Page 29 of Let it Breathe
11
Chai
Donovan endedup getting a car to take him home.
What would thatUbercharge be?
I avoided speaking to anyone as I retrieved my car from the parking lot down the street. It was a twenty-minute drive to my parents’ house on the south side of the vineyard. After yesterday, I needed the opportunity to explain Donovan. In those twenty minutes, I couldn't think of how to tell them I was going away with him.
I found my parents on the side porch. My dad read a book while my mom napped in a lounge chair with an open book on her lap.
"Hey, Mi Bella," Dad said, his booming voice filled the room. My mother gripped her book and sat up.
"Hi, Dad." I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. He pulled me back to kiss me on the other cheek, which caused my mother to roll her eyes. I crawled on the lounge chair next to her and laid my head on her shoulder. She ran her hands through my hair.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong?" I leaned into her.
"Because you're crawling in my lap like you did when you were a little girl."
I sat straight up.
"Okay. Out with it." She laid her book on the table. She grabbed a glass of wine and held it in front of me. I shook my head. She took a sip and settled back down.
"Did Dad tell you about Donovan?" I asked, staring down at the ground.
"Yes, he told me he came into the winery yesterday and said he wanted to invest in the vineyard. I think that's wonderful. I’ve always liked him. He seems like he has passion." She shook her fist at Dad.
"Claire, this morning you didn't even know who he was." She shook his head.
"Well, that's precisely what the Internet is for." Mom slid her glasses off her nose and rubbed the spot between her eyes.
My dad rolled his eyes at her and turned toward me.
"Are you dating this fellow?" Dad asked.
"We are seeing each other. Sort of," I said slowly. "We met in San Diego."
"So he's not here to invest in the businesses?" he asked.
"Oh, no. He is, but that's not how we ended up together," I explained. "He wants to take me to the Super Bowl. We're leaving tomorrow."
"Are you asking for permission?" Dad asked.
I was twenty-six years old; I didn't need permission. "Maybe."
What my parents thought meant everything to me. My behavior reflected on them, and lately, I had crossed the line. Not that going away with a guy I met two weeks ago would bring it back to center.
"Why are you going with him?" Mom asked. "Do you think you need to in order to get his help to save the business?"
So much for my parents not thinking I'm a slut. If she thought I slept with him to get money, then technically, that made me a whore.
"No." I stood up. "God, no."
She waved her hands. The look on my father's face confirmed I hadn't misunderstood her.
"Darling," he said to my mother and frowned. "Mr. Bryant is a very nice man. He's rich, successful, and our daughter could do worse, I tell you. She needs someone who can take care of her. Provide for her. "
