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“I skipped school one time, and you’ve never let me forget.” My glass drains, so I reach for the bottle and pour myself another. “I’m not failing. I’m doing pretty damn well, actually, and graduation will be a breeze.”
“Please don’t swear,” Mom mutters.
“I’ll believe that when you have a diploma in your hand. I don’t suppose you called Reginald? I told him all about you, and he was ready to interview but he told me you never got in touch?”
Oh, shit. Honestly, I’d forgotten about my father’s attempt to get me a job at some dusty law firm and winced inwardly, absently stabbing at my food. “I didn’t think the position was right for me.”
“What position are you looking for then? A decent job? Stable pay? A future?”
That was my dad gone. Once he started, it was better to just sit quietly and let him finish his rant about how I didn’t know anything about life, how I was careening toward disaster with no prospects. He always finished by reminding me that he wouldn’t be there to pick up the pieces when I failed.
Three glasses deep, his rant was over, and dinner was finished. My mother serves strawberry pavlova for dessert, and the tiny slice she gives me is her way of telling me to lose weight. I’ve always been a bigger girl, and it’s taken me a long time to learn to love myself, especially growing up in this environment.
Instead of eating the pavlova, I finish the bottle of wine by emptying it into my glass.
“Oh, before I forget.” Mom points her cream-streaked spoon at me. “Your father’s birthday is at the end of the month and we’re putting the final touches to the party. You’ll be there?”
She poses it as a question while her tone is clear that it’s a statement.
“Of course I will be.”
“Good,” Dad says. “We will have the party and then I want some time at the cabin with family and some close friends. You only turn fifty once.”
“The cabin?” I haven’t been there in so long, but taking that trip for my father’s birthday would be a good way to evaluate the condition it’s in so I can persuade Ana and Meghan to go there in the summer.
“Yes, is that a problem?” Dad asks.
“No,” I reply hurriedly. “I love the cabin, you know that.”
“More than you like it here,” Mom mutters under her breath.
I decide to ignore her. “It’ll give me a chance to take some really amazing pictures too, and then we can create an album for you to cherish.”
My wide smile at the idea fades quickly when my father sucks sharply on his teeth.
“You’re still messing around with that silly camera?”
“Yes.” My heart sinks slightly. “Still messing around with it.”
“You should know better. Something like that is a man’s hobby. You shouldn’t be taking pictures like that.” Dad’s spoon scrapes along his dessert plate. “I’ve told you before.”
“Do you want pictures of your birthday or not?” I snap slightly, fighting to control the rising heat of irritation.
“Pictures will be lovely,” Mom cuts in. “A few here and there couldn’t hurt.”
Knowing their reaction to something as innocent as birthday pictures is all I need to know. I can never tell them about my true desire when it comes to photography. I have always adored taking intimate pictures, particularly boudoir sets to help people look and feel their most attractive. Following that as a career, however, is a fading dream.
My mother would surely have a heart attack.
The rest of dinner passes quietly, with talk turning to the ins and outs of Dad’s birthday party. By the time my Uber arrives to take me home, my father has retired to his chair by the fireplace. My mother starts her usual pleasantries to ensure I’ll be back.
“You know we love you,” she says, clasping my elbow.
“I know. I love you too,” I say, even as my heart isn’t in it.
“You will be back next week?”
“Yes, I’ll see you then.”
