Page 11 of Infatuated as They Come
“It’s a trailer park. Not a prison.”
“It may as well be one.”
“You’re doing that thing again,” I said pointedly.
“What thing?”
“That thing where you act like an annoying, raging classist who judges people for how much money they have like that’s all that matters,” I said. “What else am I supposed to do, anyway? You can’t stand it when Sawyer comes over.”
“Well, there’s a reason for that.” He shifted in his chair. “I mean, can’t you go one day without him?”
“Not really, to be honest. And he really wanted to take me somewhere for my birthday. This is his first whole day off in a while. You know he’s been busy painting. He’s had a lot of art projects over the summer.”
“Ah, yes. What a lucrative career that’ll be. I’m sure he’s working very hard.”
“He is,” I said. While me and Sawyer had spent almost every day together, a lot of those days had been cut short because he had been busy with his projects. He was working hard and my dad wouldn’t even acknowledge that fact. “Because he has no one to look after him but himself like I’ve toldyou amilliontimes before. So, maybe you should cut him some slack.”
“You two,” Mom said with a slight hiss. “Stop. No fighting. Let Holly go spend the day with her boyfriend. I’m sure he’s taking her somewhere lovely.” She looked over at me. “But don’t forget: it’ll be our time tomorrow. Those will be our last few days together and I plan on spending every second with you.”
“He’s not invited to that,” my father bit out, blue eyes darting between me and Mom.
“Oh, he’s not?” I asked.
“You’ve seen him all summer, Holly.” He flicked the newspaper shut. “You saw him yesterday. You’re seeing him today. He is not invited to our… last few days together.”
I adjusted the white linen napkin on my lap, the color contrasting against the purple dress I had on. “You’re still not a fan of him, huh?”
“No,” he said, the word coming out all fast and dismissive.
“I thought you’d be okay with me and Sawyer being together by now.”
Huffing, he tossed the folded up newspaper to the oak dining table. “I’ll never be okay with you two being together. I just didn’t want you sneaking around. That’s the only reason why you have my permission to date him, so that me and your mother at least know what’s going on with you and…him.”
“I’m nineteen,” I said, a cautious but present edge to my voice. “I don’t need your permission to have a boyfriend anymore.”
“You know, you’ve gone your whole life meeting nice boys,” he said. “Boys with good futures. Boys who come from good families.”
My eyes rolled. “You mean boys with money.”
“You said it, not me.”
“I’m not interested in boys like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because rich boys are boring, Daddy.”
“No, they’re not. They’re… stable.” He waved a hand in the air. “And trustworthy. Reliable. Your mother married a rich boy in case you’re forgetting. She doesn’t think they’re boring.”
“They’re a little boring,” Mom said.
My father’s eyes flickered over to her for a long moment before they landed back on me. “My point is that there’s better options. Safer options. You know who’s a nice, reliable boy?” he asked, suddenly perking up in his seat. “Carl Whittaker’s son, Nathaniel. I’ve been playing golf with him at the club and he’s been very helpful. I was assigned a new caddy—some young kid, absolute rookie—and he was struggling horribly with calculating yardages, but Nate gave that boy a complete tee to green run down and taught him how it’s done. It was very impressive.”
I winced at Mom. “Are you hearing this?”
“Yes.” She took a sip of her orange juice. “Joe, you’re not exactly helping your case.”
“You know he got into Columbia too?” he continued. “And that he wants to study economics? He also plays lacrosse. He seems more your type.”
