Page 142 of If Ever

"Your bully lawyer wouldn’t release my money until I needed it for my college tuition," she snaps. "I worked thirty hours a week during high school, because you refused to take my calls for help."

His face turns red. Whether it’s from embarrassment or guilt for his actions it’s hard to say. Chelsea's anger is growing and her fierce words getting louder. My own outrage is building, and I'd like to deck him.

"Listen, Chelsea. I know this is difficult for you to hear—” He pauses as if considering his words. “But you were an unfortunate accident that happened while I was in graduate school and met your mother. I tried to do the right thing by her. I really did, but it was never going to work."

Chelsea's face is stricken; she fights to hold herself together.

He moves to leave. "I'm sorry things didn’t go better for you. I truly am. But I must go."

Pain darkens her eyes. I step forward and meet the man eye to eye. "Sir, I think, all things considered, you owe Chelsea a few minutes of your time."

"And you are?" He tilts his head condescendingly.

"I'm a man who stands by your daughter."

He sighs and turns his attention back to Chelsea. "You're dating an actor?" he asks, as if I'm a second-rate loser.

She nods.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as if this conversation is taxing. "And are you in college?"

I'm not sure if he actually cares, or is just trying to get the formalities out of the way so he can escape. I see Chelsea's anxiety. She wants this man to like her.

"No, I have my degree in international business."

He startles and looks at her with a bit of respect. I want to say, "Take that, you son of a bitch."

"And you work here in New York?"

Chelsea hesitates. "Um, no. I left my job to be on Celebrity Dance Off."

His forehead creases. "I don't know what that is. You're a dancer?"

She shifts from one foot to the other. "Well, no. It's a reality show—"

He frowns. "You have a college degree, but quit your job, and now you're on one of those ridiculous reality shows?" He shakes his head and now I really want to give him a piece of my mind. A flush creeps across her cheeks and she swallows.

"Robert," his wife interrupts in a sharp tone. "The car is here."

"Well, then." He pauses and looks at Chelsea for a few seconds as if at a momentary crossroads. He clears his throat. "I wish you the best."

And he moves past, disappearing around the corner. Chelsea darts after and I follow, only to see him exit the restaurant.

"Wait!" she calls, but he either doesn't hear or doesn't care. Outside he hustles into a black town car.

"Please, Dad. I only want to talk," Chelsea cries out.

He closes the door, but his window glides down. "I'm sorry, Chelsea. You're part of my past. It's best we leave it that way."

"No!" She cries.

He frowns. "What is it? Do you need money?"

She startles. "I don't want your money."

"All right then. There's really nothing more to say." He looks forward, his window closes and the town car pulls away.

Chelsea stares as he disappears in a sea of taillights and exhaust.

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