Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
A frown flickers across Sophie’s face as she thanks her, then she asks softly, “What is it?”
“Veal with a balsamic-tomato sauce,” the maid answers.
“Thank you.”
Ilona nods and returns to the kitchen.
Sophie reaches over her plate and grabs the wineglass that’s been filled for her. Dad watches her drink, then she hesitates, probably wondering if she was supposed to do that. I know Sophie’s only nineteen and I’m sure he does by now, too, but he won’t care about a glass of wine with dinner.
She doesn’t know that, though, so she flushes, probably thinking she’s done something wrong. I grab my glass and take a sip, hoping she’ll see she hasn’t, but she’s too flustered to notice.
“How would you feel about staying a few more days?” Dad asks.
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Oh… I couldn’t. I stay in a dorm, I have roommates. They’re probably already miffed I skipped out on my share of the chores this weekend. They’ll kill me if I skip grocery shopping, too,” she says lightly.
His lips tug up faintly. “We have a staff. We can send someone to meet your obligations for you so you can stay.”
“That’s a generous offer,” she says uneasily, looking down at her plate. Pushing it away from her, she goes on. “I sort of have a routine at home that I’m pretty fond of, though, so I should really be getting back.”
“It seems to me your routine is quite fluid,” he says smoothly, cutting into his veal. “Sometimes you’re at your dorm, sometimes you’re at your mother’s. Seems it would be easy for you to disappear for a while without anyone noticing.” He takes a bite and meets her gaze across the table.
Sophie pales and reaches for her wineglass again but seems to think better of it and drops her hands. They’re in her lap, and I have to resist the urge to grab one to reassure her.
I trust Sophie to handle my father without my help, and I suspect he’ll respect her more if she can.
If it goes bad, I’ll do damage control, but I want to give her a chance and see how she does on her own first.
“Is there something wrong with the veal?” he asks evenly since she hasn’t touched it and has now pushed the plate away from her as if finished.
She clears her throat, grabbing the water goblet and taking a drink instead. “I don’t eat veal.”
“Why not?”
“Because… when I look at it, I see a baby cow that hasn’t even had a chance to live its life.” Dead silence greets her, so she continues. “They’re separated from their mothers at birth and raised solely to be consumed, so the calves are kept confined under cruel conditions in order to keep their flesh tender for the consumer. They’re not allowed to wander around and graze or socialize like an animal should; they’re kept in veal crates so they can’t move to keep their muscles weak. Some are so weak, they can’t even make the walk to the slaughter line, and I just… It’s an unspeakably cruel way to treat a living thing, and I’m not going to eat it.”
“It’s already dead.”
“I understand, and if anyone else would like it, please take it. I hate for the poor baby cow to be treated horribly and then slaughtered for no reason, but I feel ill even thinking about taking a bite, so… I’m not going to.”
Dad slices off another piece of his abused baby cow and pops it into his mouth, unbothered. “You’re not a vegetarian?”
“I’m not. Just no veal, and I do try to only buy meat I know is cruelty-free. Living things shouldn’t be treated the way—” She stops herself, shaking her head. “You don’t care.”
“No,” he murmurs.
“But I do, so no veal for me.”
Dad’s gaze drifts to me. “Excellent job, son. You’ve brought home a humanitarian.”
I crack a smile, but before I can say anything, Sophie does.
“I know, I know. Super annoying to care about things. Sorry,” she says, sounding not sorry at all.
“I never thought about it that way before,” Mom says, frowning down at her plate. “I don’t think we should have veal anymore, honey. I don’t want to eat baby cows.”
“Why don’t I fund a farm where baby cows can live their best lives before we butcher them for their meat?”
“Oh yes,” Mom says, smiling. “That would be nice.”
“I was joking, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” Mom drops her fork. “Well, I still think it sounds nice.” Looking across the table at Sophie, she says, “I’m going to the kitchen to see if I can get us something else to eat. Would you like to come with me?”
Sophie blinks in surprise, then nods. “Sure.”
Dad and I watch the women head for the kitchen, then he looks at me across the table.
“You couldn’t have brought home a nice shallow girl who only cares about shopping and social media?”