“But a parent has to be at the show. I need someone to sign the release, or they won’t let me ride.”
“Ask your father.”
Your father. He doesn’t have a name anymore. Not even Dad.
“When does the open house end? You could come after.”
She plucks at the wet blotch in her blouse. “I have to take Jessica for a fitting.”
“Ballet shoes again? Didn’t she just get a new pair?” I lift my foot, showing her the hole in the seam of the boot. “I’ve asked for new ones for months.” My foot thuds to the floor. Extra hard.
“Jessica needs them for auditions.”
Right. Baby sis’s auditions are more important because she has a future in ballet. So everyone says. I just ride for fun.
My mouth opens and I suck in a breath for my big argument, but she holds up a hand. “And don’t give me the that’s not fair line. When is life fair? Is it fair I was left paying the mortgage on this huge house when your father just up and walks out?”
Dad’s fault. Everything from the car breaking down to the cost of my riding lessons is Dad’s fault now. I take a savage bite out of the over-toasted bagel on my plate and push it aside.
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