Read Online Outside the Lines by Amy Hatvany - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amy Hatvany
Ads: Link
mother’s blue eyes flashed and she threw her pen down to the table. “You hate me? Me? I’m the one putting food in your mouth. I keep this roof over your head. Do you think for one minute your dad would take care of you the way I do if I decided to lock myself away for days at a time? No! You’d be on your own, little girl.”
“No, I wouldn’t!” I said, trying to fight back tears. “He loves me. He’d take care of me just fine. We don’t need you. Maybe you’re the reason he stays out there. Did you ever think of that? Why don’t you just go away and leave us alone?”
“Because I can’t!” The flash left my mother’s eyes just as quickly as it had appeared. Her shoulders fell.
My eyes stung as though she had hit me across the face.
“Honey,” she said, seeing my tears. She tried to grab my hand. I took a few steps back, out of her reach, and ran up the stairs to my room.
She probably wishes I was never born, I thought after I threw myself facedown on my bed. She said it herself; she didn’t stay because she loved me or my dad. She only stayed because she had to. Time would only tell if she would leave me too.
October 2010
Eden
“This better be good,” was Georgia’s greeting when I called her the Saturday morning after my first visit to Hope House. “Like, I-need-to-borrow-one-of-your-kidneys-because-I’m-dying good.”
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine!” I said, smiling into the phone. I sat on my couch, sipping my way through a huge mug of coffee and staring out at the rain. The drizzle from the night before had morphed into showers; the raindrops pelted the metal roof of my house, making it sound like I was inside a tin can. Jasper lay at my feet, whimpering, because I still needed to take him for a walk.
“Late night?” I asked Georgia.
“Mmphm,” she grunted. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the clock on the DVD player on the shelf by the television. “Almost nine o’clock. Want to go get breakfast?”
“Ugh. No.”
“C’mon,” I cajoled. “I’m buying. And grease is good for a hangover.”
Georgia groaned. “I’m not fit for public consumption. Can’t you just come over and cook us something?”
“Nope! I feel like letting someone else do the work this morning. And I want to hear about your date.”
She groaned again. “Oh, all right, fine. You win. Where do you want to go?”
“Where do you think?”
“Luna Park Café?”
“Yep. I’m dying for some cinnamon roll French toast. We can take Jasper for a walk afterward to burn it all off.”
“We’ll have to walk to Portland to burn off those carbs.”
“Carbs schmarbs. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“You’d better bring me coffee or I might have to shoot you.”
“You don’t own a gun. So throw on some deodorant and get ready to go.”
Georgia and I had met at the same restaurant where I found Jasper. She was working nights as a server to put herself through the last year of her bachelor’s degree in business. Having graduated culinary school, I was a line cook searing steaks or whipping up risotto when a table was done with their appetizer. We first spoke on an exceptionally busy night. Georgia was a new employee, so when she told me to start cooking two filets, I peeked through the stainless steel shelf that guarded the cooks from the waitstaff.
“Are you sure your table is ready for them?” I asked her. I’d seen the apps for that ticket go out less than five minutes before she told me to fire the steaks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “The bastards tore through those mussels like a couple of king crabs. It was disgusting. Like the Discovery Channel or something.” She dropped her chin to her chest and gave me a pointed but friendly look. “Are you sure you can cook fast enough to keep up with them?”
I laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Fabulous.” She winked at me and sashayed back out toward the dining room, her plush hips swinging in concert
“No, I wouldn’t!” I said, trying to fight back tears. “He loves me. He’d take care of me just fine. We don’t need you. Maybe you’re the reason he stays out there. Did you ever think of that? Why don’t you just go away and leave us alone?”
“Because I can’t!” The flash left my mother’s eyes just as quickly as it had appeared. Her shoulders fell.
My eyes stung as though she had hit me across the face.
“Honey,” she said, seeing my tears. She tried to grab my hand. I took a few steps back, out of her reach, and ran up the stairs to my room.
She probably wishes I was never born, I thought after I threw myself facedown on my bed. She said it herself; she didn’t stay because she loved me or my dad. She only stayed because she had to. Time would only tell if she would leave me too.
October 2010
Eden
“This better be good,” was Georgia’s greeting when I called her the Saturday morning after my first visit to Hope House. “Like, I-need-to-borrow-one-of-your-kidneys-because-I’m-dying good.”
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine!” I said, smiling into the phone. I sat on my couch, sipping my way through a huge mug of coffee and staring out at the rain. The drizzle from the night before had morphed into showers; the raindrops pelted the metal roof of my house, making it sound like I was inside a tin can. Jasper lay at my feet, whimpering, because I still needed to take him for a walk.
“Late night?” I asked Georgia.
“Mmphm,” she grunted. “What time is it?”
I glanced at the clock on the DVD player on the shelf by the television. “Almost nine o’clock. Want to go get breakfast?”
“Ugh. No.”
“C’mon,” I cajoled. “I’m buying. And grease is good for a hangover.”
Georgia groaned. “I’m not fit for public consumption. Can’t you just come over and cook us something?”
“Nope! I feel like letting someone else do the work this morning. And I want to hear about your date.”
She groaned again. “Oh, all right, fine. You win. Where do you want to go?”
“Where do you think?”
“Luna Park Café?”
“Yep. I’m dying for some cinnamon roll French toast. We can take Jasper for a walk afterward to burn it all off.”
“We’ll have to walk to Portland to burn off those carbs.”
“Carbs schmarbs. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
“You’d better bring me coffee or I might have to shoot you.”
“You don’t own a gun. So throw on some deodorant and get ready to go.”
Georgia and I had met at the same restaurant where I found Jasper. She was working nights as a server to put herself through the last year of her bachelor’s degree in business. Having graduated culinary school, I was a line cook searing steaks or whipping up risotto when a table was done with their appetizer. We first spoke on an exceptionally busy night. Georgia was a new employee, so when she told me to start cooking two filets, I peeked through the stainless steel shelf that guarded the cooks from the waitstaff.
“Are you sure your table is ready for them?” I asked her. I’d seen the apps for that ticket go out less than five minutes before she told me to fire the steaks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “The bastards tore through those mussels like a couple of king crabs. It was disgusting. Like the Discovery Channel or something.” She dropped her chin to her chest and gave me a pointed but friendly look. “Are you sure you can cook fast enough to keep up with them?”
I laughed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Fabulous.” She winked at me and sashayed back out toward the dining room, her plush hips swinging in concert
Similar Books
