It’s my last period of the day, and I usually enjoy sessions with my guidance counselor, but today she’s decided to bust my balls for some reason, and I’m not in the mood for it. I’ve been feeling shitty since lunchtime.
“Lots of students think their parents won’t be supportive and they are pleasantly surprised.”
My knee bounces up and down as agitation sweeps over me. “My father has been ramming Yale Law down my throat from the time I was in diapers. He has plans to buy the current law firm he works at when the owner retires in a few years. He thinks we’re going to run it together as father and son, and there is nothing I can say, nothing I have said, that will change his mind,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“But surely, he wants his only son to be happy?” she asks, twirling the strand of pearls around her neck. I don’t know what age Mrs. Wills is, but she always dresses like a grandma in cardigans, high-necked blouses, and austere skirts that hit her calves. She looks way older than Kendall, but Kendall looks super young for her age, so it’s hard to gauge. Anyway, she’s old enough to have been around the block. She can’t be this naive.
I slam my hand down on my knee to stop the bouncing motion. “Dad doesn’t care about my happiness. He cares about me carrying on his legacy. My parents struggled to conceive, and I’m their only son, so it’s all on me.”
She scribbles something down on her notepad, and I glance at the clock over her head, willing time to speed up.
“Has he seen your art?” she asks, trying a different approach.
“Not since I was a young teen.”
“Well, there you go!” She smiles, clasping her hands on top of the desk. “You need to show him your portfolio. I bet he’ll be blown away by your talent and realize your future lies on a different trajectory.”
A muscle pops in my jaw and I grind my teeth so hard it’s a miracle I don’t chip a tooth.
“If you’re worried, I could talk to them on your behalf,” she adds. “I’m more than happy to set up a meeting.”
Over my dead fucking body is she going anywhere near my parents. I’m all out of patience, and she needs a reality check. I lean forward and stab her with a sharp look. “When I was thirteen, my father gathered up all my sketch pads, canvases, easels, paints, and art books, and built a bonfire with them in our backyard. He told me I was on the way to becoming a man now and art was for kids and pussies. He forced me to pour the gasoline and light the match. Then he made me watch my dreams go up in flames.”
Swiping my bag off the ground, I stand, preparing to leave, even though there are still twelve minutes on the clock. She can write me up. I have zero fucks to give. “Gregory Henley doesn’t give a fuck about my talent. He only cares about himself.” I sling my bag over one shoulder and glare at her. “Getting accepted into Yale to study art is my lifetime dream. I think I’ll probably get a place, but getting to go is another matter entirely. My father won’t pay for it, and with his contacts, he’ll stop me from getting any kind of scholarship. I don’t even care about the money. I’ll take out student loans when the inheritance my grandparents left me runs out. My biggest fear is he’ll get the offer rescinded, and that is why he can’t find out what I’m planning.”
The chair screeches as I push it back, stomping toward the door. I turn around as my fingers curl around the door handle. “I know you mean well, and I appreciate all you have done to help me, but you need to drop this. Your responsibility is to assist me. To help me to achieve my academic goals. My father can’t know, which means my mother can’t know either. Please don’t reach out to them. Trust me when I say it wouldn’t end well for either of us. He is not the kind of man you want to cross.” I let those words linger in the tense air for a few beats before I open the door. I cast one final glance at her. “They need to remain in the dark.”
11
KENDALL
“We’re staging an intervention,” June says, appearing in the doorway of my office with a determined look on her pretty face.
“Who is?” I inquire, setting my pen down on my pad.
“Your two besties,” Viola replies, popping her head over June’s shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
June rolls her eyes. “Staging an intervention. Duh.” She walks over and flippantly turns my computer off.
I purse my lips, my gaze bouncing between my two closest friends. “I still have work to do.”
“No, you don’t. It’s after five on a Friday night. Your working week is over, chica.” Viola grabs my coat from the coat hanger and stomps toward me. “You have worked late every night this week and given both of us every excuse under the sun to avoid talking. It ends now.” She thrusts my dusky-pink woolen coat at me.
“We’re your best friends.” June props her butt on the edge of my desk.
“We know you inside and out, and we know something is wrong,” Viola adds, planting her hands on her shapely hips.
“We want to help,” June supplies.
“We need to know,” Viola says.
I hold up my hands. “All right. Enough with the tag team.” Leaning back in my chair, I sigh heavily. “I was always planning on confiding in you,” I truthfully admit, looking both my friends in the eyes. “I just needed some time to process first, and I was hoping to tell you when I could finally control my tear ducts.” Moisture stings my eyes, but I rub them, shoving the tears back down inside. I have cried enough tears this week because of that prick. Anger comes and goes, but the overriding feelings are hurt, sadness, disappointment, embarrassment, and regret.
Viola glances over her shoulder, checking no one is outside, before swinging her gaze to me. “He’s cheating again, isn’t he?” she softly asks. I shared my suspicions with my friend a couple of weeks ago, so I’m not surprised she’s made the correct assumption.
I nod, gulping over the lump in my throat.
“That fucking asshole!” June hisses, reaching over to take my hand. She squeezes it. “He has never been good enough for you, and you deserve so much better.”
“You do,” Viola agrees, nodding. Coming around my desk, she pulls me to my feet and hugs me. A sob rips from my throat as I cling to my childhood bestie. Viola squeezes me harder before easing back. “You can tell us everything, and we’ll help you to figure this out. We’re getting takeout at my house, and I already stocked up on wine and vodka.”
“I can’t,” I say, tidying the papers on my desk. “I’ve got to get home to Ridge. West has a date with Hazel, and Stella is going out with her friends.” I don’t mention the prick I’m married to won’t be home because he’ll be out fucking his girlfriend.
“Ruthie has agreed to watch Ridge and the twins,” Viola says. “I talked to her earlier, and she said she didn’t have any plans for tonight. She’s cool to stay home with Ridge and my two hellions.”
“You’re sure?” I inquire, as I put my coat on, because I don’t usually ask my cleaning lady to babysit, but she has helped me out with emergencies in the past.