8. VANESSA
PARIS
I wish I didn’t have to leave Vanessa’s place in a hurry.
Spending the night wasn’t in the plan, and I have a million things to do before going to my folks’ place later.
The first is heading over to Andreas’s place for another tasting fest. He decided to pursue a career in baking, and he loves to use us as his guinea pigs.
Not that I’m complaining. He’s a talented motherfucker.
I’m already late, but there’s no way in hell I can show up at his apartment wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday.
He’ll demand to know where I spent the night—meaning, who I slept with—because besides being obsessed with cooking, he’s also a fucking busybody.
He loves to know all the juicy gossip so he can tease us to no end.
And since he was firmly in the I-hate-Lydia camp, he’s been trying to help me out in the romance— hookup —department.
The music on the radio gets cut off by an incoming call. I press the accept button right away. “Hey, Dad.”
“Good morning, son. Where are you?”
“Uh, on my way home. Why?”
“Hold on.” I hear the sound of his footsteps, and then the snick of a door shutting. “Lydia is downstairs with your mother. She’s in tears.”
“What? Why? What happened?” I fire off those questions automatically, but then I remember she’s no longer my girlfriend and I shouldn’t let her theatrics control me anymore.
“Something to do with you ignoring her phone calls and not spending the night at your place.”
My stomach coils tightly. How the hell does she know I was gone all night? She either waited for me outside my building like a psycho, or she cornered one of my roommates. Both are terrible scenarios.
“I’m ignoring her calls to send a message that we’re over. I thought she was getting better.”
“That girl has severe mental issues, son. I can’t tell you enough how glad your mother and I are that you put an end to it. We never liked her.”
That’s total BS. They loved Lydia in the beginning, because she comes from a respectable family.
I love my parents, but they put too much value on appearances and status.
For instance, when they saw my first tat, my father yelled at me for hours and my mother didn’t talk to me for weeks.
No patient will want to be operated on by a surgeon who looks like he belongs to a motorcycle club . Those were my father’s words.
They calmed down only when they saw that it was a tribute to Cory. They probably thought I wouldn’t get more ink done. Now I’m covered in tattoos, and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.
“What do you want me to do about Lydia?”
“Your mother wants you to come over and deal with her.”
The idea makes my skin crawl. If I show up now, I’ll never make it to Andreas’s place.
“Can’t. I’m already late for an important appointment.”
“She’s your girlfriend, Paris,” Dad replies, sounding frustrated.
“My ex-girlfriend,” I retort. “You know what’s going to happen if I cave to her emotional blackmail. She’ll think she can get me back, and I can’t return to that bullshit.”
He sighs. “We definitely don’t want to encourage her. I’ll make up an excuse. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“What’s the appointment? If it’s important, you shouldn’t be late.”
I groan in my head. I shouldn’t have expected Dad to let that one slide.
He’s a stickler for rules and manners. People being late is one of his pet peeves, which is ironic, because he sometimes makes his patients wait for up to an hour before he sees them.
In his mind, in-demand doctors shouldn’t be readily available.
If they’re running on time, it means they aren’t good.
His view of the world is seriously messed up.
“I’m meeting Coach Clarkson for breakfast,” I lie. “If I hurry, I’ll be there just in time.”
He grumbles. “You definitely don’t want to upset your coach. And you’d better be here on time. Only the bride is allowed to be late to a wedding.”
Hell. I’d forgotten where I’m supposed to be later today.
“Do I really need to come to this thing?”
“Yes, Paris. You do. Especially after leaving your mother and I alone to deal with your crazy ex. I’ll see you later.”
He ends the call abruptly, something he always does when he’s pissed. Shit. If going to a stupid wedding wasn’t already bad enough, now I have to deal with my aggravated folks. It’s going to be a hella fun party.