Page 22 of Even Exchange

“You also can’t hit him with your car, have him arrested, or drop a bag of flaming shit from your airplane.” I reconsider. “Actually the last one would be pretty cool.”

He sighs, a frown present. “He must’ve really messed up, huh?”

“Big time.” I knead my knuckles into the dough, contemplating telling him.

Typically, I keep everything relationship-related bottled up, because if Jonathan and I got in a fight, I always forgave him, but I learned early in our relationship parents don’t forgive as easily. And they certainly never forget. Dad still brings up the time Jonathan left me stranded at a party and I had to call him for a ride.

And I damn sure never told Dad about Halloween.I’d dare to say Noah was furious enough for the both of them.

But I don’t foresee myself forgiving Jonathan this time, which is why I admit, “He cheated on me.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dad mumbles under his breath, pushing off the counter. “Is he in town?”

“Dad,” I say firmly, stopping him from grabbing his keys. “He’s not worth your time. Or mine.”

“Not worth my time?” Dad fumes. “He disrespected my daughter! He needs to be reminded of his manners. Linda raised him better than that.”

“It’s not her fault,” I say, referring to Jonathan’s mother. “It’s his. And I just want to move on.”

He releases a heavy breath. “If you change your mind, you’ll let me know?”

“I will.”

Two beeps from the security alarm sound, paired with the creaking opening and closing of the front door.

“Hi,” Mom says, walking into the kitchen with a practiced smile, setting her purse on the counter. My eyes widen at the small patch of flour next to it. Her gaze follows mine, noticing the same. “Charlie,” she snaps, snatching up the bag and dusting it off. “How many times do I have to tell you not to get flour all over the house when you bake your little cookies?”

“Sorry, I was jus?—”

“It’s fine.” She waves me off with the flick of her wrist. “I’m glad you’re here.” Hope blossoms within me.Is this actually going to be a nice visit?“We need to discuss the email I received regarding your declaration of major.” And the hope shrivels up like a sun-dried tomato.

My mother really needs to be removed from my campus email updates, but she says,“If I pay the bills, all communications come to me.”

I was hoping I could approach the subject before she got the chance, hence the dinner request. “What is there to talk about?” I ask, buying time to rethink my game plan.

“For starters, you can explain why you’re confirmed as majoring in early childhood education.” Her jaw is tight, furious eyes holding mine.

My heart races. “Because that’s what I chose.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, brows shooting to her hairline as she folds her arms over her chest. “Just like that?Youdecided?”

I swallow hard, glancing to Dad for help, but all I get in return is a look saying,You’re on your own, kid.

Thanks for the backup.

Straightening my shoulders, I attempt to exude confidence. “It’s my life. I get to choose what I do with my future. So, yes.Idecided.”

“We agreed you would major in pre-law,” Mom grits out. “You want to be a lawyer.”

“No,youwant me to be a lawyer,” I remind her.

“Yes, because I want you to obtain a quality education,” she says, tone laced with irritation. “Not to study the most up-to-date way to divide numbers by one.”

“That’s not even what I’ll do,” I argue, frustration coursing through me. “We’re trained to teach up-and-coming generations.”

“Let someone else teach them,” she snarks.

The hope of a career I’m excited about is crumbling like shortbread. “But it’s my passion!”

---