It isn’t friendly, but it isn’t combative, either. I see a glimpse of who I’d thought he was when I was a little girl. Stern, but loving.
“It’s a great program. I’m excited to be here,” I say, letting myself smile at him for the first time in a decade.
“Yes, well, you could have been teaching for years if you hadn’t thrown your career away on a whim.”
Andthere it is.
“You should shadow Colton’s class this summer,” he continues.
“I have my own class to focus?—”
“His is a real class,” he says, and it feels like a fist to the stomach. A small part of me thought he’d hear I’m teaching and be impressed, but I should have known better. Just like I should have known better when I thought the professors would treat me as an equal.
When I don’t argue, he continues. “There’s still time for you to turn this around if you’d like to talk about your options.”
He means my “options” to go back to school and get a PhD I don’t want in a field I don’t love, just because my father thinks I should.
When I’d told my parents I wanted to work in student development instead of pursuing my PhD in Roman history, their first instinct was to offer me counseling for my “obvious mental breakdown.” When I didn't accept that, they cut me off financially, hoping I'd be too weak from a lifetime of coddling to figure it out myself. When I still didn't capitulate, they cut me offemotionally. They uninvited me from holidays and told my brothers not to make contact either. He told them it was their responsibility to help me realize I waswasting my potential and the years and money they poured into my education, and they listened. I don’t think it was even because they agreed with him. They knew they had to pick a side, and I wasn’t worth losing Dad’s approval for.
It was radio silence for years, until I started getting texts and emails from my dad explaining how I could “get back on track” with my career. I ignored every one of them. He doesn’t want a daughter, he wants a successor.
My brothers all went into academia, but different fields. I was the only one desperate enough for my dad’s attention that I convinced myself I loved Roman history the same way he did. Then I watched Colton struggle freshman year with the business major he hated, and the things he said hit a bit too close to home. It took me another four years and a whole ass undergraduate degree to finally admit it. Every single fear I had leading up to that decision—that my parents would be disappointed in me, that I was only close to Dad because I was interesting to him—was proven true.
Colton’s hand comes to my lower back, grounding in its support. “Richard, did you see my email?”
I appreciate him stepping in to distract from the lecture Dad would have jumped into.
Dad’s full attention turns to Colton, the one who followed through and became the superstar he’d always pushed me to be. “The article will be great, son.”
Thesonfinally does me in. I excuse myself, though my dad barely looks in my direction, and head out of the building. I wave off the students I know and disappear down one of the small streets across from the gelateria, making it a few feet down before collapsing. The cold concrete of the wall cools my body as sobs wrack me. My gelato melts quickly in the Roman heat,dripping down until it covers my hand and starts sliding down my forearm.
This is why I told my brother I’d come home for his wedding, but won’t have any other contact with my family. No matter what I do or how proud I am of my own accomplishments, it takes a handful of words for my father to tear me down. To remember that I wasn’t worth sticking around for, even for the people who were biologically programmed to care about me.
A pair of loafers comes into view through the tears, and the cone’s plucked from my hand. Colton’s back in seconds, the gelato safely deposited in the trash, and I’m in his arms.
“Colt, you’re going to get gelato all over you.”
“I don’t care,” he says before pressing his lips to my forehead in a hard, reassuring kiss.
His arms tighten around my back, and I let myself fall into the safety of this man. This scent—cedar and old books—soothes the deepest part of my soul, the part that fears I’m just not lovable enough. I lost my family, but I still have him.
“I’m so sorry, Quinn,” he whispers onto my hair.
I bury my head in his chest. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. He can’t treat you that way. I’m going to tell him that when we get dinner next week.”
“You are not,” I say as I push him an arm's length away, and he jolts at the harshness of my tone. I sigh and try to breathe. He doesn’t deserve to be the outlet for my anger. “I get that it’s hard now that you have to actually see the way he treats me, but I don’t want you to say anything. In fact, I’m begging you not to. I can handle his bullshit, and you need him. Plus, what are the chances we’ll run into him again?”
Colton watches me carefully, that brilliant mind of his clearly whirling, and I know he can see it all. The anger and frustration, but even worse, the little girl inside of me that wishes she was enough to be worthy of her family’s love. I know he wants to saysomething, but he must be able to tell that I’m barely holding it together, so he nods.
I lift my hand with a grimace as I study the melted gelato. “Ugh, such a mess.”
I look up at him, begging with my eyes to play along, to bring a bit of levity to this shitty moment.
Finally, he sighs, his lip twitching up. “A public embarrassment, Chaos.”
“They’ll throw me in jail to clean up the streets.”
