Chapter 2
There’s Nothing Like a Shot of Family Disapproval First Thing in the Morning
“Anyone home?” I called into the sprawling foyer as I walked into my childhood home. I knew the answer—they were waiting on me—but I still liked to pretend I wasn’t going to have to deal with my parents.
“You’re late,” my mother barked as she shuffled out of the kitchen.
“My meeting ran longer than expected,” I explained while putting my bag down on the front table.
“We’ve been waiting on you. You should have called.” My mother puffed away, expecting me to follow.
“I can’t call you in the middle of a consultation with a client. That would be totally unprofessional.” She knew I had a meeting. She knew all she was doing was bitching just to bitch. She knew it was going to get under my skin right away. My mother was that way, picking fights just to get a rise out of her only daughter.
“You can excuse yourself,” she scoffed before shoving a cup of ice water in my hand. “I know you have only had coffee this morning. Drink.”
I forced down the eyeroll and nagging protest, using all the strength in me to do so. It was our usual Monday morning bickering match. I hated that I felt obligated to continue the tradition, but they were my parents.
Taking a few deep breaths, I let her crack about my coffee intake go. It wasn’t worth it.
“Sawyer,” my father said with a chortle as he walked into the kitchen behind me.
Spinning on my heels, I leapt into a giant bear hug. “Hey, Daddy.”
“You’re late,” he reminded me.
I leaned back against the kitchen table and popped a grape into my mouth from the spread my mother had laid out for our brunch. “Work has to come first.”
He took a seat, motioning for me to sit next to him. “I don’t know why you insist on digging your heels in with thisbusinessof yours. You should be a lawyer. We didn’t pay all that money for you to go to school to becomejusta photographer.”
It was the same ol’ song and dance that always made me want to run away and never look back.
“Why don’t you just adopt Annabelle then?” I shot back before stealing my mother’s coffee while she wasn’t looking.
“Honey, we only want what is best for you,” she cooed, taking her seat across from me. “Don’t you want to have nice things? A bigger apartment? A better car? Arealcareer?”
I couldn’t stifle the grown that escaped as I rolled my head back. “Do we have to do this every time I come over? I get it—I’m a disappointment for loving mycareer. Yes, it is a real job. Yes, I pay my own bills. I’m sorry if I don’t have a sprawling country home with eight bedrooms all to myself. I am sorry I drive a ten-year-old hatchback. Isn’t it enough that I’mhappy?”
Once my rant was over, both of my parents just blinked at me.
Finally, Dad broke the silence in his normal way. “Just sit for the bar exam so you have a backup plan.”
I flew up out of my seat. “That meeting this morning was with a couple who is going to pay me more than my rent costs for a month. I am doing just fine. I make money. I live a little below my means as a damn backup plan. I am not some starving artist living on the streets.”
My mother’s hand landed on my forearm. I wanted to snatch it away from her and throw a full-blown tantrum, but I just sat back down.
“We’re you parents. We just worry about you.” She sighed, taking her coffee mug back.
“Where’s Jon? I need a buffer,” I complained, wishing my brother were there to help me fight this losing battle.
“He’s meeting with the partners at his firm this morning. He sends his love.” My mother beamed with pride thinking about the golden boy of the family.
I lanced a couple of pancakes, whisking them onto my plate. “Well, that is exciting. At least he became a lawyer. Take pride in one of your children following the family plan.”
My father scoffed. “Your brother listens to reason. He’s not a stubborn ass like some people at this table.”
“And there we have it, folks. Can’t you just be proud that your daughter has her own thriving business, gets to work from home, and loves her job? Isn’t that what all parents dream of?” I ran my fingers through my hair, resisting the urge to pull it out by the roots.
“And grandbabies. We dream about grandbabies.” My mother narrowed her eyes at me as she watched the dig sink in hard.