“Have you finished writing it yet?” She tucks a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear. “I’d be happy to run my eyes over it for you. Offer some constructive critique. I’ve given my fair share of speeches over the years.”
“Your mother truly is a gifted public speaker.” Vincent glances warmly at his wife. “An inspiration to hear.“
“Actually…” I chew on my bottom lip. “I haven’t started writing it, yet.”
“Josephine!” Blair gasps. “That isinexcusable. What on earth have you been doing with your free time?”
“I’ve been busy studying for the AP exams.” I try not to sound defensive. “They start on Monday. I want to do well.”
“That’s no excuse. Your mother is right. A speech isn’t something to be whipped together overnight.” My father’s eyes, blue like my own, narrow sternly. “Your words will be embedded in the memories of your peers for the rest of their lives. Whenever they think back to their graduation day, they’ll recall whether you were inspiring or insipid. You owe it to them to deliver a message worth remembering.”
“I’m just…” I clear my throat. “I’m struggling a bit with selecting the right topic.”
Vincent’s eyes narrow even further. “Then I suggest you stop joyriding around town in my Porsche and start prioritizing your academics.”
“I’m not joyriding,” I grumble. “I only use it to get to school.”
“So Miguel said.”
“Because it’s the truth! Why would he lie about something like that?”
“He’d better not.” Vincent chortles. “Not when I’m the one signing his paychecks.”
I inhale sharply, trying to remain calm. “It’s not like you’re even around enough to drive the Porsche, Dad. I could steer it off a cliff, shatter it to bits, and have it rebuilt from scratch without you ever noticing.”
He’s silent for a tense beat. “Are you back-talking, right now?”
“I’m sorry.” I drop my gaze to the countertop, studying the glittery facets in the black marble; flickers of light in the darkness. “I promise I won’t embarrass you at the commencement. I’ll work on my speech tomorrow.”
“Today, I think,” Blair murmurs, picking up her newspaper again. “No time like the present. Don’t you agree, Vincent?”
His eyes are already scanning the international news bolded across the front page in his hands. “As they say… procrastination is the enemy of progress. You’re nothing if you’re not producing.”
I don’t say another word. I know from experience that this conversation has reached a stopping point as far as my parents are concerned.
Decision: made.
Discussion: over.
I shift uncomfortably on my stool, watching them read. Five minutes tick by with agonizing slowness. The silence in the kitchen is absolute, except for the occasional shuffling of pages as they switch sections.
Sports.
Politics.
Entertainment.
Classifieds.
Gaze downcast, I start in surprise when a coffee cup slides into my view. My eyes flicker up to Flora’s face as I curl my hands around its warmth.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Josephine.” She speaks softly to avoid disturbing my parents. “Do you want breakfast? I can make pancakes. There are fresh blueberries from the garden.”
“That sounds go—”
“Flora!Thereyou are.” Blair cuts me off with a shrill exclamation. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the gardens. They are completely unruly. I walked around the estate earlier and was simply mortified by the state of our mulch-beds. Miguel has always been a solid worker but I’m afraid, if he can no longer keep up with the demands of such a large piece of property, perhaps we will need to make some changes around here.”