Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
He regards the fruit salad and yoghurt that Heidi puts in front of him with a downturned mouth. “What happened to having a croissant for breakfast like all normal people do?”
“Spreading an inch of butter on a croissant that already contains a pound in the dough and adding fifty grams of jam on top are what happened to it,” I say with a smile. “And not everyone has croissants for breakfast.”
“This diet will kill me,” he says, glaring at Heidi.
“Quite the opposite.” I motion for Heidi to remove the basket of pastries from the table. “You know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.”
He scoffs. “I’m going to die anyway. Why can’t I at least enjoy the food I like?”
Heidi leaves quickly. She’s taken more than enough verbal abuse from my father since the cardiologist changed his diet.
I’m not fond of fruit and yoghurt for breakfast either, but I serve a helping of each in a bowl as a way of showing empathic support. “The older you get, the more you complain like a child.” I add with good humor, “It’s a wonder Maman still puts up with you.”
Stabbing a grape with his fork, he shoots me a look from across the length of the table. “Talking about your mother, how do you think she’s going to feel about having her family on the property when she finds out?”
I contemplate that as I dribble honey over my yoghurt. I should’ve considered it before I made statements and decisions. Like always, I feel that I’m failing my mother, that we’re all failing her for not asking her opinion. It’s too late now. The ball has already been set rolling.
My tone is blasé, masking the mistake I may have made. “She’ll be happy.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He shoves the grape into his mouth and chews. “Why do you think they don’t have contact? That bastard was never a father to her. He sure as hell won’t be a grandfather to anyone.”
“I’m not expecting him to be. He can do whatever he wants, but those kids need to be fed, clothed, and sent to school.”
“Those mongrels?” He waves his fork in a general direction. “They won’t hesitate to bite the hand that feeds them.”
“Then they can do it with a proper roof over their heads.”
He abandons the fork and grabs a spoon. “Does it have to be on our property?”
“On the edge of our property. You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. None of us has to.”
Digging the spoon into his bowl, he stirs the content. “You had to take up the reins early. Managing the company and taking responsibility for everyone are tough.” He brings a spoonful of fruit and yoghurt to his mouth. Pulling up his nose at the runny, low-fat yoghurt coating dices of apple and kiwi, he sighs and drops the spoon back in his bowl. “You’re doing a good job. I admire you for that. Not everyone can pull that off at your age. Just remember, I’m not dead yet. You should’ve consulted me.”
“You’re right.” I add muesli to my bowl. I won’t admit it to my father, but I’d choose a croissant ten times over the watery yoghurt. “I made an impulsive decision on the spur of the moment.”
He pats the space next to his place setting, a habitual reaction in groping a packet of cigarillos that’s no longer there. Instead, he takes his mug of herbal tea. “I wish you hadn’t gone there to start with.”
I get up and fetch orange juice on the buffet table to fill his glass because the green mint tea will be criticized next. My mother is following the doctor’s orders to the tee, cutting down on caffeine too.
“I was curious,” I say, omitting the part about taking my mother to the village and witnessing the inhabitants’ disrespect. If he finds out, the village will be a bloodbath by noon.
He mumbles a thank you but ignores the juice I place at his elbow.
“Any news from Edwards?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
I pour juice for myself and walk to the windows. The garden was transformed in preparation for the wedding. A space was cleared on the front lawn for the gazebo. Plants were removed from their beds in the soil and temporarily transplanted into pots. A wrought-iron pergola was constructed at the farthest point to benefit from the view of the sea. Pots with creeper roses were placed at the pillars and the roses twisted over the frame of the structure. In a month’s time, the blooms and leaves will form a canopy, providing not only shade but also the roof that the law requires for a bride and groom to say their vows.
“He won’t comply,” my father says. “He’ll do nothing to make anything easy for you. You saw his reaction, saw for yourself how he treated us. He despises our name.”