Page 23 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

He laughs. My eyes dart to him immediately, stunned.

I follow his movement as he paces back and forth, thinking. Suddenly, he slams his palms back on the table, creating a loud thud. My body jolts, sloshing orange soda onto the table.

“Damnit, Summer!” he yells. “You had everything going for you.”

My shoulders slump. “It wasn’t my calling, OK? I wasn’t happy.” I raise my hands in defense, struggling to get a good grasp on how I feel.

He runs his thumb across the gray stubble on his jaw. “It wasn’t your calling, huh? Tell me, what exactly is your calling? Running away with a lowlife singer and living happily ever after? Do you realize how successful you would have been? How great of a profession this was for you?”

The words replay in my head as my teeth clamp together. For some reason the only thing I can focus on is the immediate judgment of Alec. I mean, he might know Alec more than I do. Everyone in the town mostly knows of him. But a part of me feels angry because of that.

I shove my anger aside, knowing I need to focus on why my father is angry right now.

“That’s just it, Dad. It’s a great profession, yes. But it’s not the one for me. I was not happy. I don’t want to be a nurse. I never did. Everything was your decision.” I look down at the liquid on the table, feeling nothing but disappointment and self pity.

He wasn’t supposed to find out this way.

He shakes his head, flabbergasted, and points a finger at me. “If you think for one second, I don’t care, you’re mistaken. I do everything to look out for you. Everything your mother couldn’t do.”

My eyes shoot back to him, my mouth falling open. His words hit me like a brick to the face, causing my hands to clench into fists—so tight, my nails dig deeply into my palms. I push myself up from the chair, needing to move around.

“The way my mother couldn’t,” I repeat. “What exactly couldn’t my mother do?”

He sighs, running a palm down his face. “You know what I mean.”

“No… no, I don’t think I do. Please elaborate for me.” I cross my arms over my chest and wait. Except, he doesn’t explain.

My head shakes, disappointment growing deep inside of my stomach. “You know, Dad, you can be a real prick.”

I immediately regret saying that, but I can’t take the words back. I need to get out of this kitchen. I need space from this tension. I walk to the side of the table, preparing to leave, but Dad moves closer to me.

“That is no way to talk to your father!” he spits.

Anger bubbles up the center of my throat. “No way to talk to my father, right… I’m going upstairs.”

I storm out and head up the stairs. Dad calls my name, but I ignore him and head into my room. The lock clicks shut, and I lean against the door. Water trickles down my cheeks, hot and heavy.

And right now, I could really use one of Mom’s hugs.

Chapter Nine

Summer

My eyes slowly open, and I quickly glance at the clock on my nightstand: nine o’clock. It’s Friday morning. Dread washes over me, and I close my eyes, hoping I can drift back to sleep for the rest of the day.

It’s useless. There is no way I can go back to sleep knowing my mother’s funeral is tomorrow, and I have to start applying for jobs to save for my own apartment. I can’t live with Dad forever, and I need to start figuring out where I belong and what I was born to do.

Yet… I can’t seem to force myself out of bed.

A yawn falls from my mouth, and I rub the sleep from my eyes. I move onto my back and stare at the ceiling, which is a regular routine nowadays.

A light knock sounds on the door. It’s Dad. I know it is. We’re the only ones here now, and I want nothing more than to ignore him. I don’t think I can look at him the same after what he implied about my mother—his wife.

What did he mean when he said he was looking out for me the way she couldn’t? She’s my mom… I thought she kicked ass raising me. So, what is it that I don’t know?

Those questions have me climbing out of bed and answering the door. My eyes meet my father’s narrowed ones and drift to a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast in his hand. But that’s not what surprises me.

He’s not in his uniform. His face is freshly shaved and his neat gray hair is washed.

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