“What’s that, an appetizer?” Dad muttered.
Oh man. Robin immediately grabbed a glass and made an attempt to change the heavy atmosphere. “I love Stroganoff, Mom,” she said and turned a beaming smile to Aaron. “Remember that little restaurant on Fifty-third? They had the best Stroganoff!”
“I remember. And I remember how you would send everything back because it never met your exacting standards. I used to think it was funny.” His expression clearly relayed that he no longer thought so.
“I don’t remember that,” Robin said, almost meaning it, as Rachel took her seat and a glum Rebecca slipped in the room and into a chair next to Robin.
“Well? Let’s dig in,” Mom sighed, and Robin passed the wine to Rebecca, who looked as if she could use a good belt. “Honey?” Mom said to Rebecca as she passed the salad bowl to Rachel. “Did you speak with Grayson?”
“Nooo. I guess Bud’s got something going on—they aren’t around much.”
Rachel leaned over to spoon salad onto Dad’s plate; he angrily snatched the utensil from her hand. “I can do it.” Rachel dropped the bowl like a hot dish.
Dad helped himself to salad, shifted his glare to Rebecca. “What’s this about Mr. Bud? Isn’t he crying for you to come and take his son off his hands?”
The question seemed to rattle Rebecca; unsteadily, she reached for the wine she had poured. “I didn’t talk to him.”
“Didn’t talk with him yesterday, either,” Dad said and impatiently motioned for the Stroganoff.
Rebecca responded with a long sip of wine. She grimaced, put the glass down, and looked at her hands. “Mom, Dad, there is something I need to tell you.” Mom immediately put her fork down and looked at Rebecca. Dad accepted his plate from Rachel and stabbed at the noodles. “I didn’t want to tell you this week, what with . . . well, everything,” Rebecca said, looking at Dad from the corner of her eye. “But . . . but I can’t—I need to get back to Dallas.”
“Why?” Dad demanded through a mouthful of noodles.
“Because B-Bud has left me for another woman.”
Her stunning announcement was met with a gasp of shock from Mom, deadly silence from Robin and Rachel. Dad looked relieved. “Thank God!” he said, and shoved a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
Rebecca gaped at him.
“Aaron!” Mom cried, horrified.
With a shrug, Dad pushed more noodles into his mouth, swallowing them whole. “He’s a fucking loser, Bec. You should never have married him in the first place.”
“Dad!” Robin exclaimed.
“Bud Reynolds is a bigger bastard than his old man, and trust me, that is quite an accomplishment. Good riddance, I say. It’s about damn time you found your own way in this world, Rebecca, instead of relying on men to make it for you.”
“Oh. My. God!” Rebecca whispered hoarsely and buried her face in her hands.
Shocked to the core by Rebecca’s announcement, and perhaps more so by her father’s coldhearted response, Robin stared at Dad, speechless. The old man had never been short on opinions, but this . . . this was cruel, cancer or no cancer.
“That’s inexcusable, Dad,” Rachel said indignantly, voicing Robin’s thoughts. “You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he snapped, turning on her. “I have every right to say that Rebecca married a loser, that you are wasting your life with your books and that creep you call a boyfriend!” he said, stabbing his fork in the air for emphasis.
“Aaron, stop it!” Mom cried. “Stop it right now!”
Dad suddenly winced like he’d been hit in the gut. He dropped his fork, pressed a hand to his forehead.
“Dad!” Rachel exclaimed, putting her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right,” he said, in obvious pain. “I am all wrong.” He lifted his head and looked at an ashen Rebecca. “I just meant to say that I never thought much of him, baby. You’re beautiful and gifted, and you could have the whole world at your feet if you’d only reach out for it. Get rid of that bastard. Go find someone who will cherish every damn moment they have with you, and settle for nothing less. Nothing less! You deserve that and more!”
They all gaped at him. Except Rebecca, who stared at her plate. Dad winced again, quickly shoved more noodles into his mouth as if he were afraid they might disappear. The room fell silent as the meal was resumed, save the occasional clink of silver on china. Rebecca had passed on the food in favor of the wine; Robin could hardly eat, either, appalled more than usual by her father.
Only Rachel seemed to have an appetite, and it was she who broke first, unable to endure the awkward silence that had surrounded them. “I . . . I learned something sort of interesting a couple of weeks ago,” she said uncertainly. Mom and Robin gratefully gave Rachel their full attention.