Page 5 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)

CHAPTER TWO

Monday can go fuck itself

Nicolette

I don’t like Mondays.

Sure, most people dislike the first day of the week after the weekend, but I despise them with every cell in my body. Why, you may ask?

Because this is the designated “family dinner night” at my parents’ house. Yay. And I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.

“The roast is good, Ma,” I say, cutting into the tender meat and taking a bite. I’m doing my best to be pleasant in the hopes that if I’m nice to them, they’ll be nice to me.

“Thank you, dear. I cooked it in my new Instant Pot.” She pats my sister’s hand. “Angelica bought it for me.”

My eyes flash to my sister, who is smiling sweetly, and I say, “Well, that was nice of her.”

“It’s more than nice. It wasn’t even my birthday or anything.” Ma tilts her head and beams at Angelica like she’s gazing at the brightest star in an enchanted sky. “She’s such a lovely person. So thoughtful.”

I don’t bother to point out that my lovely, thoughtful sis bought it on my Amazon account. With my debit card.

Beside Angelica, who’s sitting across from me, Rory whispers something into her ear, and she giggles. Rory is my sister’s boyfriend—who used to be my boyfriend. So yeah. That’s fun.

Ma adores him and passes him the tray of meat. “Rory, another slice?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bell. This is the best roast I’ve ever had.”

She titters and fingers the pearls at her throat. “How is the insurance business, dear? Are you still staying busy?”

Rory drones on for a few minutes, and I attempt to not nod off.

I’m startled back into the conversation when my father asks, “Nicci, how is your work going?”

Dragging a small potato through the brown gravy, I answer. “It’s going well. I’ve proposed a new product line I’m really excited about with?—”

“I had two new clients this week, Daddy,” Angelica interrupts, and I pop the potato into my mouth so I don’t sigh. Maybe if I stick it really far in, I’ll choke and then have an excuse to leave.

But Pop smiles indulgently. “That’s great, baby. Your beauty shop is really growing, huh?”

Ma looks like she’s about to pee herself with excitement, which usually means she’s about to jab a thinly veiled insult my way.

“Everyone adores our little Angelica,” she coos, stroking my sister’s long blonde hair.

“Such a sweet personality and a smart businesswoman to boot. I certainly wish Nicolette had inherited some of my business sense.”

I don’t react because it’s what she wants.

“Ahh, I think Nicci is doing fine,” my father says, turning his questioning green eyes on me. “Aren’t you? You don’t talk much about your job.”

With an indulgent smile, I say, “Everything’s fine, Pop. How is the store doing?”

That gets him going until dinner is almost done. He and Ma started Bell Hardware about twenty years ago after Pop got laid off from his carpentry job, and he loves talking about screws, paint, and all manner of household repairs.

When my mother begins to serve the pineapple upside down cake for dessert, Rory pipes up. “Angelica is going to that big hair expo in Trenton in a few weeks. But don’t worry about her, Mr. and Mrs. Bell. I’ll drive her to make sure she gets there safely.”

“Such a darling boy,” Ma purrs at him. “Taking care of our baby girl.”

I think I should receive an award for not mentioning that thirty-five is hardly a baby.

“Of course,” the kiss-ass replies. “Anything I can do for my sweetheart.”

“I wish Nicolette could find a nice boy like you.”

Again, I restrain myself from pointing out that I did, in fact, have that exact same “nice boy,” and then Angelica got jealous and decided she wanted him.

Not that I’m sad about it. Sure, I was hurt at first, especially when Ma told me I shouldn’t make a fuss about Rory cheating on me with my own sister. Because… family is family, Nicolette.

When I look at him now, all I feel is relief. Rory’s a brown-nosing douche with a small dick. Also, his last name is Clutterbuck, though in my head I call him Clusterfuck to amuse myself.

Again, Pop attempts to bring me into the conversation. “Nicci, don’t you have an, um, expo or something coming up?”

I poke at a syrupy cherry on my plate. “It was last week. The American Academy of Clinical Biochemistry conference.”

My dad smiles warmly. “And didn’t you tell me you were teaching one of the classes?”

“I was the lecturer for two of the seminars,” I reply, forking up a bite of the buttery crust.

“Well, isn’t that something,” he says proudly. “What were the classes about?”

Since he seems genuinely interested, I tell him, “The first was on the use of biomolecules in the cosmetics industry, and the other focused on the effects of isopropylparaben and isobutylparaben in skin care products.”

My glance around the table is met with blank stares, so I explain.

“Isopropylparaben and isobutylparaben are examples of what are commonly known as parabens. Chemically speaking, those are esters of parahydroxybenzoic acid and are often used in cosmetics, food, and pharmaceuticals as a preservative due to their antimicrobial benefits. They help to extend the shelf life of products.”

“And are these parabens… bad?” Pop asks, and I toggle my head from side to side a couple times.

“Not necessarily. Some foods like barley and blueberries have naturally occurring parabens, but the two I focused on have suspected links to infertility and cancer. They’re absorbed through the skin and can integrate themselves into the body’s tissues, specifically breast tissue.”

“Oh my!” Ma clutches her pearls.

I shift my eyes between her and Angelica. “Make sure to check the labels of your makeup, lotions, and other products. I’ll send you a text with the ingredients to look out for.” They both nod silently.

Rory shovels in a big bite of cake and talks around it. “Where was your conference, Ni—oof.” He’s cut off by an elbow in the side from my sister. She doesn’t like any attention on anyone but herself, especially from Rory.

I answer anyway. “It was in L.A.”

Ma tsks. “Oh, that seems silly to go all the way to California for some meeting. Don’t they have something closer to home?”

Don’t roll your eyes, Nic. Don’t do it.

My eyeballs quiver in their sockets but maintain an even stare. “The Academy holds their conference in a different place each year, Ma. Next year it’s in Dallas, and then the next two will be in New York and Miami.”

“Well, I think it’s ridiculous to spend all that money on flights and hotel and?—”

I cut my mother off. “All my expenses were paid by the Academy, and they also pay a generous speaking fee.”

Her lips flatten. “Oh. Well.” She seems disappointed that I cut off any reason for her to criticize me.

Rory leans forward. “How much do you get paid for something like that?” When I hesitate, he prods, “Five-hundred bucks?”

Angelica flashes her most darling smile, her voice turning syrupy. “Don’t embarrass her, honey. It probably wasn’t that much, and Nicci just doesn’t want to say.”

“Twenty-thousand.” I blurt out the truth before I can think better of it, and everyone’s eyes go wide. Pop’s fork clatters to his plate, and Ma makes a little squeaking sound. Angelica looks constipated.

Fuck.

“Dollars?” Rory asks incredulously.

No, pesos, you idiot.

Instead of saying that, I rush to explain. “I was also the keynote speaker for the closing dinner. That’s why it was so much.”

“Well, that’s… that’s something else,” Pop says.

My eyes flit to my mother. I don’t know why I always look to her for approval I never receive, and it annoys the hell out of me that I do.

“I’m sure you did well,” she says, and I feel my body relax a little before she adds, “I certainly hope you didn’t wear your hair like that if you had to get up in front of people and talk.”

I finger the dark curly hair at my shoulder, kicking myself for not putting it in a bun like I usually do.

I don’t have perfectly straight blonde hair like Ma and Angelica.

It’s honestly a bit wild unless I use a ton of product in it, which I made a point to do tonight before I came.

But it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.

Before I show all the emotions that are trying to seep in around my carefully stacked walls, I toss my napkin on the table and stand.

“Thanks for dinner, Ma, but I have a long drive back to the city. Pop, I’ll take a look at that computer problem you were having before I go.”

And I depart, out of the kitchen and down the wood-paneled hallway to my father’s office. An annoying tear attempts to leak out, but I don’t allow it. No fucking tears, Nicolette Bell. You’re thirty-three years old, for Marie Curie’s sake.

The chair behind Pop’s desk is covered with russet brown leather that’s worn in spots from age.

I settle into it and boot up his desktop.

There’s an audible whine from the machine, and I shake my head.

He refuses to buy a new one, though this one is well past its prime.

I look around for the laptop I bought him but don’t see it.

While I’m waiting, my eyes scan over the papers scattered across the aged wooden desk. All of them have some form of PAST DUE stamped in red on them. I frown, but before I can investigate further, I hear footsteps, so I face the computer and begin typing.

“Hi, honey.” I smell my dad’s Old Spice cologne as he sinks into the guest chair, but I don’t turn around.

“This shouldn’t take me long,” I reply as my fingers fly across the keyboard, entering code to help me find the problem.

He’s silent for a long while before finally saying, “You know how your mother is, Nicci.”

I continue my work, never breaking stride. “I do.”

Another few beats of silence. “She’s not all bad.”

“That’s quite an endorsement,” I shoot back. “They say Ted Bundy wasn’t all bad either. I heard he didn’t desecrate the corpses of all his victims.”