Page 95 of Back for Seconds

Work on myself—what a sentence. What was there to work on? I had a degree. I had a house and a flourishing career. I owned a car, and I paid all my bills.

What was missing from my life in his eyes?

Thankfully, our waiter arrived with my water. I focused on my glass, on the little teardrops of condensation rolling down the side. “Did you call Vin?” I asked eventually.

“Went right to voicemail.”

“And Sal?”

“We keep in touch. Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Why’d you want to see me?”

He look a slow sip of his drink, smacking his lips after he swallowed. Then he leveled me with a look I knew meant I was dangerously close to falling out of line. “Can’t I see my daughter during the holidays?”

I pushed down at the clench of fear in my stomach. “You said you came up here for business.”

Dad must have forgotten that because his eyes softened with recognition. He shifted in his chair. “Right…right. Well, listen, I have something exciting to tell you. Now that I’m retired I wanted to divide up all my businesses and properties and pass those onto you guys. Vincent has no desire to come back here, so I’ll give him his portion in money. Sal and I still have a few things to discuss, but you…I want to give Genie’s to you.”

My gaze snapped to his. I frowned. “You want to give me the pizza place?” By the grace of god, our waiter was back with my wine. I took the glass into both my hands like I’d been given the elixir of life and sipped long and hard before continuing. “I’m the only one who doesn’t work in a restaurant.”

“Genie’s is really worth a lot of money, sweetheart.” Smugness clung to each word. “You can do whatever you want with it.”

“That pizza place has been in your family for generations. It was supposed to go to Vin—or Sal. One of your sons. That’s what you always said.”

His mouth quirked into a sideways smile. “It’s the twenty-first century, can’t I do things a little different?”

“A little different?” I narrowed my eyes at him—at the man that had always made such a big deal about how things should be done. About the right way to be and act and do. “Dad, this is not a little different. This is…” I sat back. “You’re doing this to piss someone off, aren’t you? Is someone suing you or something?”

“No one’s suing me.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key ring. On it was a single silver key. He put it on the table between us. “It’s yours.”

“No, it isn’t.” I shook my head. “Answer my question.”

“I don’t gotta answer nothing, kid. I’m the parent here.”

I swallowed against the throb in my throat. It didn’t matter how old I was, how frequently I proved myself, I would always be kid. I took another sip of liquid courage.

“Fine.” I reached for my purse. “Then I’m leaving.”

“What?” He laughed, extending a hand toward me, making like he might actually grab my sleeve, yank me down, and force me to stay. “Is it that hard to believe that I wanna give you something nice, babydoll? Didja forget about all the gifts I always gave you?”

“This is not something nice,” I hissed, leaning across the table. “I know it isn’t. I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.”

Color sprung into his cheeks. “That’s your mother talking.” He jabbed a finger at me. “She’s gotten in your head and given you this idea of me. That I’m some bad guy.”

“Don’t you dare bring up Mom,” I managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll flip this table and you will never hear from me again—”

“Jesus, June.” He shook his head, lips puckered in disgust. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you? You always have to take things too far. You always have to overreact.” His words hit me like a wave of ice water. I froze. “This was supposed to be a nice moment. This is a fuckin’ gift a lot of people would kill for.”

I looked away from my dad. I took a breath, and all the anger, all the rage in my body was replaced by total exhaustion, numbness. “Thank you.” I slid the key off the table, dropped it into my purse, and picked up my coffee menu. “I am very grateful.”

It was a familiar shift; one I’d felt happen inside me so many times. It was so easy to make myself small in order to survive, wasn’t it? It was a habit—a pattern—I could fall into so easily.

It was like the last week hadn’t even happened. I’d never confronted Joey at Joanne’s party; I’d never stood up to Brian at the town hall; I hadn’t finally freed myself from the shackles of shame I’d carted around after being cheated on, rejected, left.

I lifted my eyes to look directly at the apex predator of my self-confidence.

“Alright.” He smoothed his hands down the front of his quarter zip. A fucking quarter zip, like he worked at a law firm or a medical supply company. My jaw clicked with the pain of the tension in my body. “Ok. So…how’s her trip going?”