Page 58 of Always Meant for You
“Because you’re sick?”
“Because I need the help,” he repeats, unmoved.
I lower my fork and focus on his hands. His knuckles look swollen, the skin thinner than I remember. “Are you in pain?”
“That’s why they make medicine.”
My palm meets the table, not in anger, but to ground myself. “Dad . . . please.”
He sets his fork on the edge of his plate and folds his fingers together with quiet finality.
“Let’s start with you, Mabel Ruth. Why’d you come home?”
I take another bite of casserole, buying a few seconds before I have to answer.
I chew slowly, then reach for the tea. “I told you. I needed to reset, and?—”
“And you’re broke,” he says, cutting me off.
The words sting.
“It’s not that simple. I invested in a business. It didn’t turn out how I planned.”
That’s the sanitized version. I don’t need to rehash my epic downfall to him. The last thing my father would understand is an online vintage couture fashion influencer.
I keep eating and thinking. What more can I say?
“You want more casserole?” he asks.
I glance down and blink. My plate’s nearly empty.
“No, I’m good. That was delicious. Thank you.”
He stands and clears the table. “So, are you ready?”
I collect the glasses and napkins. “Ready for what?”
“The town council meeting,” he says over his shoulder.
I stop mid-step. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re driving me,” he adds, tone flat, pace unchanged.
No trace of question in his voice.
Only expectation.
What I want is a bath and a nap.
“Why?” I ask, keeping my tone level.
He used to go to the meetings with Jamie. I only went once, back in high school for a civics requirement. I remember flipping throughVoguein the back row, counting the seconds until it ended. I haven’t stepped into a meeting since.
“Because you’re back,” he says. “And I assume you still know how to drive. Or did the city erase that too?”
My eyebrows lift, but I don’t bite. “I can drive. New York doesn’t erase basic skill sets.”
“You know where the keys are, Mabel Ruth?”
