I announced myself with a “Done.”
If he knew I was lying, he didn’t show it. “Great job, sport. Get changed and wash up. Dinner will be ready in a minute.” A dark gleam of excitement shone in his eyes.
By the time I returned to the kitchen, he was already seated at the table, a plate of Spam and rice steaming before him. “Sit down. Your dinner’s getting warm.”
In front of my chair was a glass of water.
“Don’t worry,” he said, spotting my expression. “I’m not gonna starve you. Drink that and then you can have your dinner.”
Hank’s oldest weight loss hack. How could I forget?
I picked up the glass and chugged. The water went down easy, refreshing after my run. Still I was vigilant, keeping my eyes on Hank. I lowered the glass.
“Your dinner’s on the counter.”
I rounded the kitchen island to find a small bowl of salad sitting there: garden mix out of a bag, plus a few chunks of tomato, tossed in apple cider vinegar.
I looked back at him as he shook Tabasco over a steaming mound of white rice.
“Problem, sport?”
It was so unfair I could’ve cried. I wanted to call Mom, or better yet, dump the salad into the trash and go to bed without dinner. Show him I didn’t need it, that I was as strong as he was.
But I wasn’t.
Not after all those hours since lunch. Not after all that running.
Maybe not ever.
And he knew it.
I took the salad to the table, wolfed it down in moments. “Still hungry?” he said as I chased the last shred of red cabbage around the bowl.
I shrugged, refusing to admit it.
“Then go to bed. Let your body eat away at you.”
“You’re just gonna starve me?”
Hank’s smile twitched into an angry sneer. “There’s a difference between hunger and starvation, something your mom never taught you. But you’ll learn quick enough.”
Furious and on the edge of tears, I pushed back and tore out of my chair—
“Put your bowl in the dishwasher, you lazy pig,” Hank spat.
I froze, shocked, as if he’d grabbed me by the collar and shaken me.
“Then you can go straight to your room. And stay there.”
He wasn’t asking. He didn’t need to.
When I awoke the next morning, hunger burned a hole in my stomach. I wanted to race downstairs, but I forced myself to shower, dress, brush my teeth. Do everything as normal. I was still determined to prove I was stronger than Hank thought.
He was reading theUnion-Tribuneat the kitchen table when I came in. My eyes devoured the meal set before him: half a dozen pancakes drenched in buckets of maple syrup, fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, crispy hash browns, buttered toast. Glancing around, I found no second place setting, no leftovers, the dirty pans and bowls already piled in the sink.
My heart throbbed with pain and anger.Effing dickhead, I thought.
I snatched open the pantry to grab some Frosted Flakes. “Nope,” he said, eyes still trained on the sports section. “That should do you till lunch.”
