Chapter Three
1294 Words
Chapter Three
A few days later, Adalia kicked off her shoes in the kitchen back at her dad’s house. There were dishes piled in the sink and carrots lying on the chopping board. She scraped the peeler over their fat bodies and threw the peelings into the trash can.
She’d decided on a beef stew for the evening. She could put it on, leave it for her father and come back after her date for leftovers if she was still hungry.
Adalia checked the clock on the wall. She still had a couple hours before eight and DeShawn was usually late anyway.
“Hey, you’re back from work.” Her father, Sylvester, shuffled into the kitchen wrapped in his blanket. He coughed into his fist then sniffed. “I didn’t think you’d be home this soon.”
“I took a bit of time off work. Got a date tonight,” she muttered, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on that last detail.
“A date with who? That billionaire fella?” Of course he’d heard, just her luck. Once she let him in on this secret, she’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m making a beef stew for dinner, so you can just fetch yourself a bowl when you get hungry. Be sure to turn the gas off after a few hours. I’ve microwaved a bowl of rice to go with it. You got that, Dad?” Adalia chopped the carrots and plopped them into the stock and meat simmering on the stove.
“You don’t want to tell me who you’re going with.” Sylvester Montclair was no fool, and he was grumpier than usual because he was sick.
“Dad, it’s not a real date, actually, so what does it matter?”
“Girl, you know better than to keep secrets from me under my own roof,” he grumbled then walked a few steps to the fridge, pulled it open and brought out a beer.
“No alcohol, Dad. It will weaken your immune system. There’s a carton of orange juice in there. Have that instead.” Adalia pointed with the wooden spoon and put on a ‘cute daughter’ smile.
“Don’t tell me what to do in my house.” He popped the cap and glugged back the brew. He really was terrible when he was ill. “Now, who are you going out with? And don’t evade the question this time. It’s starting to piss me off.”
“DeShawn asked me out.”
Sylvester slammed the beer bottle onto the wooden table. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, Dad. Look, it’s not what you think. I didn’t go after him, he came after me. He came right into work and –”
“So, not only is he harassing you, but he’s disturbing you during work hours, too? And you’re going with it. I thought I raised you better than this, girl.” He snatched up the bottle and drank some more, eyes already glazing over from lack of food.
“Dad, I had no choice but to say yes at the time.”
“Every time there’s the slightest hint of trouble, you go running back to that character. He’s useless and you know it. Still a d**g addict.”
“He’s quit, he told me so a short while ago.” Adalia stirred the pot and turned her back on her father. She didn’t want him to see the tears.
“And you believed him, of course. You’d better get your act together, Adalia, because I will not permit that kid’s presence under my roof.”
Adalia gritted her teeth. “I won’t bring him here.” There was all this ‘under my roof’ s**t ever since she’d had to move in. There was some unknown pressure building, and she had a feeling it was financial.
Her father had never been this hard on her before.
“You’d better not. Minute he steps over my threshold is the minute he gets a right hook to the jaw.”
Sylvester wasn’t a violent man either. None of this made any sense to her.
“I can look after myself,” she murmured, though she wasn’t that sure she believed it anymore.
“I’m beginning to doubt that, girl. I want you to make me proud, not afraid for your damn future.”
“No pressure,” she remarked, then tapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pot and rested it on a saucer beside the stove.
“You’re damn right there’s pressure on you. This is your life, and I don’t want to see you screw it up like I did.”
“What are you talking about, Dad? You have a great life. You’ve got a home, a job, a happy family.”
He grumbled under his breath then spoke up. “I have what I have, but you’re not focusing on creating something for yourself. Leave the men in your dust, girl, or you’re going to regret it. Time will pass in a blur, and someday soon I’ll be dead and you’ll be old and gray.”
“I’ve never heard you this negative before. It kinda scares me.” Adalia folded her arms and studied the lines around his eyes and on his forehead. His shoulders were tense, and there was strain running through him.
“I’m disappointed in you on this one, Adalia. I thought you were smarter than this.” He scuffed his feet along the tiles and made his way through the arch that led out into the living room.
“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered under her breath. She lowered the heat on the stove, covered the pot with a lid, tilted it to let steam out then hurried to her room.
Hours passed and she took her time getting ready. She didn’t do too much makeup, but chose a nice dress, not too formal. It was DeShawn after all. She didn’t need to impress him. He’d be oblivious anyway.
She went out to check on the stew at a quarter to eight. The meat was tender but not quite ready and the aroma tempted her to drop the dinner date and stay home. There was nothing like a good stew to soothe an aching heart.
Aching for Trent, not DeShawn. She grimaced at herself. Why did it matter who she ached for? Why couldn’t she just forget about him and focus on starting her life back up again?
Each morning it was the same... she’d wake up, think of Trent, go to work, more thinking of Trent, come home, Trent again. She couldn’t take this anymore!
Adalia fished around in the stew and brought out a piece of potato. She blew on it until it was cool, salted it, then popped it in her mouth and savored the flavor.
The clock ticked over, past eight and to half past. She stared at it, shaking her head at herself. Her dad was right. She shouldn’t have agreed to anything with DeShawn. She should’ve been stronger in the bakery, but at the moment, everything had seemed so extreme, so dire.
Now, she was stuck in her Friday night best, waiting on a man she didn’t want to see in the first place.
“He’s late,” her father called from the living room, and her stomach tied up in knots.
“I know, but the stew will be ready in an hour, okay?” At least he’d had a massive lunch. Adalia pressed her hands to her sides and swallowed hard. She was too anxious about this – it was just DeShawn!
“Told you that he was no good.”
“I know, Dad,” she murmured, but he didn’t reply. Adalia paced back and forth, glaring at the clock. She was humiliated and it transformed into anger. That red heat built within her, and she gave a low growl. The clock ticked onto nine, and she gritted her teeth.
Where did he get off? He’d asked her on this stupid date and –
There was a knock at the door. She squared her shoulders and charged through the living room, past her father and to the front door.
DeShawn was about to get it.
Adalia grasped the handle, pulled the door open and gasped.
“Wha – what are you doing here?”
Trent Dawson smiled back at her. “I had to come see you.”
- Writer
