“You know why,” I said quietly.
“You’re fourteen, not a kid anymore. Tell your dad you want to go to school. You’re such a freak I don’t know if you’ll make friends, but maybe there will be some other freaks who will like you. I’m serious, Ash…”
There it was. The arrow that shot right to my heart and made me realize all my poking at Marc was worth it. Because every once in a while, he called me Ash.
No one called me Ash. I was Ashleigh to my father, my tutor, my nurse and my doctor. Peanut to George, but that didn’t really count.
I was Ash only to Marc. Who made me think of kissing and made me aware of my nipples and was mostly mean to me…but sometimes not.
“I’ll try,” I told him. I hadn’t had a serious attack in years. The thought of going to school was scary as heck, because he was right. Most kids would know me as a home-schooled freak. Still, it would be better than what I had now.
If we were at the same school, I would get to see him more than at home and at his soccer games.
“You should. Otherwise this estate is going to be your whole life, princess. And that would suck.”
I was rich. I had a big house and father who would give me mostly anything I wanted. My life shouldn’t suck.
Only Marc was right. It kind of did.
* * *
Later that night
Ashleigh
Daddy was home tonight, and, when he was home, I was expected at dinner. At seven o’clock sharp I arrived at the table wearing a proper dress for the occasion. My father did what he usually did, which was to size up my appearance then grunt his approval.
We didn’t talk much at these dinners. Mostly because I had nothing to talk about other than Marc, and I was supposed to barely admit he existed. Anytime I did mention Marc, it irritated my father.
It was so bad George had to ask me never to discuss Marc with my father. It was my father’s wishes that we didn’t interact, so as far as he was concerned, we didn’t. And we probably wouldn’t have, if I wasn’t always forcing the issue.
Today Marc had to talked me. Had given me advice like I mattered. Like he cared. It was enough of a boost of courage to push me to ask for what I wanted, and what I wanted was to be normal.
“Daddy, I was thinking now that I’m older…I should go to high school.”
He lifted his eyes above the glasses he now wore to see his food more clearly. My father was significantly older than most fathers of teenagers. He was turning sixty next year. I was a child from his second marriage. My mother was twenty years younger than him.
He was still handsome in the traditional sense. Always impeccably dressed, hair and nails trimmed, fit physique, but there was no getting around the white hair that signified his age.
“No,” was his abrupt answer.
That response was expected, but I’d learned throughout the years that getting what I wanted was all about perseverance and timing, with some stubbornness thrown in for good measure. It was basically the same approach I was using on Marc to get him to fall in love with me.
It was how I’d been allowed to go see Marc’s soccer games.
“I have to start thinking about college. Going to high school would help me learn how to acclimate socially. Also, it would enable me to take AP credits, which I’ll need if I’m going to be accepted at Princeton.”
Princeton was Daddy’s alma mater, and when we spoke of colleges, we spoke only of Princeton.
He lifted his head again and shook it. “Your health is too delicate.”
“I haven’t had an attack in years.”
He sighed. “Ashleigh, I don’t have you home schooled to isolate you, I do it to protect you.”
“I know. I just think, at some point, I’m going to have to be…exposed to other people. I have to know how to speak to, and how to act around, other kids my own age.”
He focused on cutting the filet on his plate, then pointed his steak knife at me. “Kids your age are horrible creatures. They’re mean, ruthless even. And the boys… I don’t even want to think about the boys. I’m doing you a service by keeping you away from all that.”
I didn’t press the issue further. It would only make him angry and I would get nowhere. No, I knew this was going to be a drawn-out battle that would take time.
Time, which was on my side. It might take months but eventually, I would wear him down. Then I would have some time attending the same school as Marc. Where he might finallyseeme.
But beyond that, everything I’d told my father was true. I did need to be with people my own age. I needed to socialize. As Marc would put it, I needed to grow up.
It was odd, but in so many ways, it felt like that was the opposite of what my father wanted. Which didn’t make sense. What parent didn’t want to see their child grow and flourish?
No, I needed to play the long game with this. In the end, I had no doubt of the outcome. I didn’t fight often, but when I did, it was because it meant that much to me.
