfriend. I mean, she’s the reason you told me not to come the night I wanted to visit, right?”
Dad looks at the floor but says nothing.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I walk over to the counter and grab my wallet and phone.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere that isn’t here.”
“Stay. I’ll cancel my plans with Catherine,” he says.
“No, don’t bother.”
Dad follows me as I head to the door. “Your mom told me she’s buying a house in Connecticut. I know you’re mad at me right now, Ell, but please don’t let that place derail you from the goals you’ve worked so hard toward.”
I stop at the door. With my back to him, I close my eyes, trying not to scream. “You blew up our family, and the only thing you’re worried about is whether I’m still going to get into Columbia?” I turn to face him, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the confident, invincible man I’ve always known. He looks… pathetic. I feel like, for the first time, I’m finally seeing my dad for who he really is.
He takes a step toward me. “Ellis—”
“No, Dad. I’m not interested in your advice, not if it gets me to where you are now.” I shake my head as I turn the doorknob.“I hope you miss Mom and me now that you’ve lost us. But, then again, I’m not sure you can miss someone you never really knew.”
I walk out and slam the door closed, leaving behind the person I spent my life loving most in the whole world.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I wait outside Fern’s apartment for forty-five minutes. When she finally pops out of the elevator, she’s apologizing a mile a minute for taking so long to grab us food. As soon as I see the containers from the Nervous Donkey in her hands, I start crying.
“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks, kneeling next to me.
“I’m so hungry,” I say. “You brought me takeout.”
She smiles softly. “I remembered you said you wanted to try this place. Judging by your panicked texts, I figured there was no time like the present.”
“Thank you,” I say through sniffles, climbing off the floor while Fern unlocks the door.
