Page 58 of Full Out Fiend
“I read an article online that said women in their first trimester only need about one hundred extra calories a day—the equivalent of a medium-sized apple. One hundred calories. Can you believe that? I wish I would have known that before I packed on the pounds when I was pregnant.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Do you want extra butter for your potatoes?” I ask, louder than necessary. I’m not going to sit here and listen to passive aggressive comments about how much Daphne should or shouldn’t be eating. Is her mom a nutritionist? A doctor? I don’t fucking think so. And she’s saying shit like that in front of a preteen girl, too. Total and utter bullshit.
“It’s fine, Fielding. Ignore her,” Daphne pleads under her breath.
Ignore her? Is she serious? I think I’ll do the opposite.
“According to the pregnancy booksI’vebeen reading, a pregnant woman should always eat when she’s hungry, especially if her appetite is inconsistent because of morning sickness.”
I look around to find everyone avoiding each other’s gazes. Everyone except Mr. Knowles, of course, whose beady eyes are trying to burn a hole through my head.
“You’d do well to not disrespect my wife in this house, son.”
Now it’s my turn to glare. Is this guy for real? Did he not just hear his wife implying that his daughter—the mother of my unborn child—didn’t really need a second helping of potatoes? Does he have any fucking idea how sick Daphne’s been, how stressed out she is about work and the wedding and the baby in general?
If they want to play games and pick sides, I can do that. But I only play to win.
“With all due respect, sir, I refuse to sit here and listen to anyone dribble on about the daily caloric intake of an expectant mother.”
“Hmph,” he scoffs. “Since you’re in medical school, you must know everything, then?”
Some people have a fight-or-flight instinct. I’m only wired to fight.
“I would like to think I know the basics, yes. I’ve also been reading baby books non-stop, and I know for a fact that Daphne couldn’t keep down her lunch today, so if anything, her body’s operating at a calorie deficit.”
He huffs again, but gives up, peering past me and directing his next comments at his daughter. “Looks like you’ve locked in a real smart guy here, Daphne. A smart guy with a big mouth.”
The rage that sweeps through me is indescribable. It’s one thing to pick a fight and not like it when I push back—it’s another entirely to drag Daphne into this. She’s literally only said four sentences all night, and one of those was to ask for more goddamn potatoes.
“We don’t have to sit here and take this,” I declare, shifting my chair back a few inches for emphasis. “We came here tonight with nothing but goodwill, but we don’t need to stay if the feelings aren’t mutual.”
“Are you threatening me in my own house?” he sneers.
“I don’t have any control over whether you feel threatened by me, sir.”
His eyes double in size.
“I understand Daphne’s your daughter and that you might be upset and disappointed by the situation we’re in. But you have no right to make things harder than they need to be right now. She’s handling everything with so much grace. We’re figuring this out, the two of us, together. If you can’t be supportive, you can at least be quiet.”
He has nothing to say in response to my monologue. That doesn’t mean he keeps his mouth shut.
“Smart-ass with a big mouth. Anthony would never—”
We’re officially done.
I rise to my feet, desperately hoping Daphne follows or at the very least doesn’t get upset with me for making a scene. Everything about tonight has been off—she’s a different person inside these four walls, and I hate it. I’ve never once viewed her as anything but fierce and independent—but seeing her wilt at this dinner table, surrounded by people who supposedly love her, has opened my eyes to an entirely different part of her world.
“You can keep your assumptions and judgments about me. Hold on to those real tight. But don’t you dare bring up her dirtbag ex-fiancé in front of me again. If that’s your standard for an ideal partner for your daughter, then you and I are two very different kinds of men.”
Daphne grips my hand, but I don’t dare break eye contact with her dad. This is complete and utter bullshit. I refuse to back down.
As expected, Martin doesn’t respond well. Rising to his feet at the head of the table, he wags a finger at me as he raises his voice.
“You think you can impregnate my daughter, then just show up here saying whatever the hell you want? You think you can come into my house and disrespect me? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m Fielding Haas. And I’ll be happy to show myself out.” I turn to Daphne’s mom then. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. I’m sorry it didn’t go well.”