Page 76 of The Other Side

Jesse’s wrist flicks over the table. “All I’m saying is that if you’re going to have a blue-collar job, at least do it well and know what you’re talking about.”

I furrow my brows as I scan his side profile. “What’s wrong with a blue-collar job?”

Jesse flashes a crooked smile when he meets Roger’s stare. His grin carved from discomfort. Almost like he’s embarrassed.

Then he returns his attention to me, laying his hand on the table. “They’re expected to work harder for me. When I pay them with my own money, very good money, I demand that their service be exceptional.”

I guess anyone with a blue-collar job is positioned beneath Jesse on the valuable scale. I shudder to think how he regards anyone living in poverty.

His neat jaw ticks, his dark and narrowed stare focused on me for several more breaths than usual.

“Callie, you seem bothered.”

When Roger’s voice pipes up, I shake my head at him. “I’m not bothered,” I reply, motioning a hand to his plate of food. “Dig in, I made plenty.”

The mood lifts a notch. Roger and Lindsey begin to take bites of their dinner, and I chance a glance at Jesse. His eyes are still laced with irritation before he tosses the conversation elsewhere.

“What’s in this chick pea salad? It’s absolutely delicious, Callie,” Lindsey asks, her blue eyes gaping in allure.

Her voice snaps me from Roger and Jesse’s discussion. I recite the ingredients I threw together, and as I speak, her flawless appearance fills all pockets of my mind.

I wonder how she does it every single day. Doesn’t she get tired applying all that makeup, frequently traveling to nail salons, and styling her hair?

The mild wind dances through the loose strands of my hair that frame my face. Honestly, I hope it unravels all the soft curls I styled.

Lindsey’s nice, and I enjoy her company, but I don’t want to be like her. In fact, I don’t want to be like anyone who’s sitting on this patio.

Including me.

And I guess there’s always something to run away from.

No matter what side you’re on.

* * *

I’m standing at the kitchen island, packing up the leftover food. The front door clicks shut from the foyer, and I shovel the last of the zucchini and carrot medley into the glass container.

Jesse’s Oxfords tread along the floor until he’s at my side. “I thought we talked about embarrassing me.”

His voice strangles my heart like a python.

“I’m allowed to have an opinion,” I state, spinning on my heel to tuck the containers in the fridge.

“I’m not going to tolerate this behavior, Callie,” he insists. There’s a stealthy warning on the tip of his tongue. “And when I’m speaking to you, you’re going to look at me.”

My grip stills around the handle of the stainless-steel door. My stomach plunges to the wood floor beneath my wedge sandals, and I pinch my eyes closed. Willing my mind to amend his words so I don’t have to believe they were spoken.

He’s not him.

He’s not Daddy.

“Hey!” My body jolts as my hand wraps around the cool metal of the doorknob. “Just because you’re going to some fancy college next year, you think you’re better than me, huh?”

My gaze sticks to the gold polish of the handle in my palm. My throat rolls through a boulder, swallowing every comeback I wish to unleash on him. “I don’t think that at all.”

“Girl, you better look at me when I’m talkin’ to you,” he demands. “Because without me putting a roof over your head, you wouldn’t be able to study and get all that homework shit done.”

“I’m not a child,” I breathe, closing the fridge.