“You’ve been molded from childhood to settle into a comfortable life, Naomi. Working for a paycheck is not in your DNA. How long do you think you’d be able to keep this up? You want to be a pageant coach? Do it in Charleston from the comfort of our home. Or your husband’s home. It’s a hobby, not a business. Not for you. You have no business experience.”
How many blows can I sustain before falling over? I’ve been a good daughter. I’ve always done what is asked of me. Expected of me. I’ve treated my father with respect, but right now all of it seems like a waste. He thought so little of me all along. What was the point?
He sighs, his demeanor growing weary. “I give you credit for lasting this long. I do.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “But were you ever truly out on your own? Or did you just find someone else to take care of you?”
There it is. The knockout punch. I sway on my feet, feeling strangled. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I stood on my own since arriving in St. Augustine. I found a place to live, a job. I paid my way. The relationship I developed with Jason was on my terms. My father is wrong. I am not being cared for by a man, no matter how much that man insists on being my protector. Right now, however, in the face of my father’s verbal assaults, my self-confidence is teetering. Everything I’ve accomplished seems silly. So I learned to cook for myself. So what? So I taught a girl how to walk a stage. So what, Naomi?
“You’re beginning to see sense.” My father nods, sliding his car keys from his pocket with a jingle. “I’ll let your mother know to expect you home by tomorrow. We’ll have your room aired. Once you’ve gotten some sleep, we’ll sit down and sort through this mess.”
“I have a commitment tomorrow,” I manage, my blood icy as I realize my words constitute an agreement to my father’s orders. Yes, I was planning on going back to Charleston anyway, but that was my decision. Now it’s his. “Birdie’s pageant. I won’t miss it.”
He stops at the door, jostling his keys in his palm a couple times. “Then you better drive fast if you want to make it home by midnight.”
There’s no telling how long I stand there once the door closes. Hours? No, minutes. I hear the purr of my father’s Mercedes leave the curb and a breath wrenches up my throat, followed by a sob. I cast a look around the chalet, the neatness I took such pride in before mocking me now.
He’s right, isn’t he? Everything my father said was right. I got lucky with this arrangement. Jason and Birdie were godsends for a helpless woman. If I hadn’t fallen blindly into this perfect situation, I would have gone back home the day after I fled from the wedding. I have no skills to take care of myself or make a sustainable income. I’m useless. Jason knew it, too, didn’t he? That’s why he retrieved me from the ramshackle motel and brought me here. That’s why he’s never charged me rent. Pity. It was pity.
I’m pitiful. All this time, I thought I’d come to Florida to have an adventure and figure out who I am down deep at my core. Well I found out, didn’t I? I’m an embarrassment to my family and myself. Jason takes pride in fighting for his country. My parents take pride in building charities and being pillars of their community. What do I take pride in? Flowers in the center of my table. Going scuba diving once. Not an adventure. Not important.
I stumble toward the bed, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I fall onto my knees and drag the suitcase from beneath the frame, walking on my knees to the small dresser. Packing my clothes in heaping handfuls of colors. Clothes tastefully picked out for the perfect spring honeymoon. Such attention paid to every pleat, every stitch pattern. Stupid. So stupid.
When the dresser is empty, I march to the closet and throw it open, yanking my wedding dress off the pole by its hanger. The beading looks like alien crop circles. How did I never notice that? I run my finger over the circular patterns and dig deep. I dig deep for the extraordinary confidence I felt this morning. This self-doubt burns. I don’t want it…but it won’t go away. I’ve been ripped to shreds.
The door to my apartment opens and there stands Jason, his gaze going from curious to turbulent when he sees me holding the wedding dress, caressing it with my fingertips. I love him. So much that my heart starts beating at a different tempo, my arms dying to close around him, face wanting to bury itself in his neck to inhale, rub, revel. Mine.