Page 26 of Told You So
I stop in the doorway. I know big-wig investor and hard-ass extraordinaire, Charles Fairchild, doesn’t want to have a father-daughter moment, so I brace myself best I can and slide my armor into place for his impending lecture.
“What is this your mother tells me about your grades slipping?” He stares at me, expectant. I like it better when he’s busy shuffling through paperwork.
“They’re fine,” I tell him, my first mistake.
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
He sits back in his chair. His gray hair is slicked back, and I can smell his expensive aftershave. It’s probably the most comforting thing about him. “I told you when you double majored this wasn’t going to be easy for you.”
“Yeah, I remember the vote of confidence.”
“Well, is it?” he counters.
“No, it’s college. It’s not supposed to be easy.” I can’t help my tone, even if I know how this is going to end. I hate bullies, and my dad is a bully of the worst kind because I can’t escape him.
“You’re right, it’s not, and by doing exactly what I told you not to do, you’ve set yourself up for failure.”
“Bs aren’t the end of the world, Dad. They’re above average—they’repassinggrades.” And there’s my second mistake. Mediocre is unacceptable in my house, that’s why Jesse and I are both black sheep; we’re both less-than in his eyes.
Shaking his head, he clasps his hands in his lap. “So,” he says, deceptively calm. “Averageandfineare still words in your vocabulary, I see.”
My hands clench to fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I try and fail not to bite my tongue. “It’s better than failing,” I point out to him.
He glowers at me. “Well, Beth, when you’re forking out $20,000 a year for your brother’s private school and $35,000 a year in college tuition, you can stand there and tell me what’s acceptable and what’s not. You wanted to do both of these programs, even though I told you it was too much for you. You promised me you would make it work, that I wouldn’t be disappointed, yet here we are.” He rests his elbows on his desk and exhales like his life is so painfully hard, like my average grades are a blight on his existence—likeIam.
His stare cuts into me and his attention burns, just like his constant disappointment.
Like so many times in my life, anger gets the better of me, and I take a step closer to him. “So, you’re upset because I have a jobandI’m double majoring while sustaining a B average?” I clarify and grit my teeth.
“Watch your tone.”
“How is it that we’ve all failed you so miserably? We do everything to please you, and God knows, Jesse and I try. Even Mom does. Yet, we’re all failures in your eyes.” I throw my hands up. “I’m not sure why we even bother.” A voice in the back of my mind is telling me to reel the anger in or he’s going to explode, but everything about him enrages me. His presence alone makes my mom look like Parent of the Year. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you want fromme,Beth? Do you want me to be easy on you so that you have more time to party? So that you don’t have the pressure of keeping your grades up and actually doing something with your life? Why is it that everyone in this house thinks that I owethemsomething. After everything I’ve done for all of you.”
“What is it that you give us, exactly? Money? Because it’s not love and affection—you can’t even make it home for family dinners. I don’t want your money, if you’re going to hold it over me the rest of my life.”
He stands up, leaning his fists on the desk. “That’s enough,” he warns. The papers crinkle under his weight. “If you don’t want my money, then pay for grad school on your own.”
I swallow the prickly ball rising in my throat. I’ve been expecting this—wanting the liberation of it, in a way—but the logical part of me wonders what I’ve just done.
“Do whatever you want, Bethany,” he says, cinching the knot rapidly forming in my stomach. He sits back down, no longer able to look at me. “If you don’t care about your grades, then neither do I.”
His easy dismissal of me and my life is like a serrated edge against my skin. It cuts and aches, and I want to scream.
“Close the door on your way out.”
Without a word, I slowly turn for the door. I don’t want to cry over him, not anymore, and I hate that I can’t stop the tears from forming.
I close the door and stand outside his office for a minute, numb and exhausted from this constant battle. I’m not so spoiled that I don’t know other people put themselves through college all the time—students who have it harder than I do. I could figure out a way to pay for school without him, even if putting my apartment on hold for a little while was the compromise.
Straightening, I take a deep breath, but it hitches when I notice my mom, standing in the kitchen watching me. Ignoring the tears quickly forming, I walk past her and up the stairs. I’m about to shut myself inside my room when Jesse opens his bedroom door.
“Beth,” he whispers. There’s concern in his voice, even if his face shows no sign of it.
I smile, hinging it into place. “Hey.” I walk over to where he hangs out the doorway and rumple his hair. “I was just going to find you.”
