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Moscato
Amelia
I drank a sip of my Moscato. "Seriously, my dad is the worst."
"Your dad worships the ground that you walk on. You're the most spoiled girl in the entire DC area, and that includes Malia and Sasha."
"He's being horrible."
"Horrible like how? Like the time that he made you look at your five-figure credit card bill from an hour-long shopping spree at Potomac Mills? It's an outlet mall, girl. People are supposed to save money there. Or is this like the time when you bought a car because it matched your outfit and you didn't want to take the metro home?"
"Neither. It's way worse."
He sighed. "You know I love you, but I doubt that your dad is really doing anything too bad."
"He's making me go to Wisconsin."
"Okay, I take that back."
"I know! He wants me to go to flyover country. Middle America. You know it's all cornfields."
He rolled his eyes. "It's not all cornfields. You know that I lived in Madison for two years, right? It could be fun."
"You lived next to a park that was adjacent to a cornfield. In the state capital. God knows what would happen if you had been living in La Crosse, Steven's Point, or the woods in the north that you call 'Up North.'" I shivered. “That would have been the worst.”
"Honestly, get over yourself. It's not so bad in America's heartland. There's much less traffic."
"You told me that all of the county roads were riddled with potholes."
"True, but the people there are pretty friendly. You know that someone dug me out of a ditch when I spun off the road in the ice. Who knew that the hills in Madison would be way scarier than any of the hills in DC?"
"Whatever," I said, flipping my hair out. "I'm going to the boonies. My dad is ruining my life."
"Sweetie, I love you, but you don't do very much. You shop. You gossip."
"Hey! I have a career. I am an internationally renowned artist.”
"True, sweetheart, but there's zero money in that."
It was true. Our entire house was filled with my paintings. Everyone said that they were pretty, but there was no money in painting pretty things.
"My dad is making me meet this stupid farmer boy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. He wants him to take over his company. But, like, I don't understand how someone who milks cows every morning is going operate Daddy's business. It's his baby as much as I am."
"That does sound weird."
"There's no real food there, either."
"Sweetheart, of course there is real food. This is America."
"No! When you lived in Madison, didn't you tell me that getting sushi was a nightmare? That the only place that you could get it used MSG out the wazoo that made you taste it for 2 days afterward?"
"I did tell you that, yes."
"Any place that doesn't have real sushi does not have real food."
"Okay, I get it. Wisconsin is Siberia. So why are you going at all? Can't you just pout at your dad and stay here?"
"Don't you think that I already tried?" I flipped my hair again. "He's being, like, firm. Parental. I don't know."
"You mean he's actually not spoiling you by giving you everything you want? Quelle shock, Veruca Salt."
"Hey! I'm a good egg." I swatted his arm lightly. "Veruca Salt was way more spoiled than I was. Am. Whatever."
"You have a sweet heart, but honestly, darling, nobody has said no to you in your life. You're smart, so your teachers have always loved you. You're an excellent artist, so you've always had success, there, too. You've never failed at anything. And even if you did, you could just go crying to Daddy and get it fixed."
"Not true. I lost my 8th grade spelling bee."
"Yeah, at the county level. You still won out of the entire school."
"Of course I did. I was the best."
"Maybe your father is teaching you a good lesson by making you get out of your comfort zone."
"I know what the country is like. I've listen to Sam Hunt. It's all pickup trucks in the middle of the forest, lightning storms, which, by the way, I get plenty of here, thanks, tornadoes, and, like, Bible thumpers."