Page 48 of Edge of Unbroken

As soon as Vada drops me off at home, I get started on my lengthy list of homework assignments. Seems my teachers have decided to make senior year count rather than let us coast through it because the well of projects, reports, and presentations seems positively bottomless. I spend at least a couple of hours each day with my nose in my textbooks. Admittedly, it’s a pretty good distraction from my heart’s longing for Ronan, with whom I’m sure I’d be spending most of my afternoons and evenings were he still in New York.

I’m about to tackle one of my least-favorite subjects—calculus—when my phone buzzes on my desk.

“Hi Dad,” I answer his call, continuing to flip through my thick math book to find the pages I need to complete for class tomorrow. “This is actually great timing. I’m doing homework and I could really use you talking me through this problem I’ve had trouble with today.”

He chuckles. “Ah yes, my chance to flex my math superhero skills.”

I giggle at him. My dad is such a dork. I truly wonder how he landed a badass boss babe like my mom in high school. My mom has it all—the brains, the looks, the career. I mean, my dad holds his own, I guess. He’s obviously smart and he’s not bad looking by any means. He’s always been tall and trim, even in high school, but he was certainly no Ronan. He was nowhere near as conditioned and built as Ronan, nor does he have those distinctly masculine facial features, even now at twenty years Ronan’s senior. Ronan has the most amazing jawline with strong, hard lines, the most perfect lips—soft and full, a beautifully shaped cupid’s bow—and the most intense eyes that I swear have a way of looking directly into my soul. And don’t get me started on the rest of him. Ugh.

I inherited my dad’s height and blonde, wavy hair, but that’s about it. My grandparents often comment how I’m like my mom’s seventeen-year-old twin.

“Uh, sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” I say into the phone, smiling to myself.

“You deny my genius math skills?”

I laugh. “Not at all, Dad. I’m just not sure I’d call them ‘superhero’ skills.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah, okay, maybe that’s a bit pretentious. Alright, hit me with this math problem. We’ll walk through it.”

I spend the next twenty minutes working through various math problems with my dad. He really is great at this—always has been. I was actually in his AP math class when I was a sophomore and have always appreciated his ability to make even the most complex math concepts understandable to anyone. He was awarded teacher of the year a number of times, even on the state level. He’s accomplished in his own right, even though he doesn’t make nearly the kind of money my mom does. But whenever anyone asks if it bothers him that his wife makes more money than him, he laughs and waves them off. “My wife isn’t my competition. She’s my equal in everything. She chose a career she loves, and I chose one I’m passionate about. The money is secondary. Do what you love with the person you love by your side, and most everything else will fall into place.”

I’ve always loved how supportive he is of her. I only wish he was as supportive of me. Or maybe he is?

I shut my book and stretch my arms over my head, cracking my back in the process. “Thanks for the help, Dad. That made a lot more sense than when Ms. Brooks tried to explain it in class today.”

“Anytime, Kitty. Glad I could be of help. But you know there was an actual reason I called today.”

“Oh,” I giggle. “You didn’t just call to do my math homework for me?”

“Not entirely. So, I reached out to an old college buddy of mine, Vincent. He’s an English lit professor at Duke. He was obviously stoked to hear that my soon-to-be college freshman applied to Duke, and he agreed to give us an exclusive tour of the campus, maybe make some introductions with some folks who might have a little bit of input in acceptance decision-making?”

My brows knit together while my lips pucker. “Dad,” I just groan, letting my head fall into my hands.

“What? Connections only hurt those who don’t have them,” he says with a self-important chuckle.

“This… it’s so much pressure, Dad.”

“No, it’s not, Kitty. Your application is already in. You have the grades; you have the legacy; there’s no reason you wouldn’t get into Duke. I just want you to get the Duke experience without having to endure a freshman orientation tour,” he says, sounding decidedly lighthearted.

I submitted my application the day after my mom and I returned from North Carolina and it noticeably boosted my dad’s overall mood.

“Why are you so intent on me going to Duke? Every single one of the other colleges I applied to are great as well. Or are you going to try to tell me that Columbia doesn’t measure up to Duke?”

He’s silent. I know he’s trying to remain calm, to choose his words wisely. “Cat, I’m just not convinced you’ll do what’s best for you when the time comes. I worry that, if given the choice, you’ll go to some college because of your boyfriend. I don’t want you to regret your decision.”

“And any decision that would involve me wanting to stay close tomy boyfriendcan only be wrong. Is that what you’re saying, Dad?”

“No,” he growls, “that’s not what I’m saying, Cat. But I want you to at least consider all your options.”

“Sounds more like you’re trying to make the decision for me.” I’m annoyed. I’ve been annoyed by my dad a lot lately.

“Cat, this is not up for discussion, and I would appreciate it if you stopped having such a terrible attitude. You’d think I’m trying to ship you off to boarding school. All I’m doing is providing you with opportunities. Great ones at that. You know how many kids would kill for one-on-one introductions with some of the admission decision-makers at Duke?”

Guilt sweeps through me. He’s right. “Yeah,” I say, my voice small. “And I appreciate that, Dad—”

“Doesn’t sound like you do. You sound exceptionally ungrateful, and quite frankly, Cat, it hurts my feelings. I’m your dad. I never want anything but the absolute best for you.”

Yeah, except that we seem to have different ideas of what’s “best for me.”Or maybemyidea of what’s best for me is misguided? It was in the past, whereas my dad has never steered me wrong. But then again, isn’t that part of growing up? Being allowed to make mistakes, to make my own decisions and fail knowing my parents will be there to pick me up without making me feel like crap for making the mistake in the first place? My dad obviously doesn’t see it that way.

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