“Mom…” she whines, tipping her head back.
“Besides, I think we have a bigger hurdle to jump before we can even think about you changing schools,” I say pointedly.
“If you say yes and sign the papers, we could just do it,” she tries to interject, but I continue.
“Like your dad.”
“Ugh. Why do you have to be such a buzzkill?” she asks, banging her head on her hands that rest on the dining table.
“Stop doing that,” I scold.
“Can’t you convince him?” she pleads.
“Baby, I would love to, but this is your dad we are talking about. I think we both know that if he knew where you wanted to go and why, he would say no faster than you could blink. If it was just my choice, though, I would sign you up on Monday. I like that you have friends that you seem to enjoy being around.”
She starts messing with the hem of her hoodie sleeve and speaks quietly, avoiding eye contact. “It’s not fair.”
I want to tell her that her dad rarely does things that can be considered fair. Remind her that he’s always been selfish and that his wants come first, but I won’t.
As much as I hate him, he’s still her dad, and I won’t speak too poorly of him.
“I know,” I say simply.
“Do you think he will change his mind before the end of senior year?”
“I’m not sure, but if he doesn’t, just remember that you can still hang out with them. That they will still be your friends. Whoknows, maybe that means you can go to two proms instead of just one.” I shrug.
She sighs heavily. “I guess.”
“Or when you turn eighteen next December, you can sign up for yourself. He wouldn’t be able to stop you then,” I remind her.
She mumbles something before she looks away.
Then her phone buzzes next to her, making her face drop. It’s almost as if she completely shuts down. All traces of her previous happiness gone in the blink of an eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“He just texted me saying he’s almost here.”
“He shouldn’t be texting and driving,” I say automatically.
“Yeah, well maybe he will wreck and make all of our lives easier,” she mutters as she stands, gathering all of her stuff.
“Farrah Grace, take that back. You don’t mean it,” I scold.
“Sorry, I know. I’m just frustrated.”
You and me both.
I follow her outside and watch as her dad pulls in, and I swear my heart breaks all over again when I watch her shut down even more in his presence.
How did I miss this before? Was I really that blind because of my feelings toward him that I was ignoring her reactions?
“Hey Farrah, did you have a good weekend?” he asks as he approaches.
“I did.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, I see the regret cross her face.
His eyes narrow slightly. “What did you do?”
