Page 45 of OMG Christmas Tree
“It’s not easy making a living wage without a degree,” Stu added. Ever the helpful suggester.
The dean looked between us, offering her own plastered-on smile. “We have flexible class schedules. You can continue to work and take courses. If that suits you.” She handed me her business card.
This tension had to be unbearable for the dean. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
As the woman moved on, I turned to my mom. “I know you’re trying to help, but putting me on the spot like that wasn’t fair. I already told you I don’t want to go back to college.”
Mom winced. “Megan, we’re only trying to help. To give you direction.”
I didn’t need direction. Okay, maybe a little focus wouldn’t hurt, but the answer wasn’t college. Not for me. “You’re not helping. You’re telling me who I am isn’t enough.” My voice trembled. If only red dresses bestowed the power to please parents who expected more.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I was thinking since you hit it off with Nick, it wouldn’t be so bad to stay here with us. I thought maybe you’d look at life differently.”
I could barely gather my thoughts fast enough. “Nick? You wanted to re-route my entire life because I hung out with a guy for a few days?” Not only was she re-arranging my career, but she wanted dibs on orchestrating my love life too? “I don’t want to live in this nowhere town and go to somestupid country collegenobody’s heard of.”
I sighed loudly and looked away from her. Not more than a few feet away, a Bennington’s gaze zeroed in on me. Mayor Bennington’s.
Apparently, the raffle was over and the mayor had freed herself for mingling. Beside her, Nick. Two Benningtons, both staring at me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Megan
––––––––
IDIDN’T NEED TO BEreminded I was a crap daughter for blasting my family in public and trashing the town along with a perfectly reputable rural liberal arts college. Every inch of my indelicate outburst replayed in my head. Sure, maybe not many people had overheard me, but the two who mattered most had.
I’d hurt Nick and his family on their own turf. Rushing over to them to explain and apologize, the mayor’s frosty silence told me everything. Nick had offered a curt,Let’s talk later,before steering his mother toward another group of guests.
My apology to Mom and Stu on the ride home from the benefit last night had been met with a simple request to talk more in the morning.
By the way: Merry Christmas.
“I’m sorry,” I said at the breakfast table the following morning with Mom, Stu, and my brother.
Mom jammed a serving spoon into the steaming egg casserole in a red and green plaid dish. “I can’t believe a daughter I raised has turned out so ungrateful.” A hefty portion of casserole landed on Stu’s coordinating plaid plate in a sloppy pile.
