He makes a tired, disgusted sound. “You can’t even do this right,” he says, quietly dismissive. My face burns as his words register with the other guests at the table.

With a shuddering breath, I push down every urge I have to spit verbal bile at him. “As I said, we don’t have that ingredient in the restaurant but—”

He throws down his napkin, like he’s preparing to get up and leave, and the only thing I feel is relief. Finally, he’ll let me enjoy what’s left of this night in peace.

“Your brother begged me to come here, you know. Said this dump needed the cash.”

He shakes his head. The guests at the next table look over now, the din of the half-filled dining room lowers, and each empty chair seems to prove his point.

Dad is like any bully, something I learned quickly when Dad’s behavior mirrored the kids’ that gave Wes a hard time in school. He requires a strong hand, firm words. He needs to be reminded that he’s not in charge here and if it were anyone else it would be me to remind them. I’ve always been the one to stand up to bullies, at school, at work—both coworkers and guests. But my throat closes, as if with a few words my father can paralyze me, make me the kid he’s only ever seen me as.

His guests shift in their seats, avoiding my eyes. Embarrassed, even though it’s him who should be ashamed, a quiet voice in a small place in my heart says. And I know it’s true but when he’s like this, it doesn’t matter what he should be. All that matters is how mortifying it is to be his daughter. It’s bad to know your father thinks so little of you; it’s devastating for other people to know it, too.

Wes would never have begged him for anything but I’m mad at my poor brother nonetheless, only because in this moment, it’s easier to be mad at him than at this man in front of me who’s far more deserving but also more terrifying.

“You...you’re...”

He shakes his head. Like he has anything to be disappointed about. “You had so much potential, Amy.”

I resist the urge to smack my palm against my temple, to dislodge this hellscape dream from my brain. This is about vegetables, right? My father looks like he wants to disown me for a cruciferous veggie. Of course, that’s not what it really is. He’s looking for any reason to be cruel, to make himself feel better. And time after time, I let him. I open my mouth, praying for words to come.

All the things I’ve never said but wish I could—You’re a shit dad. I never want to see you again. You don’t deserve me—lie shriveled and brown like the pruned leaves of my plants.

“Mr. Chambers,” Sophie says, suddenly beside me. My heart stutters somewhere near the back of my throat. She leans over the table, taking plates away and passing them to Drew and Maggie, who walk them back to the kitchen.