Mom stands up to touch the back of her hand to my forehead like I’m a child.
“I’m fine,” I say and then clear my throat.
Ben presses his leg against mine, and I look over to see him giving me two thumbs-up underneath the table. I grin and then try to conceal it before my parents think I’ve officially lost it.
“Mom, Dad, I have something I need to tell you.”
They both sit there with expectant looks on their faces, and I decide to just do it, consequences be damned.
“I’m not going to Vanderbilt.” It comes out in a rush, and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe, but I’m free at the same time.
“What?” they both say and then look at each other.
“What do you mean, you aren’t going to Vanderbilt?” Mom’s voice comes out high-pitched.
I cringe. “Well, I should have told you before—”
“Yes, you should have. What are you doing with our money?” My dad’s gruff tone makes me pause before the anger sets in.
“I haven’t touched the money you gave me. I’m using my own money for tuition to culinary school.”
Silence hangs in the air over us. I can’t look away from my parents, but the child in me wants to run and hide in my room.
If you are big enough to get yourself into this mess, you are big enough to get yourself out.
“Culinary school?” Mom says, eyes wide.
“What money?” Dad asks.
“Yes,” I say, crossing my arms. “I sold some stock I had in Stratten Enterprises, and I’m using it for tuition.”
“You sold your stock?” Dad’s voice rises, and I cringe.
Ben stands up beside me, murmuring something about going to check on Danger, who is not even ten feet away from us.
“I’m sorry I kept this from you. I was so scared of disappointing you both, and I know how you planned for me to take over the business once Dad retires, but … that’s not what I want.”
“That’s not what you want,” Dad says incredulously. “Why wouldn’t you just tell us that?”
“No,” I state firmly, “it’s not what I want. I have told you that before. You’ve just never listened.”
“Honey, we didn’t think you were very serious,” Mom says, leaning to place her hand on my arm where it’s tapping the top of the table. “We thought it was more of a hobby of yours. I know how much you enjoyed baking with your grandma.”
“I thought you would try to talk me out of it,” I say, fighting the urge to look away from them.
“It was a really stupid decision—” Dad starts to say.
“Patrick,” Mom says, cutting him off.
“It wasn’t smart of you to sell your stock without talking to us.” He amends his statement, and I wince.
“I know. I just wanted to do something by myself for once.”
“I’m very disappointed that you’ve been lying to us,” Dad says.
My heart sinks. I knew it was coming, but to actually hear it from him and see the hurt on their faces, it breaks my heart.
“This culinary school, it’s what you want to do?” Mom questions.
I nod slowly. “Yes, I’m loving it so much already. We’re in the kitchen, making food, every single day. I’ve already made a friend.” I start oversharing to hide my feelings.
“What about your duty to the family and keeping the business alive?” Dad asks.
I reach up, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Patrick,” Mom warns again, “this is not the 1800s. Pepper can become whatever she wants to be.” She turns her attention back to me. “I just wish you had come to us first. I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
A frown creases her forehead, and my eyes widen. She must be running late on Botox injections. My mother is nothing if not a well put-together woman at all times.
“Dad, I’m not cut out to take over your business. I don’t want to become a CEO. I break out in hives when I think about it. I’m happiest in the kitchen, putting ingredients together to make delicious food. And, Mom, you’re right. I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry.”
My shoulders slump as I realize how much I built this up in my head. I didn’t think my parents would yell at me or throw me out on the streets. I’m a people-pleaser, and the thought of them not being happy with me, with my decisions, cuts into my very soul. I can’t decide if it’s a flaw or not.
I should want people to be happy with me, but at what cost to myself? When do I put myself first and make myself happy too? That’s what I’m attempting to do with this move, this school, this new adventure. I just hope my parents can see that.
“Yes, you shouldn’t have,” Mom agrees, and Dad nods.
I sit there, feeling like I’m five years old again. I look around and notice that Ben has disappeared, letting me take care of this on my own, and I’m grateful that he’s not witnessing my sad show of an apology to my parents.
“It’s going to be hard for us to trust you again.” Mom’s eyes fill with tears, and I reach for her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I let things get out of control. I thought it would be easier not to tell you, and once I didn’t, I just kept going and going. I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I’ve been so stupid.”
“Pepper, I’ve never wanted to pressure you into anything. I’ve never wanted you to feel like you had to do something to make me or your mother happy,” Dad says. “We love you, and we want you to do what you love. I wish you had been up-front about not wanting to go into the family business.”
“You’re right. Again, I’m sorry.”
“We still love you, Pepper.” Mom stands, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling me in.
I feel a tear escape, sad about the pain I just caused them.
I’m such an idiot.
A door closes down the hall, and Ben walks back into
