My mom says nothing.
“You can’t deny it,” I protest.
“Your driving instructors talk about how fast you drive, and that’s with lessons. When you have your license—”
“If I never speed again—”
My mom holds up her hand. “Motorcycles are far too dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous! You could get in a car accident any day. You could choke on your lunch. Every day has the potential to be your last. Why shouldn’t I enjoy life a little while I’m alive?
“You can enjoy your life plenty with the new car your father is bound to get you.”
“It’s not that I won’t appreciate a car,” I say slowly. “Wait. When I have the car, it’s mine, right?”
“Yes.”
“So I could turn around and sell it to buy—”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Absolutely not.”
I huff a breath. “Mom, I’m sure that if Father ever drove himself anywhere, he wouldn’t bother to worry about the speed limit. He has so many cop friends—”
“You think your father is above the law, don’t you?”
I say nothing. I already know my father is a dangerous man. He is not to be messed with. If you did not appease him, the consequences could be dire.
I shouldn’t be surprised that Greg Shantz, the man my father hired to teach me how to drive, ratted me out. Honestly, it is a little insulting, if you ask me, that my father can’t teach me, that my mom can’t. Then again, my father has a driver. Two drivers, actually, one for him and one for my mom. I’m not sure when was the last time either of them drove themselves somewhere.
“How many people don’t speed?” I ask.
"If Katie jumped off a bridge, would you?" my mom counters.
"Of course not, but then Katie would never do that, so…" I shrug one shoulder. "I'm not a lemming, Mom. I can and do make up my own mind. I don't give in to peer pressure."
“Only when it comes to…”
My father. Neither of us has to say that, but we both know it is true.
But that also applies to my mom.
Mentioning that, though, will only make matters worse.
“Mom, I don’t want to fight,” I tell her. I reach over to touch her hand.
But she draws back and puts her hands in her lap. “You need to learn that you can’t have everything you want.”
“I don’t want anything else.”
"Because you have everything you could ever want already," she says.
“So I’m being punished because my father is rich and dotes on me?” I cry.
“This isn’t a punishment,” my mom says firmly. “You will not be getting a motorcycle.”