“But… the money.”
“What about the money?”
My dad gives the front of his hair a nervous tug. “I, uh—”
“Dad, what’s she talking about?”
Meredith smooths her dress, plainly apprehensive. “Oh, Jake. You haven’t told her?”
“Told me what?”
My dad discharges a heavy sigh, sending his wife a reproachful look before settling his gaze on me. “Jill, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.” If his tone was solemn when he was warning me about Max, it’s downright grim now. “I didn’t want to tell youtonight, but…”
My heart thuds in anticipation of what’s obviously bad news. “God, Dad. Butwhat?”
“Your culinary school fund… It’s become unavailable.”
“Unavailable?”
Meredith winces as he amends, “It’s gone, Jill. The money is gone.”
It feels like there’s a lump of yeasty dough expanding in my throat. “Gone?How?”
My parents exchange a glance doused in guilt. “It went toward Meredith’s medical expenses. Our health insurance doesn’t cover fertility treatments, and Mer’s been through years of them. The costs became a mountain of debt, and that money was sitting in an account, collecting pennies of interest. It only made sense to use it.”
My mind’s racing, and I feel, suddenly, like I’m going to be sick.
“Otherwise,” Dad’s saying, his voice far away, “we’d be so far in the hole, we’d never climb out. That’s no way for a family to live. I know you were counting on that money, but using it to help cover Mer’s infertility treatments was the most responsible choice.”
Gone.
Thousands and thousands of dollars, saved for years and years. Money earmarked for me. For the International Culinary Institute. For my Grand Diplôme. Now funneled toward my stepmother and the leech baby who’s holed up in her belly.
My eyes burn. I can’t believe my education wasn’t a priority. Aconsideration. I can’t believe they emptied the account without a word about it to me.
“Jill, I’m so sorry,” Meredith says quietly.
“I know this is a surprise,” Dad says, “but you have more than a year to make the money back. We’ll do everything we can to help.”
Make the money back? Laughable. I’ve got a savings account of my own funded by my True Brew paychecks. It might get me aplane ticketto New York.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says. “I really am.”
The compulsion to run, to bury myself in my bed and stay there through the weekend, weeping until I’m emptied of tears, is nearly unbearable. This is a blow, a dream-shattering, destiny-crushing blow. My breath comes shallow, like I’ve been punched in the gut.
“You understand, don’t you?” my dad says.
I don’t understand—not even a little bit, and not even when I try to view his news objectively, through my most altruistic filter. My emotions boil over, riotous and wrathful. “No, I don’t understand! You’ve ruined everything—my whole future!”
Meredith moves to touch my hand, but I snatch it out of her reach. This is her fault just as much as it’s his.
“Jill, it’ll work out,” my dad says.
“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything! God, Dad, how could you do this? How could you not tell me?!”
He flounders and I wait, my hands balled into fists, desperate to hear how he’ll justify his actions, this secret he’s been keeping for who knows how long.
He’s opening his mouth to respond when the doorbell rings, sparing him an explanation. The relief that washes over his face is infuriating.
