"You and Mom were terrible parents," I told him. "The only reason I'm successful is because of Belle and the sacrifices she made. Not you."
"You are a productive member of society," he countered. "Tough love worked. You worked your way through college—"
"No, I didn't," I interjected. "Belle slaved and sacrificed to pay my tuition. I couldn't qualify for a student loan or any scholarships because you and Mom made too much money."
"Yes," he said. I could tell he hadn't really been listening to me. "It taught you the value of hard work."
"No, it didn't. Instead, it made me hate you."
"You say that, but you're here talking to me," he said smugly. "You know your children need their grandfather."
"There are no children," I said as I massaged my temple. I didn't know who was worse, my mother or my father.
"Your mother wants grandchildren," he continued.
I hated talking to my father; he was so frustrating. It was his way or the highway.
"Diane and I deserve grandkids. I know one of the women you're sleeping with is pregnant. People talk, Jack."
"Who is talking?" I demanded. Chloe would kill me if someone was spreading rumors that she was pregnant.
"Hartleigh would be the perfect mother," my father said, leaning back. "You know, your mother and I are friends with her parents. It would be great. We always planned for our kids to marry each other. It’s a perfect ending to a perfect life."
"Your life was perfect at the expense of Belle," I said. "And as far as Hartleigh goes, burn that notion out of your head right now. She would be a horrible mother. She's crazy and violent."
"She is a wonderful young woman!" my father said. "I don't know why you're carrying on this way. I thought I raised you better than that."
"Hartleigh is a stalker," I told him.
"Men can't be stalked," he scoffed.
"We're done," I said, standing up. "You never protected me, you certainly didn't protect Belle, and you could never be bothered to do right by your own kids."
41
Chloe
Iwas test-baking for the box of goodies for Mark Holbrook, and Jack was my taster.
"The potato-and-cheddar soup ones are definitely perfect," he said through a mouth full of muffin.
"What kind of cookies should I make?" I asked him. "I was thinking sugar, but maybe they like some other kind?"
He shrugged. "I wish my old assistant was still here. She knew the Holbrooks’ assistant, Kate. Well I don't know if she's still the assistant, since she married her boss's son."
"Scandalous!" I said in a singsong voice then added, "Not that I can talk. I'm banging the judge of the competition I'm in."
Jack gave me an impish grin and kissed me.
"Try this," I ordered, shoving a pumpkin soup muffin into his mouth. "I don't think it's as special compared to the potato ones."
"Tastes fine to me," he said. "The grilled cheese–and–tomato soup muffin is amazing."
"I’m not sure about these clam chowder ones," I said. "They're a little fishy."
"It's late," Jack said. "You can keep working on it tomorrow."
"You can't wait too long to send the box," I told him. "I wish I had more time."
