Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

tone, as if reasonable words would bring about the reasonable conclusion that was always his goal.

But Emma was tired of this conversation.

“Don’t ‘kitten’ me, Daddy.” She hated that childhood nickname. “I’m an adult. Almost thirty years old. I make my own decisions about my personal life. I find it insulting that Andrew runs to you like I’m some idiot casting aside the prize of the century and expects you to, what, talk sense into me?”

Her father shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Oh, my God,” she said again. “He can’t accept the fact that it’s over so he figures you’ll take up for him. So we can fall into the ‘accepted and proper’ pattern again, right? Holy crap.”

“There’s no need to use vulgar language,” Angela told her.

Vulgar language? Holy crap is vulgar language?

Listening to them, Emma was struck by just how sterile her life had been up until now. She shuddered to think how she’d been so accepting of it. Content enough that Annie had believed dull, boring Andrew to be the perfect person for her. And almost two weeks ago, she’d believed it herself.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Look. I know Andrew is a really nice man, and it’s my fault for letting everyone—including him—believe we were headed down the bridal path. But I don’t love Andrew. I’m not sure now I ever did. It’s like…like….” She chuffed in frustration. “Like I woke up one day and discovered my world had been gray and now I realized there were colors. Can you even try to understand that?”

“Your mother tells me your old roommate Jacie was in town a week or so ago and you had lunch with her.” Her father shook his head. “I always did think she was a wild one. Now she’s filled your head full of ridiculous ideas.”

“Oh, my God,” she repeated yet again. “Jacie is not wild. She’s a happily married woman completely in love with a husband she raves about. I don’t even feel one-tenth for Andrew of what she feels for Michael. She has a wonderful family and a career she thrives on. What do I have? A job editing textbooks and reruns of old movies every Saturday night. What is so bad about wanting something different?” She looked from one to the other. “What if I’d married Andrew and then realized I’d made a mistake?”

“A lot of women would love to have a dependable man like Andrew for a husband,” her mother pointed out.

“And so I’m sure they’ll be lining up for him once he lets them know he’s available. He’s just not for me.”

Her father studied her carefully. “I don’t suppose visiting a rock and roll bar had anything to do with it, either.”

Emma froze in shock. How in God’s name did they know that?

“You didn’t think we’d know? Andrew told me when he came to my office.”

“What? He followed me?”

Thad Blake nodded.

“And then what did he do?” Oh God, what if he’d followed her to Marc’s? How did she explain that?

“He said he waited in the parking lot for a little while but you never came out. He wasn’t about to go into that…place, and after a while some man came and told him he couldn’t keep sitting there, and he’d have to leave.”

“He sat there like some stalker?” A bubble of hysterical laughter wiggled its way up her throat.

Her father nudged his plate away. “He was very concerned, Emma.”

Emma pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ll just bet he was. Concerned.” She almost spat the word. “Enough to follow me but not to wait around to see if I was in trouble? Listen to me. Andrew was concerned he was going to lose a cook and housekeeper and someone who wouldn’t rattle his chain. Holy crap!”

“Emma!” Angela admonished.

“Crap, crap, crap,” Emma repeated, feeling as if she were ten years old, throwing a tantrum and about to get her mouth washed out with soap. “Do you both realize that in a couple of weeks I’ll be thirty years old? I can go wherever I want. With whoever I want. I don’t need permission anymore.”

“Honey, please.” Angela looked at her, distress stamped on her face. “We raised you to be a good girl, a decent woman. Not go places where they have things like…drugs.”

“Drugs?” Emma tried to get a handle on the anger threatening to burst forth. “There are no drugs in the places I go to. And the people are very nice. Don’t pass judgment on things you know nothing about. Have you ever even been to that kind of club?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Of course not. And they weren’t even in my universe growing up. Not in my carefully selected group of friends.”

“There’s no crime in not going certain places,” Angela fretted. “Or liking certain things.”

“No. But there is in prejudging them.” Emma swallowed the urge to scream. How did she let them dictate her life all these years? “Why couldn’t you have given me the freedom to make my own choices? Didn’t you trust me?”

“We gave you a good life, honey.”

“Yes, and I’m very grateful for it. But now you have to let me figure things out for myself. I’m going to be thirty years old. Give me a break here. Please.”

“Emma,” her father began.

“No. This was a mistake.” She took a couple of deep, hopefully calming breaths. “Look. I love you both. I really do. And I appreciate that you want certain things for me. But I’m not a child. I need to make my own decisions. And if what I want isn’t what you had in mind, I hope you love me enough to accept that.” She kissed each of her parents in turn. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Please don’t worry. I’m really fine. Just battling with a case of arrested development.”

Her anger boiled over again as she pulled away from the house, grabbing her like a living thing. It grew and expanded as she drove through the