Page 106 of Pack Scratch Fever
I decline the call.
The phone buzzes again.
I’m only putting off the inevitable. He’ll keep calling and calling, and the longer I put off answering, the worse his response will be.
Today is a good day. I can handle him.
Sighing, I answer the phone and let the call connect to the speakers in my car.
“Hello?”
“Oh, look who finally answered.” My dad sounds pleased, but it’s nothing but passive aggressiveness. I’m familiar with that tone, and it gives me the same sick feeling it always does.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Is this a good time? Or are you busy working?”
I exhale slowly through my nose.
It’s another one of my parent’s traps.
If I say it’s a good time to talk, it means I’mnotworking, which means they’ll ask why I don’t have a job. If Iambusy, then the next question would be with what, and then they’ll determine whether my means of employment is good enough in their eyes.
Running a cat rescue certainly is not good enough for Joseph Rhodes.
“I have a few minutes,” I say carefully.
“Good. I wanted to call to see how you’re doing.” His tone is clipped.
“I’m doing fine,” I say as politely as I can. I realize it comes out quicker than it should, and my dad catches on to it.
“Oh, so youdon’twant to talk to me?” he asks sharply. “Fine isn’t a good description, Piper, and you know it. If you want me to hang up, just say so.”
He’s set another trap with no right answers.
Fatigue settles in my bones, and I hang my head in shame. “I want to talk,” I mutter, lying through my teeth.
I should hang up and never speak to him again. Blair and I have discussed going no contact with both my parents, but I just can’t yet.
If I did that, I would also have to do that with my siblings, which would be more complicated.
So, for now, I just tolerate phone calls.
“Sydney bought a house,” my dad says. “Just closed on it, with Nolan.”
I roll my eyes. The last thing I care about is my sister buying a home. If she had wanted to tell me about it, she would have. The only time I hear from her is through a birthday or holiday text, and she doesn’t offer up any information about her life.
“That’s so cool,” I murmur, trying and failing to sound like I care at all. “Good for her.”
“Thirty-six hundred square feet. Five bedrooms, seven baths.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re still living in your apartment, huh?” He doesn’t hide the mockery in his voice or the obvious resentment he has for me. It echoes throughout my car and blares through the speakers. “With your grandpa’s inheritance?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes.”
I focus my vision on the cat rescue, dissociating by staring at Blair sitting at the front desk taking a call. Her brow is furrowed, and I wonder who she’s talking to.
