Page 4 of Waiting for Acceptance
Leah
I am never ever going into the ER. I’ll just die.
Me
That seems rational.
I lock my phone and toss it on the bed, looking at the clock to see that I have exactly two and a half hours to get back to my room, shower, grab my coffee, and get my ass to the airport. Today I am thankful for the TSA pre-check and dry shampoo.
CHAPTER 1
LAUREN
Dinner at my parent’s house is a quarterly occurrence that I would willingly throw myself down a flight of stairs to avoid. Even though they would probably only visit me in the hospital to tell me how disappointed they are that I fell down the stairs the one night I was supposed to see them. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be in a coma and won’t be able to hear their list of disapprovals. I’m not sure why I’m even playing out this fantasy scenario while I’m sitting in my car safe and sound in front of their house, two minutes away from walking into the passive-aggressive war zone.
It’s been a month since I got a phone call from my mother asking me why I wasn’t promoted when Jack, the owner of Coleson Realty, stepped back from running things in our office. I was at a very exclusive real estate conference when I got the call and no matter the fact that I got chosen to go in place of Marcus, Jack’ssonand the one who was given the position, my mother was asking—nay, interrogating—me about, it still wasn’t a big enough accomplishment to appease the perfect Mr. and Mrs. Long.
Anna and John Long have standards that Jesus himself couldn’t even meet. Well, he may be the only one—regardless, they’re standards I knowIwill never meet, but that doesn’t stop me from trying…apparently. Because every time I try to tell myself I’m not playing theplease the parentsgame, I find myself wondering if they’ll be proud of my accomplishments.
Spoiler alert—they never are.
“How is work?” my father asks from his place at the head of the table. The ever-present pit in my stomach grows when the conversation begins. Because no matter what answer I give, or how well I think I’m doing, it won’t be enough. I would have to tell them I’d completely taken over the company, sold every house on the market, and that they were renaming itLauren Long Realtybefore I got even a nod of approval out of them.
“Work is good. The conference I attended last month was very exclusive and I was one of two agents from my firm that were picked to attend.” I push my food around my plate, no longer hungry as I try, yet again, to say something they’ll be impressed by.
“To help you see where you could be improving?” my mother asks, and I narrow my eyes. Her long dark hair is twisted halfway up, the rest falling down her back, stopping right at her shoulder blades.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? You don’t know for sure?” My father asks in surprise.
“Luther and I are the best agents Coleson has. I highly doubt they would have chosen us to go if it were to help improve our performance.” My father hums and my mother wears a look of worry that makes me roll my eyes.
“What, Mother?” I ask, causing her to purse her lips.
“I would check if I were you. You’d hate to think you’re doing so well, to be left without a job.” I slump in my chair, exhausted from the evening already.
“I won’t be left without a job, Mom.”
“You always have a place at the firm with your father if things go south.”
“I won’t be left without a job!” I repeat. Jesus, it’s like talking to a brick wall.
“Lauren, do not speak to your mother that way.” I grind my teeth together when my father raises his voice at me.
“Sorry.” I sink into my chair, watching my mother out of the corner of my eye. She’s the most beautiful woman I know—with dark hair, blue eyes, and the softest features that only seem to harden when I’m around.
“You know I’m only looking out for you, Lauren. Your father and I just want to ensure you’re doing your best.” I almost choke trying to cover up the scoff that escapes me.
We used to enjoy each other’s company…right? I’m not even sure when things started to change at this point, but one day we stopped laughing together and she only ever seemed to care that I wasdoingmy best, and not actuallyatmy best. It’s been so long since the people I care about most have even asked me how I’mdoing in regards to my well-being and not my work, that I wouldn’t even begin to know if Iwasif they did.
Am I okay?
“You would do well to remember who you are and show some respect to me and your mother when you’re in this house.” My father raises a brow at me, scolding me with just a simple look. I check my watch, seeing that it’s finally eight o’clock on the dot. The extent of my required time to stay for dinner is officially up. I pull my napkin from my lap, wiping the corners of my mouth before placing it on my plate of almost untouched food.
“Yes, sir.” I stand and wash my plate, cleaning up after myself as always before telling them goodbye and that I’ll see them in a few months.
How is it I feel completely drained and knocked down about a thousand pegs with so little being said? I get in my car and take a deep breath, only to be surprised by a rush of tears flooding my eyes on the exhale. I shake my head and start my car, blinking them away furiously, refusing to actually cry over them. There have been dinners much worse than this one when I held my composure, tonight will not be the night I let it go. I pull out my phone and text the only other person I know will understand what I’m going through, or at least onsomelevel.
