Page 31 of Ricardo

“You liked him because he photographed well,” I say.

My mother goes pale with anger. “That is a horrible thing to say.”

“Did either of you like him? I mean, actually like him? Or did you like what it said about me that he chose me? Ambitious Harrison, running for Senator now, but he had his eye on the White House, and you knew it. You liked that, didn’t you?”

My father’s voice drops. “Enough.”

That word in that tone used to work better on me.

Tonight, it only makes me tired.

“It’s far from enough,” I say. “But I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”

My mother looks toward the hall. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m going home.”

“This is your home,” she says.

I look around the sitting room. The flowers. The paintings. The polished silver frames with family photos chosen because they match the room. There is a picture of me on the mantel from my college graduation. My smile is perfect. My father’s hand is on my shoulder. My mother is beside me in pale blue.

Everything in this room looks exactly the way it is supposed to look.

“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”

My mother’s face changes, and for one second, I almost regret the words.

Then my father says, “Where are you going? Back to whatever apartment Dante found for you?”

The cruelty in it is polished, but it is still cruelty.

“I found my own apartment.”

My mother says his name again, sharper this time. “Patrick.”

He ignores her. “You think you are proving independence by attaching yourself to a family like the Contis?”

“I am not attached to them.”

“You work for Mario.”

“Yes.”

“You are running around with Ricardo’s son again. You expect me to believe the Contis do anything without purpose?”

I do not answer immediately, because the honest answer is no. I do not believe that.

But I also do not believe my father does anything without purpose, and at least the Contis are honest about their sharp edges.

“I expect you,” I say carefully, “to stop treating my life like a case you can manage from the bench.”

His face hardens. My mother looks exhausted all at once.

“Julia,” she says. “Please. Sit down. We can discuss this calmly.”

“Yeah, until I dare speak on my own behalf, right? I don’t want to discuss it calmly. I don’t want to discuss it at all.”

“You cannot simply refuse to talk about your life with your parents.”