Page 19 of Slapshot Baby

Rage fills me. I clench my fists. Then I remember it’s my father, who doesn’t understand commitment.

"It's a six-figure renovation, Dad."

"Reschedule it, then." He says this like my career means nothing.

My eyes narrow.

"You can ask one of your staff to go in your place."

“The client wants to see me personally,” I retort.

“Think about it, Ava. I want to know what's going on with my girl.”

This is the thing about my father. He demands impossible attention because he wants a relationship he opted out of decades ago.

Then he sounds like I should be grateful he's asking.

I carefully unclench my fists and breathe in deeply to calm myself.

That’s when I hear Mom set down a plate on the table hard. Lucy, who has come back from the store, glares at Dad from the other end of the kitchen as she taps her foot.

“Stop trying to destroy my daughters’ careers, Dennis,” Mom says. “First Lucy, now Ava. Can’t you choose better times to reconnect with them?”

“If you’d just agree to accept me back, Joanie, we wouldn’t have this problem?” Dad replies.

“Don’t you Joanie me.”

"I'll think about dinner on Monday," I say, mostly to end their argument. I’m leaving this town on Sunday evening.

His face brightens like I've said yes.

“See you later, Joanie.” He pecks Mom and leaves.

A sickening blush appears on her cheeks.

I grab a glass of iced tea and excuse myself before dinner is even on the table, claiming I need air. What I actually need is to not watch her forgive him again.

I’m at the back porch steps when nausea hits me. It must be the California heat, which is heavier and stickier here. I press my palms against the wooden railing to steady myself.

I barely make it to the bushes before throwing up.

“Ava?”

Mom’s voice behind me is alarmed. Lucy holds me and pats my back. I wave them off, spitting and gripping the porch railing like it owes me something.

"I'm fine. It’s something I ate."

"You haven't eaten anything since breakfast," Mom says.

I straighten up. "It’s probably a stomach bug."

She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Her eyes are sharp and assessing.

"Have you been sick?"

"I'm fine."

"Nauseous?"