Page 133 of Sweet Caroline
Dad stands. “Alright, now stop being dramatic and calm down.”
“I’m not beingdramatic!” I grit out—okay, maybe a touch dramatically. “Grandpa doesn’t want to move to Seattle. Why would you think he would?”
“Of course we care about your grandfather,” Mom says. “That’s why we want to find him the best care possible. And, as for location, Seattle has more options and it’s more convenient. We’re here, and living in a care home won’t be that different for him, whether it’s in Lennox Valley or the city.”
“Lennox Valley is hishome.” I stare at my mother.Has she really forgotten growing up there?“Just like it’smyhome now.”
“Jesus,” is all my father says.
I round on him. “Don’t.”
“Caroline,” he says, having the nerve to sound exasperated. “The whole point of you moving there was to help George. That’s over now, so you can get back to reality. Back to your life here.”
“You think Grandpa was my only reason for moving away from here? Away from you?” I shake my head in disbelief. “I worked my butt off for you, Dad. For as long as I can remember. And it was never enough. I was suffocating here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “We gave you everything you could ever ask for.”
“Yeah, everything except your basic fucking respect.”
“Caroline,” Mom cautions. “Language.”
“Stop!” I nearly groan the word. “Stop trying to fit me into some neat little presentable box! In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an adult. I can manage my own life. So, unless you’re gonna support that, stay the hell out of it. I’m done with being your photo op or your…”—I search for the right term—“trophy child.”
“Trophy child?” Dad drags a hand through his gray hair. “And you think you’re not being dramatic. Unbelievable.”
“No, Dad. What’sunbelievableis how you can’t stop downplaying and undermining the life I’ve made in Lennox because you think this is some kind of childish rebellion. Or that you can get me back to doing your bidding. I’ve got friends, a home, a job, alifethere, Dad. People who actually care about me.Loveme.”
He holds up a hand. “If this is about that ridiculous fling of yours?—”
I scoff, his dismissive words only stoking my rage.
He raises his voice. “You think you’ve found yourself some fairy tale? He’s a drunk, Caroline!”
Hedidknow.
“He’ssober, Dad! No thanks to your cruel bullshit on election night! What iswrongwith you?”
“Caroline,” Mom cautions again, but I ignore her.
“I don’t know why you’re defending someone like him,” Dad says.
“Someone like him?” I echo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“As I’ve said, he’s not on your level. Our level.”
“Ifthis”—I gesture between my parents—“isour level? You can keep it. Hard pass.”
“Now, listen?—”
I cut him off, recoiling. “Onour level. Gross. What, like Fletcher? Look how that turned out.”
“It could have turned out differently if you hadn’t pulled this temper tantrum?—”
“He cheated on me! Repeatedly! And he barely made an effort to hide it. All I had to do was pick up his work phone and it was all there, plain as day. Real A-plus character, that Fletcher.”
“That damn phone,” Dad grumbles, sitting back down. “I always told him to be more careful with—” He cuts himself off and I stiffen.
“More careful with what, Dad?”
