Lana took the opposite seat from me, scooting the chair back to slide in.
Mrs. Kingston sat at the opposite end of the table, her gaze narrowing on my T-shirt. Giving a sniff, she lifted a glass of red wine to her lips and sipped.
I sat in the seat to which Mr. Kingston pointed, trying to disregard Terri sitting next to me, who seemed just as intent on ignoring my presence.
“Th-thank you, sir.” I leaned my forearms on the table, the smell of plated yeasty hot rolls tempting my nose. “I really appreciate the opportunity you’re giving me.”
He waved a hand in the air and snapped a napkin over his lap. “Call me Charles.” He grabbed a roll, then raised a butter knife and smeared creamy yellow butter on the bread. “And no need to thank me. Back in the day, your father and I were the closest of friends. It’s the least I can do for his only son.”
At the mention of my dad, my throat closed, and I could only nod.
“Paxton,” Mrs. Kingston said. “Yesterday, I took the liberty of having your school records transferred to Ironwood Prep. Your grades…” Lana passed the plate of bread to her mother, who daintily lifted a roll and set it on her plate. “Are less than stellar. The academy only accepts the best, but I pulled a few strings. Please don’t disappoint me.”
Blood shot up my neck. My grades were mostly Bs, with an A in music and a C in history. Not genius material, but not exactly failing.
“Charlotte,” Charles chided. “Give the boy a break. He’s just lost his father. I’m sure those schools in Louisiana are subpar. With the education we’re going to give him, he’ll pick up the slack in no time. I have no doubt he’ll thrive.”
Unable to speak through my embarrassment, I only nodded.
Terri shifted in her seat, sliding her hands between her thighs.
Gone was the childish pink dress and bow. In its place were khaki slacks and a simple green polo shirt. Her hair, loose without the hairbow, fell in soft rivulets around her shoulders.
Her mother passed the bread to her.
As Terri reached for it, Mrs. Kingston drew back the food. “Perhaps you should skip the bread this time, dear. The carbs, you know. I think we can all agree after today’s little fall that your thighs are big enough.”
Like the plate was a burning fire, Terri snatched her fingers away and lowered her head.
Mrs. Kingston nudged the bread toward me. “Now Paxton, you look like you could use two or three of these.” Her smile, condescending, made me want to lash out.
How can she treat her daughter like this?My father, as wretched as he’d been with his addictions, had never intentionally mistreated me with his words.
Besides, the memory of Terri’s flash of dark skin, of those gloriously strong, curvy legs, caused the blood in my veins to heat once more, but not from anger.
I took the plate from Mrs. Kingston, giving her my most winning smile. “Women should eat whatever they want. Body shaming is so 1950s, don’t you think?”
Out of my periphery, I saw Terri crane her neck toward me, but I held Mrs. Kingston’s eyes.
For a moment, the older woman looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, the degrading smile seeming to freeze on her lips.
She nodded her head and dropped her stare. “Well, gluttony is still a sin, regardless.”
I bit my tongue to keep the rest of my thoughts inside. I needed their help, though it irritated me to no end. But I didn’t want to end up in a foster home, or even worse, an orphanage.
“A young man who speaks his mind.” Mr. Kingston chuckled and rang a tiny silver bell.
A cook or waiter, I couldn’t tell for sure, appeared from the kitchen with a covered tray.
I turned my attention to Terri.
Under the table, she twisted and pulled at her cloth napkin, keeping her head down, her dish still empty.
Without a word, I cut my roll and laid one half onto her plate, uncaring if her mother watched.
Terri’s hands stilled and her eyes locked onto mine.
I nodded to it, not trusting myself to speak.Does her mother talk down to her like this all the time?
